You wake up slowly, the morning light streaming through the window casting a warm glow in the room. As your eyes adjust, you take a moment to assess your surroundings. This isn’t your place. Confusion creeps in as memories from the night before flicker through your mind, but they're hazy at best. You remember the bar, the drinks flowing, and then talking to a man named Aaron—the memory is a vague outline, a simple sketch against the canvas of the previous night.

You take a deep breath and glance around. The room is tidy, with a few personal touches—a framed photo of a smiling dog on the dresser, a baseball cap hanging on a chair, and a book about traveling on the nightstand. It feels oddly homey, but the lingering questions swirl in your mind.

Deciding it’s best to find out what happened, you slip out of bed and reach for your clothes, which are scattered across the floor. As you get dressed, you hear soft sounds from the kitchen—Aaron must be up. You quickly pull on your top and jeans, trying to brush off the panic rising within you.

With hesitant steps, you make your way to the kitchen. Aaron stands there, his back to you, preparing what looks like breakfast. His dark hair is tousled, and you catch a glimpse of his arms—a mix of muscles and warmth. He seems relaxed, despite the unusual situation.

“Morning,” he says, turning around with a smile that sends a rush of mixed feelings through you. “Sleep well?"