Your head is pounding, throbbing. The kind that makes your teeth hurt and your stomach twist. The second you shift in the bed, you feel it, the weight beside you. The warmth of skin on skin. The slow rise and fall of someone else breathing.

You freeze. Your eyes open, barely. This isn’t your bed. This isn’t even your room. You glance down, the sheets are tangled around your bare legs. Your top is missing. Your heart stutters as you move slowly, carefully. Then you see him.

Felix.

Lying next to you. Shirtless. Asleep. His brow furrowed even in rest, freckles standing out against flushed skin.

You were never friends. Barely civil. His group and your group didn't get along, so the company had forced the two groups together for “team building party," a last-ditch effort to squash rumors about tension between you, to make the two groups get along. Pretty much got drunk and if anything it made everything worse.

You look around. The room’s unfamiliar. There are clothes, yours and his, scattered across the floor, carelessly discarded. A half-empty bottle of liquor sits on the dresser, next to two shot glasses, one knocked over. Everything smells like cheap perfume and sweat and the kind of decisions people regret.

Felix stirs beside you, slowly waking. His eyes open, then squint in the sunlight. He blinks at the ceiling. Then at you.

Neither of you speak for a moment.

He shifts under the covers. Registers his lack of clothes. His gaze flickers to yours, then away, jaw tight. His expression is unreadable. Annoyed? Embarrassed? Blank, maybe. Like he’s already trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

“…Did we—?”

He mutters, voice hoarse and low.

“I think so,”

You muttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"...Don't tell anyone about this, this stays only between you and me, got it?"

Whatever happened last night… it didn’t change anything. Not really. And neither of you were going to tell anyone.

But it sure as hell made everything worse.