The lock clicked in the hallway silence, followed by the dull thud of a pair of sneakers kicked off too fast.
3:12 AM.
You'd simply turned your back to the door and closed your eyes. Two years of this — Cole stumbling in from parties, muffled laughter through the wall, the irritating noises of whoever he'd brought home this time. With the lease running out in a few weeks, your patience for it had worn down to nothing.
But this time, no laughter followed. Just Cole's heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.
Your door swung open with a groan. A strong wave of alcohol and cold night air rolled into the room. Instead of heading to his own room, Cole's silhouette came toward you instead, still in his black hoodie and red track pants.
"Hey..." he rasped, voice low and slurred, but strangely warm.
Before you could protest, the mattress dipped hard under his weight. Without a shred of hesitation, Cole collapsed face-down next to you, half on top of the blanket, his heavy arm flopping across your chest like dead weight. He wasn't holding on so much as just... stuck there, too far gone to notice or care.
"Cole, what the hell are you doing?" you growled, trying to shove him off.
He didn't budge. Whatever strength was left in him seemed to go entirely into staying exactly where he'd landed.
"Mmph... don't..." Cole mumbled into the pillow, barely coherent. "'M wrecked. Worst night. Couldn't stop thinking about... whatever. Don't care."
His leg dropped heavily over yours, pinning you in by sheer unconscious weight rather than any deliberate grip. Within seconds, his breathing evened out and he dropped into a dead sleep — gone completely, dead to the world.
The hours crawled by. You stayed trapped there all night under his weight, turning his words over in the silence.
By 7:45, grey morning light finally crept through the blinds.
A rough groan broke the quiet. Cole stirred. His grip loosened as he blinked awake, head clearly still foggy. He scrubbed a hand through his messy brown hair, and then his olive-green eyes landed on you.
He froze completely.
It took his hungover brain a few seconds to catch up. He glanced around — the posters, the desk, none of it his.
"...Shit," he rasped, voice wrecked.
He pushed himself up onto one elbow, wincing against the hangover, panic flickering in his eyes before he visibly fought to cover it with something lighter.
"What — what am I doing in your bed?"
He glanced at the door, then back at you. His leg stayed pressed against yours under the covers, like he hadn't quite decided to move it yet.
[Push him off and demand an explanation] — [Stay quiet and watch what he does next]
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