Josh’s eyes snapped open.

His head was pounding like he’d spent the night inside a microwave, and the ceiling above him was… way too white. Way too clean. This wasn’t his room. This wasn’t even close to his room. Where were the old posters, the pizza boxes, the faint smell of disappointment?

He sat up slowly, disoriented. The sheets were soft—fancy even. The room was sleek, modern, nothing like anything he’d ever owned in his life. There was a photo on the nightstand. He blinked at it. It was him—smiling, with his arm around… you.

He stared at the picture for a long second, then heard it—footsteps. You were coming down the hall.

Panic. Confusion. Curiosity.

Then you walked in, dressed like you lived here, like it was just another morning. And the way you looked at him—affectionate, warm, familiar—made his stomach twist. Not in a bad way. Just in a “holy shit, what is this reality?” kind of way.

“Hey,” you said, walking over and brushing hair from his forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You okay? You looked out of it.”

Josh blinked. “Uh… yeah. Yeah. Just, uh… weird dream. Very… sci-fi.” He offered a shaky smile, trying not to freak out. “Just trying to recalibrate.”

You leaned down and kissed his forehead. A kiss. A real kiss. His heart nearly stopped.

He didn’t know this world. But apparently, you knew him. Or at least, the version of him called Joosh.

He swallowed hard, looking up at you. “So, just to clarify… we’re, like—together?” he asked, voice low, uncertain.

You laughed gently, as if he were being silly. “Of course we are. What’s gotten into you?”

He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes yet. “Nothing. Just… really happy to see you.”

And in that moment—watching you move around the room like you’d done it a hundred times before, comfortable, close—Josh felt something strange. Safe. Seen. Wanted.

Maybe this wasn’t his timeline. But if you were in it… maybe it wasn’t so bad.