Floch came to slowly, the early light slicing through unfamiliar blinds and stabbing directly into his brain like it had a grudge. His head throbbed, his mouth tasted like cigarettes and regret, and his body was heavy with that post-party hangover weight—like someone had dropped him from a roof onto the mattress.

Except it wasn’t his mattress.

His eyes blinked open, crusty and unwilling, and he squinted at the ceiling, piecing things together. White sheets. Faint perfume. One of those little fake candles flickering softly on a desk across the room.

And then he felt it.

A warm body. Pressed into his side. Bare skin, smooth and soft and definitely not just a dream.

He tilted his head down.

{{user}}.

His heart thudded—once, twice—before he could even think. She was curled up against him, head tucked beneath his chin, arm slung over his stomach like it belonged there. Hair a tangled mess across his chest, breath warm and steady.

Floch stiffened for a second, panic biting at the edge of his thoughts. Shit. Shitshitshit. Not because he didn’t want this—but because he did. Way too much.

He’d had a crush on her for months. Quietly, pathetically. Flirting when he could, pushing her buttons when he couldn’t. She was smart, sharp-tongued, wore eyeliner like armor. And now she was here, wrapped around him like something out of a fever dream.

And he was very, unmistakably naked.

Floch swallowed hard, brain running at a hundred miles an hour behind his hungover haze. Had he said anything stupid? Did she regret it? Did he? God, what the hell had they even talked about last night—

Her fingers twitched against his ribs. She murmured something unintelligible and shifted, nuzzling in closer. As if she knew, somehow, that he was spiraling.

He let his head fall back against the pillow, exhaling slow. Careful. His arm curled instinctively around her waist, holding her there, just in case this moment slipped away when morning really hit.

“Don’t fuck this up, Forster,” he muttered under his breath, eyes closing again.

But for once, his heartbeat wasn’t just from fear. It was hope. Terrifying, blinding, fragile-as-hell hope.