"Come on. Wake up—"

I nearly grunt at the voices around me. Could they just not interrupt my sleep? Or the fact that Sammy is lying on top of me, tightening her arms around me?

I'm not if she's aware of it, though. 

"Alby! Don't ruin it!"

"Wake. Up. The sun has risen and we're—"

"What do you want me to do with that? Photosynthesis?" She spats out, her voice cracky.

"Would you people leave me alone and let me sleep?" I added.

"Fine." And their voices slowly fade away.

I feel Sammy stiffen. Each time I speak, my chest vibrates and she's able to feel my breaths against her skin. She must realize—

She nearly falls off the couch from this.

I groan. "Did we fall asleep here? For real?"

With that, I mean exactly what I say. AKA, "couldn't we have fallen asleep in my bed like this?"

AKA, the others wouldn't have waken us up.

"Apparently. Look— if I would've known I wouldn't have... whatever I was doing."

I mentally grin at how she stammers, and her cheeks are catching a blush.

"No offense, but I thought you were a pillow... and a blanket, and a mattress."

"Thank you for finding me soft, then." I run a hand through my hair, hating it for not staying in place at night, and feel Sammy roll off me.

"Let's just get breakfast."

❤︎︎

The awkwardness is gone when we face Newt and Thomas at the breakfast table. All I'm trying to do, is holding my laugh because I heard both of them moan last night.

"Would ya stop starin' at us like we're bloody ghosts?" Newt's face gains an unusual red color.

"You look like anything but a ghost right now," Sammy comments. I smile, because not only she's right (he's red like a tomato), but also because I enjoy listening to her sassy lines.

"I'm glad you two found your spirits," I add, winking. "What was that, a massage?"

Thomas chokes on his bread, and Newt's eyes turn bigger than my pot of hair gel.

And I lean in to Sammy's ear, "I don't think that's the only thing he choked on."

She covers a laugh with her hand, nearly knocking over the milk as she did. "Oh, god."

Proud, I continue eating.

"So what're we doing today?"

She looks back at me, and I bite my lip because of the butterflies forming in my stomach. I'm not supposed to feel butterflies, but I can't help it if she looks at me like... that.

"Minho and I are gonna bake cupcakes as a dessert for tonight. Gally and Fry were gonna make a fire, right?"

"Yup."

"Awesome." Newt nods. "I guess some can go grocery shopping?"

If that means Sammy and I don't have a whole crowd around us, yes please.

Eventually, the plans are settled and Sammy and I stand in the kitchen with Frypan, because apparently we need help.

I'm not sure why, because I am sure Jeff said Sammy is a master at baking brownies. Cupcakes couldn't have been harder.

"Twenty minutes in the oven. Got it?"

"Got it," Sammy confirms. "Thanks, Fry."

The boy leaves with a nod.

She grabs the ingredients. "You add the sugar as I melt the butter."

"Got it, ma'am," I say in reply at her stern tone.

Rolling her eyes, she puts the butter in the microwave.

It's an easy job to add sugar, so soon, I'm leaning against the counter as I pop a grape I hope is in good state in my mouth . "Are we decorating them?"

"Of course we are." She hands me the flour. "Put it in a bowl."

"Demanding much," I mutter, but do as I'm told.

Honestly, I think I would obey to anything Sammy tells me.

And that thought causes me to fail doing the job.

The flour splashes into the bowl so hard that a cloud of the powder explodes in the room, and I'm completely covered in it.

I yelp, my immediate instinct going to "My hair!"

Sammy laughs my his face, which I don't approve of either.

"Don't laugh at me," Gasping, I throw flour into her face. She gasps too, then starts coughing, which I mentally apologize for.

"Gosh, you can't even put flour in a bowl? Minho, even with the damn hair—which is not ruined, by the way. It looks fine—we've got cupcakes to bake, you idiot."

I don't seem to hear any of the insults except for her comment about my hair. My skin tingles, and my lack of attention in class proves itself because right now, I'm wondering if it's possible for fireworks to explode inside a body.

"You think my hair looks fine?" I ask.

Sammy groans. "Quit complaining and—"

"I'm not complaining. I'm thanking you." I hold up my hands. "Anyway, come on. We've got cupcakes to make."

"Dude, I just told you that—"

"Don't call me dude," I spat. "We're dating. And I'm a man, not a dude."

"You're delusional, that's what you are."

"Me? I'm the delusional one? You—"

"Let's cut talking about delusion already. It's a disorder. We can't talk about it like this."

"Got it, Smarty." I wipe more flour away. "We're actually professionals!"

And I'm internally screaming at seeing her pissed face. So goddamn... everything. Cute, beautiful—

"We're better than Fry." She smiles now, as she mixes everything together and starts scooping it into moulds. "Would ya give me a hand here? We're baking, not just me."

"What am I supposed to do? How, when you're blocking the whole counter?"

First thought, stand behind her.

"Offensive," she grunts when once again, her shaky hands ruin the scoops. I smile at it.

"Want me to do it?" I suggest, after all. Though I'm pretty she does it better than me, even with shaking hands.

She just hums, taking another attempt to do it right, which works... kind of.

"Here." I move behind her, taking her hands as I ignore how my body is on fire. I'm pressing my body into hers, and I can feel her curves that would fit so perfectly in my hands— 

Shut up, Minho, I tell myself, and I nearly bury myself alive at my thoughts.

Together, we do manage to fill the moulds equally and make it look good too.

When we finish filling them, I don't move, and neither does she. Then, I do step closer because I can no longer handle the space that's still between us, and I honestly want to feel every part of her body against me right now. I'm somewhat exploding when I hear her unsteady, fast breaths and my stomach does a flip.

It's reminding me of what happened in her mom's office.

Oh, god.

She'd pressed me against the wall and then it was all heavy breaths and touching my face and chest and I had to stop myself from devouring her right then and there. I hadn't been able to stop myself from sliding my hands down, but she never complained and that must've made it so much more... realistic to her father.

Because to me... it had been so damn fake.

As if I'd enjoy it.

(I blush when I think back of it)

"I think they're ready for the oven," she peeps, the heat coming straight off her.

"Of course," I say, and let go, which leaves an horrible, empty feeling. "I bet they taste amazing."

I think that last sentence was directed to her lips, and not the cupcakes, though.