Thats Not my Neighbor. (Francis x y/n 1st person)

Checking In.

My head's pounding in rhythmic beats. I gain consciousness and realize my head is laid over Francis' chest, and my limbs are wrapping around his body. Oh, I hope I didn't do anything stupid or embarrassing last night.

I can't tell if my head is throbbing from a headache or if it's his heartbeat. I slowly rise, doing my best to not awaken him, and slump over to the other side. It's my head that's beating. Oh, man. That drink was worth it though.

My thoughts immediately lead to Francis, what did I plague him with last night? I vaguely remember anything after my second drink. Was it really that strong? I didn't really think it was. More sweet than strong. Maybe I'm wrong.

I turn my head to the left where Francis is lying. He's stiff as a board, i'm guessing he was awkward from my drunk ass getting all over him. The sheets and comforter are all disarrayed, jumbled around the bed, some falling off. 4 perfectly fine pillows are stacked against each other, leaning on the headboard of the bed. All of these pillows and I still decided to put Francis in the worst possible position.

Should I wake him up? He probably had a strange night and all. Does he work today? I can't remember. Oh, I work today. I work every day of the week. I have to get used to that. A few days was no biggie, but now i'm started to feel agitated from this new schedule.

The only way to find out if he works is to wake him up. He doesn't get much sleep anyway, so what's the deal? I'm overthinking this.

Last time it was so hard to wake him up. I'd say we're mutual friends now, sharing a bed and all, so I could try something a little less .. soft to wake him up.

I reach and grab onto one of the pillows, lifting it above me and through the air, smacking it down onto his chest with an audible thud.

No response. Oh man. He's actually getting on my nerves. I repeat the action over and over until he ... rolls over. Away from me. He didn't even wake up. I bet he could sleep through a nuclear bomb. I bet he could sleep through a doppelgänger forcing his way in and killing me.

I take a breath. Clearly I have to keep going. Again, again. Pillow soaring, smacking. I sit up to get a better grip on the cushion, throwing it down harder as I do.

"What're you doing?" He mumbles, holding his arms up defensively and clumsily, peaking his head over at me.

"Wake up." I say, but my voice doesn't come out as anything much higher than a croak. My voice has a raspy tone and I can feel my throat is scratchy. I put down the pillow, it's done its job well.

"Oh. Oh shit. I work today. It's Wednesday." He scrambles up and checks the time. "6:40. Crap. I'm late. You're late. Oh, man." Hearing the time makes me force myself up too, but I come up dizzy and wobbling.

He notices my unbalance and stops rushing, walking over to me and sitting me back down on the bed. "Go slower then me. You're hungover. ...I really need to go. But I don't want you getting hurt. Pace yourself, okay?" He says, like a worried mother.

"Yes, mom." I mumble, a smile forming on my face.

"Oh, shut it." He rolls his eyes and goes over to his wardrobe, opening one of the drawers and hastily grabbing his work uniform.

"Sorry, you just make it easy to tease you." I take my time in getting up, as to not trigger a reaction from Francis. He's too busy getting himself ready to realize i've snuck out to the bathroom.

I feel the wall for a switch and eventually find it. Standing in front of the mirror, I look at myself. I look like a mess. A homeless person, or a person who was out partying all night. But I wasn't. I don't feel any different — besides the hangover. I shrug and fix through my hair with my fingers. I don't think I took my shower last night, so I found the towel I used before and turned the water on.