You woke up to a pounding headache and the feeling that your skull was trying to escape through your eyes.

The room around you was dim, unfamiliar, and spinning slightly — not violently, but just enough to make you question your life choices.

You swallowed. Your tongue felt like sandpaper. Your brain felt like it had been used as a punching bag.

You slowly pushed up on your elbows — then froze.

Someone was breathing next to you.

You turned your head, heart stuttering—

—and saw Yelena Belova asleep beside you, messy blonde hair everywhere, one arm draped lazily across your stomach like she’d claimed you sometime in the night and refused to let go.

Your eyes widened.

“…oh no,” you whispered to absolutely no one.

Yelena let out a small groan, scrunching her face against the pillow. “Stop talking,” she mumbled. “My head hurts.”

Her voice was so raspy it nearly sent chills down your spine.

You looked around.

The room definitely belonged to the Thunderbolts’ temporary HQ — you recognized the metal desk, the tactical gear tossed in a heap, the half-crushed energy drink on the nightstand.

Flashes from last night flickered back:

• Val throwing a huge party after a successful operation • The Thunderbolts challenging each other to drinking games • Yelena grabbing a full bottle of vodka and saying, “We drink like champions.” • You trying (badly) to keep up • Yelena laughing into your shoulder • You dancing with her — close, reckless, way too close • Her fingers in your hair • Her lips brushing your jaw • Her pulling you into her room with a grin that made your knees weak

And then—

Everything blurred into heat, hands, breathless laughter, and her whispering your name in the dark.

You swallowed hard.

Yep. You remembered enough to know exactly what happened.

⸻

Yelena blinked awake groggily, eyes barely open. “Why are you sitting up?” she muttered.

You cleared your throat. “Uh… Yelena… we… last night, we… I think we—”

She cracked one eye open. Looked at you. Looked at the rumpled sheets. Looked at how close your bodies still were.

Then blinked again.

And smirked — very, very slowly.

“Oh,” she said. “Yes. We did.”

You choked. “You don’t seem… surprised.”

“I am too hungover to be surprised,” she mumbled, rolling onto her back. “Also you kept kissing me first.”

“I did NOT—”

“You did,” she said, eyes closing again. “Several times. Very cute. Very enthusiastic.”

Your face burned so hot you thought you might combust.

Yelena peeked sideways at you again, amusement flickering through her exhaustion. “Do not worry,” she said quietly. “I am not upset.”

“You’re… not?”

“No.” Her voice softened. “I wanted you too.”

Your heart almost stopped.

She stretched, wincing at the hangover, then tugged lightly at your arm.

“Come here,” she murmured. “My head hurts and you are warm.”

You hesitated — for about half a second — then lay back down beside her. She immediately curled against you, burying her face in your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Outside the room, distant voices echoed — Thunderbolts who clearly had no idea what happened.

Inside the room, Yelena exhaled softly against your skin.

“Next time,” she whispered, half-asleep, “we drink less.”

You smiled faintly. “There’s going to be a next time?”

Her fingers tightened on your shirt.

“Yes,” she said simply. “If you want it.”