Sasha, Not Aleks

sixteen - new family

CORALINE

Getting drunk on a Tuesday night was beyond a shitty decision. I know that before I even peel open my eyes for the morning, sun beating in the window onto my stiff figure.

I'm warm, though, atomically warm. Like I've been sitting next to a furnace in a Texas summer, warm. Like if I so much as move a tiny bit I'm going to break into a full body sweat type of warm.

I was going to blame it on whatever material I'm laying on, but then I realized that said material is hard but a little squishy and has a breathing rhythm. And then I reconsidered, because there's no way I could generate that much heat on my own.

I groan, pushing myself off the body below me, checking to make sure he's wearing a shirt before going too far.

His head is tucked against his shoulder on the side of the couch, hair a mess, eyes still shut.

"Sash," I mumble, poking his stomach, "Sasha." My head is pounding.

He jumps a little with the third poke, yanking his head up and looking around, "what?"

"Please unwrap your leg from around mine, I need to pee." And probably shower.

"Hm?" he stretches out his legs anyway, which is instantly not a good thing because it shifts his hips upward and presses his morning wood against my thigh. I hop up pretty quickly after that, not exactly eager to deal with any of that.

"Can I use your shower?" I ask, pressing my hand into the side of my head.

"Go for it," he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, "I'll make something to eat."

"Thanks," I take his permission and walk toward his bathroom, eager to rinse alcohol sweat off my body.

The shower is surprisingly not all that confusing like most people's showers are, it's just a dial. On the other hand, his shower head is quite a lot higher than what I've seen normally but I suppose that's a product of his habitation here.

On the sides of the shower, he's got two bottles, one for shampoo and one for conditioner, thank god. There's even a bar of soap that looks well used and a facecloth as well. His shower score is much higher than most men I've been around.

That's a thing I like to check on when I meet someone new, girls with too much stuff in their shower are most likely a little nuts, some of them are insanely friendly, but they're all way over the top and intense about many things. It depends on your taste in friends with that. Men with too much stuff in their shower are absolutely unheard of and men without much in there are either sweet but smelly as hell, sweet but creepy, just plain creepy, or should still be living with their mothers. Normally it's all of those options.

Sasha's shampoo smells like cedar, which would explain why he smells like that too. His conditioner appears to be the same and is very much not made for my type of hair but it'll work until I can shower at my own house. His soap is very very standard and I appreciate it because I feel somewhat safe using it to wipe off my face as well as my body.

The only thing I don't mess around with is the facecloth, because it feels a tad too personal.

"Cora," he knocks on the door as I'm rinsing one last time, "towel and optional change of clothes are outside, I'm making omelets at whatever else I can think of."

"Thanks," I chirp back, shutting off the water.

He's smart with the spare clothes, though I don't know if I want to wear spares or deal with my own gross clothes from yesterday. At this point I have to go directly to the shop and his clothes might be weird as hell to show up in. Though not that bad if I can get in and get into my coveralls before they see me.