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I've told him multiple times already, yet he still insists. “You should have brought your own.” I tell him, and he says, “But I didn't think I'd want to stay over tonight!” You'd think he would have the foresight for that, but apparently not, and now he's giving me wet puppy-dog eyes, hands clasped in a plea.
“We can try squeezing together so we can fit!” He enthusiastically exclaimed, and from his words alone, I could already tell it was going to be uncomfortable. I mean, squeezing, really? “Squeezing... yeah, sure.” I tried putting down the idea—to no avail; I swear he's started staring at me even harder. Tsk, those stupid eyes. I had to look away just to make sure he didn't get to me. He seemed to give up appealing to logic, though, and I feared he might throw a tantrum—like I once did.
“Come on, Rocket... Think of it as making things official!” Instead, he brings up our relationship. I'm not so weak as to fall for that reasoning; try as I might, though, the idea dug its roots into me, and I had to send him away before I can succumb. I shoved a pillow into his arms and I shoo'd him away, specifically to the couch. He looked so pitiful; I felt kind of bad looking at his back hunched over as he stepped out of my room that. But only a little.
But a little was enough, and now I'm staring at the void inside my eye cover, listening to the clock in my room tick-tock away. It sucks even harder too—I usually hug that pillow I gave him. Making it official, huh... The idea I had so feared took only a few moments to bud, and now my head clouds with the thought. The flowery whispers of what could be plague my mind; before long, I see myself sneaking out of my own room, careful not to make a sudden noise. I creep up to the living room, and there I see Sword, sleeping without a shirt on. This idiot... Does he really feel that safe in here? I find the thought has warmed my cheeks more than I'd like, but it's not a feeling I can wave away so easily. His helmet and his other accessories take up space on the coffee table, his shirt neatly folded under the helmet—did he not want to accidentally scratch the table?
Whatever, he was sleeping so peacefully, with my pillow clutched in his arms, flush with his chest, rising and falling with his every breath. Am I jealous? Inpher-no! There's no way in the Inpherno... though I might be? What I'm about to do might be stupid, but whatever, it's his fault I'm thinking about this anyway. Was he a heavy sleeper? Heights, I hope so.
At least he's facing the open, this could have been way worse. I try freeing the pillow from his arms—I succeed, but he makes confused mumbles when I pry it from his hands. Still unconscious, though. Then I proceed with the dumber half of my plan. I remove my prosthetic arm, then I slip off of my slippers, one-by-one; as quietly as possible. Then, I try to occupy the space left by my pillow, avoiding as much contact as possible until my body was occupying my half of the couch.
Once I'm uncomfortably settled, I am immediately met with his arms grabbing me into a hug. It takes considerable effort not to make a peep. When I look up at him, his eyes are still closed, and his considerably soft chest was rising and falling just the same. Success? I think so, but the way his legs were rubbing against mine, his arms wrapped around my body, had my face uncomfortably hot. He was mumbling something, too. I focused harder than I had in days, just to hear:
“Rocket...” followed by words I couldn't make out, but all I could hear was my own name. My heart beat in my ears; my face was hot. He hugged me even harder, to the point my body was fully flush against his. Could he hear my heartbeat? I hope not? Was he actually asleep? There's no way he's pretending, right? As my head flooded with ideas, he mumbles again:
“You're so...” I was so? What? This was a bad idea; just being in his general vicinity was bad enough, but this much physical contact was way more than I could handle. I try to wriggle free from his grasp, but this just leads to him hugging me even harder, his arms strong grip and the feeling of my clothes rubbing against his bare skin overwriting every other sensation. The couch has disappeared from my mind, and my face felt as if it was overheating.
Any thoughts of escape I might have had were completely wrung out when he crooked his head closer to mine. The soft whispers of his breath, warm and fleeting against the side of my cheek, yet the feeling was permanent. Or was that just me blushing? I don't know anymore; I just closed my eyes while I endured the assault of his entirety encompassing me. I couldn't sleep the whole time, meanwhile his rising chest pushed up against mine, and I couldn't do anything but surrender to his gentle, but unconscious, touch. The smile on his face didn't help any.
I was stuck with him and my thoughts throughout the night. At one point, his legs pulled mine into a tangle, effectively sealing my fate in his embrace, if you could call it that. It was only when the birds rang out, that I was finally free, but not without cost. As he stirred, the first thing he said was:
“Rocket... what are you doing here?”
And I knew, heart beating inside my ears, that I could not defend myself.