Callum

(MLM)

The third alarm was ignored, and the fourth finally crushed the silence. His consciousness clung to the remnants of sleep, but the bright light from under the bathroom door and the smell of minty toothpaste told him the world was already awake. His world.

You ran a hand over your face, trying to shake off the numbness, and reached for your phone on the nightstand. At that moment, the door swung open, and he filled the space. He was wearing a hoodie, low-slung sweatpants, and your toothpaste was on his lips. He, Callum, sat down on the edge of the bed, intercepting your hand with the phone, and leaned over.

His kiss was like an electric shock—unexpected, wet from the toothpaste, yet scaldingly warm. You tasted the minty freshness on your tongue, and something else—the bitter nicotine of the e-cigarette he'd apparently just inhaled in the bathroom. It was a strange, ambiguous cocktail—morning, mint, and the sweet vapor of the e-cigarette.

He pulled away, his grey eyes squinting mockingly in the dim light of the room.

“ Good morning, sleepyhead, ” he croaked, and his breath, smelling of menthol and something chemically sweet, enveloped your face in a light cloud.

(Your actions?)