X had always loved sleepovers growing up, but unlike so many other things they were one of the few things that had actually gotten better as she grew older.

Friends she had spent so many years with that they knew each other’s deepest fears and dreams, had their own ritual food that made each evening a newer, better installment of a proven success story. Staying up late, way past their normal bedtimes, with clear intend to pulll a sick day the day after because they wouldn’t even be awake when work started.

Alcohol, stories and nostalgia, all shared while sitting on the balcony or living room floor in comfy fleece pyjamas that made them as vulnerable they were protected by them. A clear sign that they all knew and accepted each other without any makeup or the masks they wore at the office.

And apparently they would cross the last line they had never crossed tonight, expanding the willingness to share to each other’s bodies.

At least that was what the conversation was leading to. Or no, rather purposefully leading away from it in a helpless try to retain a little bit of personal space.

X wondered if they were all trying to avoid becoming completely the same person with three sets of limbs, thoughts and bodies, which wasn’t too far-fetched.