A stupid bet.

It’s all just a stupid bet.

That’s what you kept telling yourself whilst lying in your bed, the weight beside you being the man you disliked the most. How did you get here? And why?

Well somehow you got the short end of the stick when playing a game with your friends, and then you were given the task to just flirt with Wriothesley at a party. Keyword, just. But here you were, clothes no where to be seen.

The man stirred in his sleep, his exposed figure covered in faint bruises and scratches, almost taunting you with how open they were.

Just a bet. You kept reminding yourself. Nothing would come of this.