"Shut the fuck up."

"Oh, good morning to you too."

I groan into my pillow, crawling deeper under the sheets. "I haven't slept in my own bed in weeks. Allow me to catch up with all those hours, please."

"I smell food and I want it," Minho replies.

"Then you go get it. I'll be downstairs someday."

"No. It's way too nice in this bed with you."

"Exactly." I squeeze my eyes shut even harder. "Good night again."

"It's ten AM."

"So?"

I think he gives me ten seconds rest before his fingers poke my sides, causing me to nearly fly off the bed. "Minho! Don't do that again. Ever."

All he does is laugh. Like, very audible. "That was the funniest— ow!"

I've elbowed him in the face. "There you go."

"Ah, man. My girlfriend is abusing me."

"No, I'm not. It's your own fault because you were poking me," I tell him grumpily. My eyes are falling closed every second and my words slur together from exhaustion.

"You hit me, abuser."

"Shut up, loser. I don't abuse you."

"Now you're bullying me. I've got an abusive bully."

I groan again. "Close the eyes, shut the mouth, and go back to sleep."

"My girlfriend is an abusive bully who doesn't even like me," he mocks, voice way too dramatic for this early in the morning.

"Ahw, you're so sad. Do you need a hug?"

"Definitely." His arms wrap around me from behind and I feel his breathing against my neck. Even though I'm warm, his skin is hotter than mine. It automatically makes me push closer to him.

"Now I can sleep," he hums.

"Good. So do it."

"I will, abusive bully who doesn't like me. Hm, I was searching for a nickname anyway."

"If you do that, I'll call you Mean Hoe."

He gasps, offended. "I take back everything I said, ma'am."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yup. You are no bully, nor an abuser. And you really, really like me."

"Thought so." I chuckle into my pillow, then tilts around to face him. His hair's messy from sleeping, eyes full of amusement but still a bit tired, and smile crooked.

"You feeling better after what happened at the camp already?"

I nod. "Yeah."

I haven't heard anything else from Him so far. Tomorrow is Sunday, the eighth week of the camp, and the day I'm supposed to pay a quarter of my debts. I won't show up. I will look for a job so I can get money.

"Good." He kisses my forehead. "What're we doing today?"

"Sleeping," I murmur.

"Cuddling," he corrects.

"Cuddling as we sleep."

"Sounds perfect."

☀︎︎

At some point, we got enough from the cuddling and Minho decided that because I was allowed to open his messages and Snaps, he's allowed to open mine, so he's currently doing that.

"Can I look into your camera roll?"

"You don't have to ask for that."

Satisfied, he scrolls through the pictures. "That's a lot of parties and alcohol, ma'am."

"Quit the ma'am thing already," yet I'm smiling.

"And a few selfies. Absolutely amazing. Can I have them?" He taps on another picture. "Aw, baby Lelia and baby Lyndon together."

"Mhm." My smile widens at the picture of five-year-old Lyndon attempting to carry a three-year-old me. By the looks of his face, he wasn't able to pull it off.

"And this must be your mom," his voice lowers a bit.

I nod. Swallow at the picture. Mom, lying in the hospital bed with a big smile on her face. Her hair had been dyed brown, but you could see blonde roots coming back. Her belly was amazingly big. And even with the contractions, Dad had said, she was smiling because she was so happy to get another child after Lyndon.

"Yeah," I confirm quietly. "That's her. Three hours later she was... you know. She was able to hold me for half an hour before the hemorrhage showed up. It's basically blood loss. Way too many blood loss at once. They didn't have time to save her. Dad said the nurses were checking files while he and Mom spend time with me. Even Mom barely noticed what was going on before it was too late."

He's silent for a long time. I feel him tense as his hand clutches around mine.

"You don't have to say anything," I tell him. "I wouldn't know what to say after a story like this either."

"All I'm going to say is that it has nothing to do with you. You can't blame yourself for blood loss leading to her death, and you can't ask yourself why they didn't save her instead of you. You were already born and well when it happened."

"I just... I've always wondered how they weren't able to tell it would happen before it did. If maybe they did something that could've prevented it..." I stop, because I don't know how to continue. "But yeah, that's the story. I'm glad she got to hold me for a while and I'm glad I have this picture."

Minho nods. "It's a beautiful moment. And you look like your mom." He squeezes my hand.

I rest my head on his shoulder, my smile slowly returning. From all reactions of telling this, Minho gave the best one. He makes me feel less sad telling this.

"And she would've been proud of you," he adds.

"For what? Not to sound crazy or anything, but I didn't exactly achieve much great things."

"So? You achieved the age of eighteen, still healthy and coping. That's already enough."

I close my other hand around his, so it's between both of mine. "I wanna achieve a good life. Being a lawyer and rich and having an amazing little family."

"We can make that happen," Minho says. "You can get a degree and become one. Who knows, maybe I'll become a CEO and we'll for sure be rich."

A chuckle escapes from my mouth. "Possible. I just know for sure I wanna start over. I've messed the previous years up, and now I want to fix it."

"Step one is done," he says, tilting his head to the side with a small grin. "You cleaned your room."

I scoff as I shake my head. "You're ridiculous."

"What? It can be very hard for people to clean their room! It's a good achievement."

"Mhm."

"You know what else is a good achievement? That you're awake enough and that we can finally get food because I can't last any longer."

☀︎︎

A/n: Bit of a filler before the other crap beginsss