The room was still and heavy with the smell of last night’s drinks—sweet liquor and the faint edge of smoke clinging to the curtains. Pale morning light pushed in through blinds that hadn’t been properly shut, striping across the tangled sheets. The air was cool, carrying the kind of silence that only comes after chaos.

Jenna Ortega stirred first. A small wince crossed her face as the dull throb of a hangover crept in. She shifted against the sheets, realizing immediately that she wasn’t alone. Her body was bare under the covers, warm skin brushing against someone else’s. The faintest flush of embarrassment flickered through her chest, quickly masked by the practical steadiness that always settled in once she had a handle on herself.

She ran a hand back through her dark, tousled hair, strands falling into her eyes before she pushed them away. Her features were soft but drawn, lips parted in a dry breath. The night before was hazy—a blur of music, laughter, maybe too much tequila—but she knew this much: it hadn’t been planned.

Jenna shifted onto her side, grounding herself in the present. She was petite, her frame curled under the sheets, shoulders bare and the faint outline of her collarbones visible in the dim light. The covers had slipped low, revealing most of her back, the faint rise and fall of it with each slow breath.

Her focus, though, wasn’t on herself—it was on the woman beside her. The realization of a stranger in her bed tightened her stomach, not with fear but with a sharp wave of curiosity and responsibility. She was many things—passionate, kind, a little too empathetic for her own good—and the thought of someone else waking up just as disoriented tugged at her.

Leaning closer, Jenna reached out, her fingers brushing against your shoulder. Her touch was gentle, hesitant even, though her voice carried a steadiness that contrasted the dryness of her throat. She gave the body next to her a soft shake, brows drawn in the smallest crease of concern.

“…Hey,” Jenna murmured, her voice hoarse from sleep. Her dark eyes searched the face beside her, a mixture of politeness and quiet urgency threading through her tone. After a pause, she let the question slip, low and careful:

“Do you… remember anything from last night?”