luck for the night - rl.

7. the end of something.

"Fuck," I groaned, a sharp pain shooting through my lower back. I was in the middle of turning from one side to another when my body decided to violently wake me up like this.

Did my back hurt because I had been laying in a shitty hotel bed, god knows how many people already had slept on this mattress, or because of what happened last night?

Memories flashed in my brain. Remington crawling in between my legs, his dark eyes boring into mine. His teeth nibbling on my lower lip as I sat on top of him, his moans vibrating against my mouth. Our voices uniting as our bodies moved together, hearts beating in the same rhythm. Showering together afterwards, his steamy lips finding mine more than once.

I groaned again as I lay down on my back. Chills bit into my skin, and when I opened my eyes, I could clearly see why. Strands of dark, messy hair were sticking out of what I could only explain as a giant Remington burrito. He had fully wrapped himself in the blanket, leaving only a tiny bit for me to lie under.

I did not know what he would do if I woke him up right now, and I did not want to find out.  He either could act as if nothing happened, gather his stuff, say his goodbyes and leave, that's what usually happened when I invited someone back to my place. Or he could stay, making it an awkward encounter for the both of us.

The shitty thing was that I woke up before him, not giving him the chance to leave without me ever knowing. That would have been better.

What was I going to do now?

I slowly sat up, looking at what I was wearing. A sigh rolled over my lips. Apparently, my drunk self thought it was an amazing idea to sleep in the only other clean shirt I had brought, meaning today I either had to wear a way too slutty dress when I took the train home to Bristol or yesterday's white button-up that was crumpled up on the floor of the room somewhere. Where did my Slytherin shirt go? I looked around the room and the bed, but it was nowhere to be seen.

I tip-toed through the room, looking for the little handbag Mel had loaned me yesterday. I wasn't sure what time it was, the only thing I knew was that the sun was happily shining through the window because of course, yesterday night we had not properly closed the curtains.

Another sigh left my lips as my phone lit up, proudly showing that it was six thirty in the morning and that I hadn't even slept for four hours. Combined with the night before, a total of eight hours. And since today was a Friday, I'd have to work late tonight...

I decided to go back to bed, and after closing the curtains I lay down under the tissue-sized part of the blanket that was available to me. I closed my eyes. I really, really needed some more sleep.

I tossed and turned for a while, my body starting to feel heavy again, my brain not so much. It felt like someone had flipped a switch in my head, making it go wild with worry in there. About work, about how garbage I felt right now, but mostly about the beautiful stranger next to me, and what would happen when he woke up.

After an hour, I decided to just get up.

I grabbed the electric kettle from the little deks they have in every hotel room, going to the bathroom to fill it up.

When I came back,  the Remington burrito moved. I stopped in my tracks, not knowing what to do. But as a soft snore rose from the pile of sheets, I relaxed. He was just turning around, still asleep.

Moving as quietly as I could, I passed his side of the bed, grabbed my backpack, and took two bags of my favourite morning tea from the front pocket. I put one in a cup, and with a sigh, sat down on the chair across from the bed.

If Remington woke up right now, he would probably think I was some creep, looking at him while he was sleeping, over my cup of tea. I should probably make a bit of noise, before taking off to the bathroom for a shower, so he would be awake and gone before I was done.