sleepy
warnings: no warnings, just fluff.
synopsis: cuddling billie, falling asleep in her arms.
Finneas’s living room is full, but not loud, warm with the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses, the sound of old friends catching up over soft music pulsing from speakers tucked into corners. Laughter moves in waves across the room, easy and familiar. You sit tucked beside Billie on the couch, half-wrapped in a blanket that someone had tossed over the backrest earlier, your legs curled beneath you, shoulder resting against her side. She’s animated, talking with her hands, eyes lit as she adds something to a story that has the rest of the room laughing. But you’re quiet. Not from discomfort, just… tired in a way that doesn’t fully make sense. Your body feels heavy and still, like you’ve folded yourself down smaller than usual, a little closer into the corner of the couch, a little deeper into Billie’s space than normal.
You blink slowly, your gaze unfocused as it drifts across the room, not really seeing. The heat from Billie’s body beside you is constant, her thigh pressed to yours, the edge of her hoodie brushing your arm, her perfume soft and grounding. Your head tilts, barely thinking about it, until it’s resting lightly against her bicep. She notices, of course she does, but doesn’t make a thing of it. She doesn’t pause her sentence, doesn’t shift, just gently adjusts so you’re better supported, her arm curling behind you like it belongs there. Her voice lowers not dramatically, not pointedly just enough that it slips into something quieter, softer. She keeps talking to the others, laughing still, but her hand finds your hair, her fingers combing slowly through it in a rhythm that’s comforting without drawing attention. She keeps you close. Protective without being outwardly overt about it.
Minutes stretch. You don’t say much, if anything, but Billie doesn’t push. She knows when to fill silence and when to let it be. Her fingers continue to drift through your hair, and then down your arm, drawing small circles with her thumb at your elbow. Your eyes are barely open now, each blink longer than the last. You’re not exactly sad but you’re not really okay, either. It feels like a low fog hanging just behind your ribs, something unnamed and thick and a little cold.
Eventually, Billie leans in slightly, her breath warm above your ear, her lips brushing just barely against your hair.
“Are you falling asleep on me?” she whispers, her tone low, not teasing. You nod faintly against her shoulder, a small crease forming between your brows.
She tilts her head, voice barely audible now.
“What’s wrong?”
You shrug, slow and tired. Your lips part, barely enough to let the words slip out, “Not sure.”
She doesn’t press. She just hums quietly in understanding, like she already knows. Her fingers move again, soothing and slow, her touch more deliberate now long strokes down your back, soft circles on your arm. You breathe in deeper. Your hearing dulls at the edges, the voices around you slipping into a muffled blur. Billie doesn’t move away. She doesn’t stop talking to the others, but her voice stays quiet, her body still molded to yours. One of her hands tucks the blanket closer around your shoulders. The other never leaves your arm. As your face turns into her hoodie, your nose presses lightly against her skin, and you let go. The weight in your chest eases just slightly, and you fall asleep to the sound of her heartbeat under your cheek and her fingers moving in quiet, endless circles, Billie’s lips slowly coming down and pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
