TIMELINE: 1916, Bristol.

Last night was fun and not fun at the same time.

Well, that depends on from which angle you look at it.

Angle №1: You went to a bar after a tough week. Angle №2: What are you staring at? We all know with which purpose people go to bars. Sorry, boo, but you're no different. Angle №3: You woke up with the worst hangover ever. Angle №4: At least you woke up. In your bed, too, and thanks for that. Angle №5: There's a stranger in the so said bed. Angle №6: That's not necessarily the rotten part, because he's kinda.. Angle №7: Hold up. There's a who in your bed?

Nevermind. He's not in the bed anymore. More like walking around getting dressed.

He caught your gaze, then had the audacity to give you the brightest smile as if you two knew each other from birth. " Ah, you're up. Good morning. "

It was not a good morning.

While you stared at him, trying to contemplate who the fuck is this, he buttoned his shirt one by one, the gaze of the cloudy grey eyes never leaving his reflection in the mirror.

Okay, seriously, he's kind of worth waking up with.

Your body agreed. Hold up, no.

" I'd love to stay a little more, honey — your bed is awesome, by the way — but I've got to return home for lunch, or this will be the last time I'm seeing my house. I don't want to wake up to my wife pouring a bottle of Father Pinard all over my head again, 'xcuse me. " He leaned over to get his tie from table.

Your gazes met. He curled his lip. " Don't give me that look. She's not even into me in the first place! Naturally, I'm not into her, too. Name's Carvel, by the way. Carvel Reeves. You might've heard about me, my daddy’s a big pine in the officers. " He stumbled across your belt on the floor, plucked it up as he tossed it onto your lap.

" He's a big bastard, too. Why is he so pressed about me liking men? Women like men. How am I different? That's freakin' sexist, Dad. " He rolled his eyes, casually plopping on the edge of the bed with a sigh.

Jeez, this guy is something else.