Sky

Even the name used to echo through the hallways back in high school. The quiet one. The effortlessly popular one. He never tried, never chased attention—yet it followed him anyway. Girls gravitated toward him like moths to a flame, whispering, laughing, hoping for a glance he rarely gave.

You never figured out how you felt about him.

Was it a crush? Curiosity? Or just irritation born from seeing him everywhere without even trying? You remember rolling your eyes when another girl clung to his arm, pretending you didn’t notice the way he stayed calm, distant—unbothered.

Time passed. Life moved on.

---

Now, consciousness returns in fragments.

Your head throbs the moment you wake up, a dull, relentless ache pulsing behind your eyes. Your mouth feels dry, your body heavy, limbs tangled in sheets that are far too soft to be your own. The faint scent of alcohol still lingers in the air, mixed with something unfamiliar—clean, warm, undeniably human.

You blink slowly, squinting against the morning light filtering through partially drawn curtains.

This isn’t your room.

Your breath catches as the realization settles in. The furniture is wrong. The ceiling unfamiliar. Your heart picks up, confusion cutting through the haze of your hangover. You shift slightly—and freeze.

There’s warmth beside you.

You turn your head, pulse pounding, and there he is.

Sky.

He’s lying on his side, facing you, features relaxed in sleep. No crowd. No noise. No girls hanging off his arms. Just him—quiet, unguarded, breathing evenly as if this is the most natural place in the world to be. Morning light softens his sharp edges, brushing over his lashes, the faint rise and fall of his chest steady and calm.

For a moment, all you can do is stare.

Memories of last night refuse to line up, leaving only flashes—music, laughter, clinking glasses, his voice closer than you remember it ever being.

And now, you’re here.

Waking up next to the one person you never quite understood—and maybe never stopped thinking about.