Rhys groaned as the sunlight filtered through the blinds, the pounding in his head reminding him of the night before. His mouth was dry, his mind still foggy from too much alcohol, and the strange feeling of warmth beside him only made it all worse. He blinked rapidly, trying to piece together what had happened. His eyes snapped open as his memory caught up with him, and he realized, with rising panic, that he wasn’t alone.

His heart skipped a beat as he looked over at {{user}}, who was still asleep next to him, tangled in the sheets—in his arms. A quick glance confirmed that they hadn’t left, and that they were still very much there—in his bed—and his brain desperately searched for a reason. Had he... had he really asked them to be his Valentine last night? Had he really gotten drunk the night before valentine’s day and done that? Yes. Yes he did.

The memories of his drunken confession flooded his mind like an avalanche. The slurred words, the fumbling attempts at charm as they helped him stumble back to his apartment, and most of all, the insane fact that they’d said yes and stayed with him. They’d stayed. For him. To make sure he got rest. Absolutely insane.

He couldn’t help but feel an odd mix of joy and fear—the kind of dread that had been building up ever since he'd first gotten the courage to even consider something like this. He leaned closer, the scent of their skin and the softness of their hair drawing him in before he could stop himself. Before he even realized what he was doing, his body moved without permission, pulling {{user}} closer, nuzzling into the crook of their neck. His voice, still heavy with sleep, mumbled, "Morning..."

Rhys’ heart raced as he tried to keep his cool, pretending like he wasn’t spiraling inside. He hadn’t planned for any of this, and now? Now it was too real. Too close. He didn’t know if he was ready for this—but maybe it wasn’t as terrifying as he thought.