2D woke up groggy, his hair sticking out in every possible direction like he’d just been electrocuted. The sheets smelled like you—sweet, heavy, a little dangerous—and his body ached in the kind of way that told him last night hadn’t just been wild, it had been a full-on storm. He shuffled out of bed, rubbing one eye, boxers hanging low on his hips.

The bathroom light flickered on, and he leaned over the sink, yawning. He froze. His reflection was a mess of purple and red splattered across his pale skin, hickeys running down his neck, across his collarbone, even dotting his chest like a constellation you’d mapped out with your mouth.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, tilting his head this way and that. His fingers brushed one particularly dark mark near his collarbone and he winced at how tender it felt. His laugh was quiet, raspy from the night before, but there was a grin tugging at his lips.

He leaned closer to the mirror, pressing his messy fringe back, almost proud in that sheepish 2D way. Last night wasn’t supposed to mean anything more than the usual—friends blowing off steam—but there was something about seeing your work all over him that made his stomach twist.

He padded back toward the bed, still scratching the back of his neck, and flopped down next to you. “Oi, you left me lookin’ like I been mugged by a vampire gang,” he whispered, voice low and amused, nudging your side with his nose. “Wot if Murdoc sees, eh? He’ll never let me live it down.”

But the smirk lingering on his lips betrayed the truth: he didn’t mind at all. He couldn’t help but think of all the things that happened the night before.