'Fuck...'

Was your first thought as you regained consciousness, the pounding in your head making itself known almost immediately.

The previous night was a blur. Your memory was spotty, the last thing you remembered was Soap challenging you to a drinking competition. Bad idea, but you'd already had a few drinks in you, and well... liquid courage.

The sheets were so soft, the duvet was smooth and heavy—you were tempted to just go right back to sleep, but the smell of a greasy breakfast and gently clanging pans prompted you to open your eyes out of sheer confusion.

You blinked, your vision clearing, and you quickly realized you weren’t in your own bed. It was bigger, more comfortable, and smelled like Simon.

You sat up, the sheets falling, accompanied with a flash of panic as your state of undress became obvious.

You clambered out of bed, cursing quietly as you tugged on a shirt. Of course, it was Simon’s, and fragments of last night quickly came back to you.

The long-standing tension had finally snapped. The alcohol had been flowing, and one thing led to another between you and Simon. The only reason it didn't happen sooner was because you were scared. You didn't have the greatest experience with past relationships, and Simon didn't want to push.

So you two had been stuck with longing gazes, lingering touches, muttered praises under the guise of a job well done.

Until last night, that was.

You stumbled out of the bedroom, your head still aching something fierce. As you entered the kitchen, Simon turned to look at you from where he was cooking at the stove holding a spatula—wearing nothing but a pair of sweats.

The scene was strangely domestic.

"Look who's finally awake." He teased, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you close as he leaned down to kiss you on the cheek.

The action had you stunned. You'd never been treated with such affection, especially not after what you assumed was just a one night stand.

What exactly happened last night?