Your head throbbed as you sat up in bed, the dull ache behind your eyes a cruel reminder of the night before. You groaned, pressing your palms to your temples, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. The tequila, the music, the laughter. You remembered being angry, furious even, after the fight with Aaron. He’d been such a jerk, and drinking had felt like the only escape.

The sound of running water pulled you from your thoughts. The shower. Aaron must have come back at some point, you thought, relief mingling with residual irritation. You glanced around the unfamiliar room, your confusion deepening. This wasn’t your place, and it definitely wasn’t Aaron’s. The realization sent a jolt of panic through you.

The bathroom door creaked open, and you turned toward it, a tentative smile forming on your lips. “Aaron?” you called softly, hoping for some semblance of normalcy.

But it wasn’t Aaron who stepped out. It was Charles. Charles Leclerc. Your friend. Aaron’s friend. His dark hair was damp, droplets of water trailing down his toned chest as he stood there, a towel slung low around his waist. His expression shifted from casual to startled as his eyes met yours.

“Shit.” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Charles blinked, clearly just as caught off guard as you were. “Uh... morning?” he said, his voice hesitant, as if unsure how to navigate the situation.