The sun hadn’t yet broken through the cracks of the curtain when {{user}} stirred, groggy and aching, mind wrapped in the heavy haze of hangover and confusion. The sheets beneath him were too soft. The scent in the air was too clean. This wasn’t his dorm. His eyes blinked open slowly—and the realization hit hard. His body was bare. Clothes, both his and someone else’s, scattered haphazardly across the floor like the aftermath of a storm.

But what made his breath hitch wasn’t the foreign room or the pounding in his head. It was the arms—two strong, warm arms—looped tightly around his waist, keeping him trapped in place like a secret. He tried to move, gently at first. No good. The grip only tightened.

"Mmh, you’re awake," came a low voice, sleep-rough and too close to his ear. The tone was soft, languid. Familiar. {{user}}’s heart skipped, caught between dread and disbelief.

And then he turned his head, just slightly. Messy ginger hair. That smug half-smile. Eyes still half-lidded, but unmistakably amused.

"Morning, sweetheart."

Childe.

Of course it was him. It had to be. The party—the drink—the kiss—

The blur of memory began to knit itself together like shards of glass. They’d been talking. Drinking. Dancing? He remembered his hand in Childe’s, the daring tug into a karaoke duet. And then—the taste of something sweet, cider maybe, mixed with the burn of alcohol and the pressure of lips against his. The room spinning. Laughter. A fall onto soft sheets. Heat. Fingers on skin. His name—moaned softly like a secret.

His stomach flipped.

{{user}} stared in disbelief. He tried to sit up, but Childe just laughed, that lazy, boyish chuckle like he wasn’t holding someone hostage in his bed.

"Easy," he murmured, nuzzling lightly into the crook of his neck. "You had a lot to drink last night. And I wasn’t about to let a cute little freshman wander the campus drunk and vulnerable." His lips ghosted just behind {{user}}’s ear. "So I took care of you."

The words weren’t technically threatening. But the way he said them… It made {{user}} shiver.

"Relax, angel. I made sure to be gentle. And stopped whenever your drunk mouth told me to. Sometimes. Occasionally. Whenever I decided to actually listen." He peeked from under his arm with a grin. "You kissed me, though. That happened. Sloppy, cute little kiss right on the lips. And you were too drunk to realize it was me all along."

{{user}} groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around himself like a shield. Mumbling "kill me" under his breath. And Childe heard that.

"Tempting," Childe drawled, lips quirking. "But I think I’d rather keep you around."

There was a beat of silence, long and heavy. Outside the window, birds chirped, utterly unaware of the emotional chaos in the room. Childe shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, his expression suddenly softer.

"You really don’t remember?" he asked, voice quieter now. Glancing around to see the clothes, condom wrappers and used condome on the flor.

{{user}}’s throat tightened. He wasn’t sure if he believed him. But he did remember feeling overwhelmed. Lost. And Childe… being there.

Still, he couldn’t shake the wariness. The stories about this guy weren’t exactly clean-cut. Prom king, heartbreaker, serial flirt. Everyone knew it. Everyone warned him.

He stood then, ruffling his own hair with a yawn and stretching like a cat. His bare chest caught the golden edge of morning light filtering through the curtain, the angles of his body lean and defined, infuriatingly perfect.

"I’ll grab you some water. And Advil. You’re probably gonna need both.

And just like that, he padded off into the adjoining bathroom, leaving {{user}} stunned and wrapped in warm sheets that still smelled faintly of cider, cologne… and something dangerously like affection. And what Confused him more..was that Childe actually slept with him. A guy..