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to be loved and to be in love

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Evan takes a deep breath in, one of those I-just-woke-up breaths that fill his entire lungs up, all the way to the top, and when he exhales he blinks his eyes open and for just a second, he’s worried that he’s gone blind in his sleep. 

 

He sluggishly attempts to bring his hands up to his eyes, but instead his palms are met with a very warm wall of expansive softness that he immediately recognizes as Connor, breathing in the smell of his shampoo and relaxing into the touch. He slides his hands upward, fingers spread, and finds his way into ringlets of soft hair, wrapping around and weaving through his fingers like delicate vines. His arms go limp, because based on the soft light he can see peeking through Connor’s curls, it’s too early in the morning for Evan to be holding his arms up for this long. 

 

Or maybe it’s not. But Evan doesn’t really care. 

 

Connor shifts, lifting his head just a little to nestle more into the crook of Evan’s neck, the tip of his nose resting on the underside of Evan’s jaw. And since he’s asleep, or at least on the precipice of sleep, he leans forward and wraps long limbs around Evan’s torso, shoving a knee between Evan’s thighs.

 

And then he just wants to feel the warmth of Connor’s skin, Evan’s very sleepy brain decides, so he untangles his fingers from Connor’s hair and dips his hands underneath the back of Connor’s t-shirt, pressing his palms flat against Connor’s back and pulling him forward so that he’s more on top of him than laying next to him. So that they’re touching everywhere; chests and legs and knees and arms. 

 

“‘S cold in here,” Connor complains with a scratchy voice as he nuzzles against Evan’s collarbone. Evan takes a sharp breath in when icy fingers press into the small of his back, and then Connor’s knuckles, and then the back of his hand. “You’re so… fuckin’ warm, how d’you…?”

 

“Blankets,” Evan mumbles, feeling himself slowly slip back into unconsciousness, eyes fluttering shut, letting himself relax fully against the warm mass that is Connor Murphy. 

 

“Stupid,” Connor grumbles, snapping Evan from his sleep with a jolt, wrapping his legs further around Evan’s and pressing cold toes against Evan’s calf. 

 

“Get off , you’re cold,” Evan whines, pushing weakly at Connor’s knee and then just resting his hand on it when Connor doesn’t move. He doesn’t really want Connor to move anyway. Evan lets his eyes slip closed for just a second because they just don’t want to be open, no matter how much Evan wants them to be so he can look at Connor’s pretty face in the gentle light. 

 

Connor sighs, this contented little hum in the back of his throat, and snuggles further against Evan’s body until Evan’s not really sure whose limbs are whose. He says something against the hollow of Evan’s throat, something that sounds like, “You’re warm, I love you,” but all strung together and muddled like Connor’s too tired to fully move his lips. And so Evan smiles and grabs a hold of Connor’s arm, pulling him impossibly closer in their little blanket burrito. Connor tucks his cold fingers into the dip of Evan’s waist, between his skin and the sheets. 

 

“Love you,” Evan sighs, because he just loves him so much, he’s overwhelmed with how much he loves Connor, but he’s not even sure if he’s actually managed to say it out loud before he lets the soothing hands of sleep pull him under again.