The morning light filters through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. You’re lying in AJ’s bed, wearing his shirt and nothing else beneath.

The faint smell of him lingers in the fabric, mixing with the aftermath of last night.

The shower runs in the background, the steady sound oddly soothing as you stretch out, still feeling the buzz of the party.

You try not to think too much, but the anxiety creeps in. Things feel too good, too easy, and you know it might not last. But with AJ, it almost feels like it could.

The hunger in your stomach breaks through the quiet.

You shift restlessly, then call out, “Hey, AJ! Can I go downstairs and make eggs?” Your voice rises above the sound of the shower.

His voice comes back, muffled but soft. “Yeah, go ahead. Just… don’t burn anything, okay?”

You smile, rolling your eyes at his usual concern. “I won’t,” you call back, grabbing the edge of the shirt and sliding out of bed.

Your bare feet meet the cool floor, and you move toward the stairs, the thought of eggs grounding you in the moment.