Rule 24 | Don't admire your roommate in the middle of the night.

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   "FINE, I'LL HOLD your hand

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"FINE, I'LL HOLD your hand." I'd said as Y/N had extended her little hand towards me, looking at me with wide, expectant eyes.

I'd covered her palm with mine, giving her a reassuring squeeze in case she was reconsidering her decision and decided to let go later in the night.

The only problem? She still hadn't.

We'd started by placing an ottoman couch in the little space between our beds, a makeshift surface to rest our hands upon comfortably without getting our arms cramped. A middle ground of sorts. So that none of our hands ended up accidentally wandering in our sleep.

But somewhere along the night, that had changed.

Squinting my eyes open in the dimly lit room, I noticed that my arm was completely stretched out, resting over the fluffy ottoman and taking up way more space than what had originally been assigned to me.

Surprisingly, despite the prickly needles of numbness slowly beginning to make their way up my arm, I was still grasping onto Y/N's hand.

Only, rather than letting go like I'd initially thought, she had gripped my hand with both of hers instead and pulled my hand almost entirely onto her bed, shifting towards the edge to snuggle her sleeping face into our entwined hands. The way her cheek squished against the back of my hand, her lips curved into a soft half-smile of sorts, made her look like a sleepy toddler and I would be lying if I said it wasn't the most fascinating sight I'd seen in a while.

I realised how weird it was to be having these thoughts in the middle of the night but then again, it seemed perfectly harmless to let my thoughts stray. I didn't intend to go any further than looking anyway, which too was a little stalker-ish but I couldn't care less about that.

The soft midnight light pouring in through the window causing her eyelashes to cast dark shadows across her supple cheeks was enough to distract me from questioning the ethicality of my actions and make me focus on my erratic heartbeat.

I should have been calm; I'd been deeply asleep just a few minutes ago after all. But I wasn't. In fact, my heart, beating rapidly, threatened to jump out of my chest every time I thought about the way her hands fit perfectly into mine.

It wasn't like she hadn't held my hand before. She had. Sometimes for reassurance, sometimes unknowingly and others simply out of instinct.

I always made it look like I didn't think too much of it.

But I did.

My stomach did a silly little flip every time her cold, nimble fingers hesitantly slipped between mine and it had almost gotten too much when she'd hugged me tonight.

She had been terrified, her small figure quivering against mine while her tears seeped into my shirt.

But the thing that had knocked the breath out of my lungs was her tiny hands snaking around my waist and gripping onto the back of my shirt.

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