Jamie woke up to the sound of snoring.
Not their own—though they'd be the first to admit their sleep soundtrack wasn't silent—but Taylor's. Loud, unapologetic, and coming from way too close.
It took Jamie a few foggy seconds to remember why Taylor was even there. Movie marathon. Popcorn massacre. Taylor insisted they were "too comfortable to walk home." Jamie mutters something like, "Fine, but take the couch."
Taylor had not taken the couch.
Jamie blinked at the tangle of limbs sprawled across their bed. Taylor had starfished their way into prime real estate, one arm draped over Jamie's stomach, head nestled against Jamie's shoulder like they'd been custom-designed for it.
Jamie lay frozen, staring at the ceiling. Nope. Not happening. This is not how best friends sleep. Friends don't breathe into each other's collarbones.
Carefully, Jamie tried to lift Taylor's arm.
Taylor groaned, nuzzled closer, and mumbled, "Five more minutes."
Jamie's brain short-circuited. "You—what—you're not even supposed to be here!" they hissed.
Taylor cracked one bleary eye open, their hair sticking up in every direction. "The couch was lumpy. You're softer."
Jamie almost choked on air. "That's not—that doesn't even—Taylor!"
But Taylor yawned, tightened their arm, and promptly fell back asleep.
Jamie weighed their options. Shove Taylor onto the floor and face the whining? Or stay put and pretend this wasn't happening?
Naturally, they chose the coward's path.
---
By the time Taylor finally stirred again, sunlight was streaming through the curtains and Jamie had spent forty minutes rehearsing increasingly unconvincing speeches about personal space.
Taylor stretched with a satisfied groan, their arm sliding across Jamie's chest before they sat up. "Morning."
Jamie's voice cracked. "Do you have any idea where you're lying right now?"
Taylor blinked. "Uh, in your bed?"
"On me!"
Taylor's lips twitched. "Relax. It's not like it's the first time."
Jamie sputtered. "When have you ever—"
"That camping trip," Taylor interrupted, smirking. "You hogged the blanket. I had to latch on for survival."
"That doesn't count!"
"Pretty sure it does." Taylor yawned again, hair falling into their eyes in a way that really should've been illegal, and climbed off the bed. "Anyway, you're warm. Ten out of ten. Would cuddle again."
Jamie grabbed a pillow and hurled it at their back. "You are never allowed in my bed again!"
Taylor caught the pillow midair, hugged it, and grinned. "We'll see."
---
Breakfast should have been normal. It wasn't.
Taylor had raided the kitchen and was now perched on the counter, swinging their legs while munching toast. They wore one of Jamie's oversized T-shirts—the one Jamie used as pajamas when laundry day was overdue. On Taylor, it looked annoyingly good.
Jamie tried not to notice. Failed spectacularly.
"You look cute when you're grumpy," Taylor said, chewing obnoxiously.
Jamie slammed a mug of coffee on the counter. "You are insufferable."
Taylor pointed with their toast. "Yet, you made me coffee. Actions speak louder than grumbles."
Jamie crossed their arms. "Do you realize how inappropriate that was? You climbing into my bed? Using me as a pillow? Snoring in my ear like a chainsaw?"
Taylor shrugged. "You could've kicked me out."
"I tried! You latched on like a barnacle!"
Taylor smirked. "Survival instincts."
Jamie groaned, dragging a hand down their face. "You're impossible."
Taylor hopped off the counter, padding over until they were standing far too close. "Impossible to resist, maybe."
Jamie's heart stuttered. They stepped back automatically, bumping into the counter. "That's not funny."
Taylor's grin softened into something unreadable. "Didn't say it was a joke."
The kitchen suddenly felt much too small. Jamie's brain screamed at them to say something clever, but all they managed was a strangled, "You're out of line."
Taylor's gaze lingered a beat longer than it should have—then they grabbed Jamie's coffee mug and took a sip.
"Too much sugar," Taylor declared, wrinkling their nose.
Jamie snapped out of it. "Hey! That's mine!"
Taylor laughed, setting it back on the counter. "Relax. Sharing is caring."
Jamie pointed a finger at them. "You are banned from sleepovers. Permanently."
Taylor tilted their head, smirking, playing at their lips. "Sure. Until the next movie marathon."
Jamie rolled their eyes, but deep down, they knew Taylor was right.
The next movie night was inevitable. And, if Jamie was being honest, terrifyingly inevitable.