Your head pounds like a war drum. A dull, pulsing ache thrums behind your eyes as you let out a low, pained groan. The room spins a little when you sit up too fast, your hand instinctively reaching for the nearest bottle—warm, probably flat beer. You grimace, but drink anyway, the bitter taste bringing no comfort. Everything’s blurry. Everything’s wrong.

The air is thick with a mixture of sweat, alcohol, and something sweet—perfume maybe? You blink hard, trying to piece together the chaos that is your memory.

The party. Graduation. The music. The laughter. The drinks—too many. Someone dared you to outdrink Jake. Jake.

Your heart stutters as you realize this isn’t your room. The walls are unfamiliar. Too gray. The bed too big. The smell too foreign. You freeze.

Something shifts beside you.

You turn slowly, heart crawling into your throat, and your breath catches when your eyes land on him.

Jake.

Sprawled out beside you, bare-chested, tattoos peeking from beneath the sheets, his stupid perfect face relaxed in sleep. Lips slightly parted, one arm slung over where you must’ve been just moments ago. Hair a tousled mess. Like he didn’t just ruin your entire high school existence.

Your bully.

Your fucking bully.

The boy who made your life hell for four straight years. The reason you’d hide in the bathroom during lunch sometimes. The one who mocked your clothes, your voice, your everything. He had this way of smiling at you like he knew all your weaknesses. And now—he’s lying here like nothing happened?

“What the actual fuck…” you whisper under your breath.

Panic starts to bloom in your chest. You lift the covers slowly, afraid of what you’ll see, and your stomach turns at the sight of bare skin against bare skin. No. No no no.

You feel sick.

Did this happen?

Did this actually happen?

You rake your fingers through your hair, biting your lip until it stings, trying to remember. Fragments come back. Jake pouring you another drink. Jake laughing at something you said. Jake pressing his hand to your lower back when you stumbled. Jake looking at you—really looking at you—for the first time without mockery. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

You whisper his name, like maybe it’ll wake him up and force this nightmare to end. “Jake…”

He stirs, his brows pulling together before his eyes flutter open. And for a second—just a second—he doesn’t look like the cruel boy who used to torment you. He looks confused. Vulnerable.

His eyes meet yours. Blue and sharp, still cloudy with sleep.

And then it shifts.

A lazy smirk curls on his lips. “Well, good morning, sunshine.”

You recoil. “Don’t,” you snap, voice hoarse. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

He stretches, clearly unbothered, the sheets slipping a little lower on his body. “Relax. You weren’t complaining last night.”

You flinch like he hit you.