The light hits my face first. I blink slowly. I stretch under the blanket, still half-asleep, but then freeze.
Wait.
Blanket?
I don't remember pulling one over myself.
I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes. My mouth feels dry and my head is a little fuzzy but not from beer. Just sleep.
Last night rushes back in pieces. The teasing. The kiss. His lips on mine, warm and sure. The way he looked at me like I was something rare. Precious.
My heart skips.
I glance around the room.
And that's when I see him.
He's sitting on the floor beside the bed, head leaned back, arms crossed, one leg bent. His eyes are closed, lashes soft against his cheeks. His black hair's a little tousled, like he ran his fingers through it too many times before falling asleep.
He didn't leave.
He stayed.
I shift quietly, careful not to wake him, and just watch him for a while.
How is it possible that someone can feel like a mystery and home at the same time?But there's more to him.
I slide off the bed slowly, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders, and kneel beside him.
His breathing is deep. Steady.
I let my fingers brush lightly over his hand resting near his knee just enough for contact, not enough to wake him.
"Thank you," I whisper. "For staying."
His eyes don't open, but I swear his fingers twitch slightly, like he hears me somewhere in that sleep-heavy part of his mind.
I sit beside him for a while and even though he has no idea I was never drunk.
My eyes open again, this time in the bed. I sit upright
I look to the side, he's not there.
Where is he?
Instead, he's sitting in the chair across the room casually over the other, sipping coffee from one of the hotel mugs.
"Morning," he says, voice soft and low, like he doesn't want to startle me.
His hazel eyes meet mine.
Too calm.
I try to sit straighter, pushing tangled hair off my face. "Good morning," I said, my voice sleep-rough, "When did I… get here?" I point to down to bed.
He rise his head, meeting my eyes. One corner of his mouth tugs up in a smirk. "Right after you mumbled something."
I feel embarrassment, rubbing my hands. "That bad, huh?"
He nodded lightly, sipping again. "But I didn't hear anything."
Pause.
"Also about night?."
I groan, flopping back against the pillow and covering my face. "Please tell me I didn't say anything too embarrassing."
He doesn't answer right away. And when he does, his voice is quieter. Almost… fond.
"You said you trusted me."
A pause.
"And that I smell good."
I look at him. "Oh my God."
He chuckles, deep and low in his chest. "Don't worry. Nothing happened, come have breakfast."
I let my hands fall to my lap and blink at him. "I wasn't that drunk."
"Oh, really," he says, a little too smoothly, leaning forward just enough to set his mug on the table.
My breath catches.
Does he know?
I sit there, speechless, until finally I ask, "So… did we…?"
"umm, us," he says while waved his finger between us. "what happen between us?"
Like it's no big deal. Like it didn't flip my entire world upside down.
He leans back, arms resting loosely on the sides of the chair. His eyes don't leave mine. "No," he says simply. "Nothing happen."
My stomach flips. I press the blanket against my chest, chewing on the edge of my lip to stop myself. "Cool," I say, too fast. "Cool cool cool."