What the hell happened?

Your head throbbed, the dull ache of a hangover pounding behind your eyes. The smell of cigarette smoke and faint cologne lingered in the air, and when you shifted slightly, you realized there was an arm—his arm—wrapped firmly around your waist.

Vance Hopper.

The infamous bad boy himself was curled against you, head resting on your chest like he belonged there. His breathing was slow, almost peaceful, a sharp contrast to the chaos of the last time you’d seen him.

You racked your memory. The last clear moment was stepping into that party last night—loud music, flashing lights—and catching sight of Vance across the room. Everything after that blurred into half-formed flashes: his smirk, the taste of beer, a messy kiss in some shadowed corner… then nothing.

You and Vance had always been… complicated. Something. Not quite together, but not strangers either. Casual encounters that always ended with you walking away before morning, until that stupid fight months ago that left you both ignoring each other completely.

And yet… here you were.

You tried to shift again, but his grip tightened instinctively, pulling you closer. His face stayed relaxed, but even asleep, Vance had that unconscious possessiveness, like letting go wasn’t an option.

You swallowed hard. You didn’t want to wake him—not because you were scared of the physical Vance everyone else knew, but because you had a bad feeling about the other Vance. The one who might look at you with those quiet eyes and make you remember why you’d ever wanted him in the first place.