SNOOZING KISS
I was doing my usual commuter thing: one arm up on the plastic ring, pretending I wasn’t annoyed by everyone’s elbows and perfume and the train’s hot, recycled breath. My shirt stuck at the collar. I told myself I was fine. I’m always fine.
Then this guy slid in beside me—smaller, slim, white button-up like he was trying to look responsible. Hair messy in a way that felt accidental and kind of unfair. He stood straight like everyone else, eyes half-open, fighting sleep.
I noticed because he was close. Like, shoulder-close. Like, “please don’t fall on me” close.
I should’ve shifted away. I didn’t.
His eyelids kept dropping, fluttering up, dropping again. His mouth was slightly open like he was mid-thought. He looked so serious about staying awake that it was… cute, which made my brain screech. Cute? I’m straight. I’m normal. I lift weights and eat boring food and don’t think about random guys’ eyelashes.
Except I was, apparently.
The train jerked and he finally lost. His head dipped and—softly, stupidly—he bumped into my chest. Not hard. Just a gentle thud, like he was checking if I was real. My first reaction was annoyed heat. Dude. Personal space.
But he was asleep. Cheek against me, warm through fabric. His lashes resting on his skin. And I didn’t move.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should’ve nudged him back with a polite elbow and a scowl. Instead my whole body went careful, like I was holding something breakable.
He shifted again, drifting, and his lips brushed my jaw. I froze so hard my shoulders hurt.
Then—God—he tilted his face up, still asleep, and his mouth found mine.
It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t movie-perfect. It was clumsy and warm and lasted a little too long to be an accident. My thoughts scattered. I was supposed to pull away. I was supposed to be angry. Instead I breathed in and kissed him back before I could decide anything.
His hand slid down my shirt front like he was searching for a pocket in a dream. The crowded sway pressed us closer and I felt this sudden, unmistakable erection in him—like his whole body had decided something before his brain did. It sent a weird spark straight through me. I tightened my grip on the ring like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
Around us, people just… existed. Phones. Blank stares. Nobody looking up at the exact wrong moment, somehow. The train clattered like it didn’t care that my life was doing a tiny, humiliating somersault.
He made a small sound into my mouth—relieved, helpless—and his fingers bunched in my shirt like he needed an anchor. His breathing went uneven. Then his whole body tensed, a quick shiver running through him, and I felt the unmistakable pulse of him coming undone. His hips jerked slightly, pressing against me, and I could feel the warm, wet release through his pants. It was a moment of pure, raw vulnerability, and it made my heart race. He went suddenly soft again, like a wave passed and left him washed-out and loose. He got off just dream kissing me.
He pulled back an inch, blinking awake mid-kiss, eyes wide and dazed. For one second he looked horrified.
Then he looked at me like he was waiting for me to shove him away.
I didn’t.
I kissed him again—quick, awkward, quiet—and his shoulders dropped like he was melting. Like he could finally sleep for real.
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