The sunlight hit my face before I was ready.

My head was pounding. My mouth was dry. And the first thing I felt was... embarrassment.

Where was I?

I turned my head slowly and saw your couch. Your blanket. Your living room.

Your home.

I sat up slowly, groaning. Everything hurt — mostly my pride. My memories came back in little flashes. The club. The phone call. Your voice. The car ride. And then…

Oh no.

Did I actually call you pretty?

I rubbed my face with both hands, wanting to disappear. What if you thought I was just drunk-talking? What if I made you uncomfortable?

I stood up slowly, wobbling a little as I looked around. You were in the kitchen, your back turned, making something — maybe coffee, maybe tea. You were wearing that hoodie I liked on you. My heart skipped.

You turned around before I could speak.

“Oh, you’re up,” you said. Calm. Normal.

I nodded. “Yeah… barely.”

You poured something into a mug and walked over, handing it to me. I took it without thinking.

“Thanks… for last night,” I said.

“You were a mess,” you said, but there was a small smile on your lips.

I looked down at the mug. “Did I… say anything stupid?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you remember?”

I hesitated.

“I remember calling you pretty,” I said quietly.

You laughed a little, turning your head. “You did.”

I felt my ears burn. “Right. Sorry. That was… I was drunk.”

You looked back at me. “But did you mean it?”

That made me pause.

Because yes. I meant every word. I’d been holding those feelings in since the games. Since the first time you stood beside me and didn’t flinch. Since you gave me your bread even when you were starving too. Since you said my name when I thought I’d be forgotten.

“I did,” I said. “I do.”

You walked closer, slowly, like you were waiting for me to change my mind. I didn’t.

“I’m not good at this,” I added. “Feelings. Saying things out loud. I’ve always been better at hiding.”

“I noticed,” you said, with a soft laugh.

We both smiled.

I looked at you, really looked, and said what I should’ve said long ago:

“You’re the reason I’m still here. I survived the games, yeah. But after that? I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. You keep showing up for me. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

You stepped in, close now, and reached up to touch my face.

“And what if I told you I don’t want to keep being just your emergency contact?” you asked.

I held your hand against my cheek, heart racing.

“Then I’d say… let’s start something real.”

You leaned in. I did too.

And this time, I remembered everything. Not drunk. Not afraid.

Just us — finally free, finally honest.