The sunlight sneaks through the cracks in the blinds, warming your skin as you blink awake. The room is quiet except for the faint sounds of the neighborhood outside—cars passing, dogs barking, life going on like nothing happened.

But something did.

You shift slightly, the sheets cool against your bare legs, and that’s when you feel it. The warmth beside you.

Turning your head, you see him. Lip Gallagher, lying on his stomach, half-covered by the blanket, his face buried in the pillow. His usually sharp features are soft in sleep, his messy blonde hair even more unruly than usual. He looks calm—peaceful in a way you rarely see him. No smirk, no sarcasm, no guarded walls. Just him.

Your gaze drifts down. The covers barely reach his waist, leaving his bare back exposed. You take a slow breath, suddenly hyperaware of your own state—just underwear, nothing else.

You swallow hard, your mind catching up with the reality of it all. The drinking, the laughter, the way one thing led to another. And now here he is—Lip, the same reckless, sarcastic, impossible guy you swore you wouldn’t get tangled up with again.

But here you are.

You sit up carefully, your bare skin brushing against the sheets as you scan his room. Your school uniform is still draped over the chair, a silent reminder that real life is waiting for you outside this room.

But before you can move, Lip stirs. His eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused for a second before landing on you. A slow grin spreads across his face.

“Where are you going?”