Riding My (t.h. x female reader)

Eleven - Rendez-vous (Y)

10k, warnings: fluff;

summary: after a fun night with the pack, you try to ease through the next day despite the mixed signs that chance keeps throwing at you.

☆

Mid December

Temples panging. Eyelids heavy. Mouth dry. The first symptoms you notice upon waking up are worrying enough. And then you realize you're on the wrong side of the bed. You try to see why through a half flicker of your eyes, but they barely move. It's clear that it's the wrong one when you reach out for the edge of the mattress, but it's not clear how you ended up here.

With a deeper inhale, you bury your face into the fluffy pillow beneath your head and wait for the deep haze to pass. Last night is still a bit of blur, but you do remember some details. You remember dinnertime, going out with the boys, their girlfriends and even your roommate Dylan to some sort of French fine-dining restaurant. It was fun, but it included a long tasting menu with accompanying wines and as far as you remember, you were out of it before you even left the place. Whatever came after got buried under layers of laughter and fog.

Which is why you don't question your state right now.

Only your location.

Harrison, Tuwaine, and his girlfriend came back home with you and let you convince them for a night of Jenga. Sky was the first to cave to sleep, Tuwaine escorting her upstairs with a mumbled goodnight thrown over his shoulder, then Harrison challenged you to a final game and you didn't feel like saying no. In the end, you stayed in the living room with him for another hour or so, going through a few beers and a round of twenty silly questions about each other. You don't remember much of what was asked and said, but you remember laughing a lot.

It was a good night despite the foggy memories. But it's too bad that your head is blowing up like crazy right now and that your nose is stuffed as though you haven't slept for long enough.

You finally manage to squeeze one eye open, trying to figure out how bad it really is, when you notice that this isn't even your bed. You're used to the cozy single in your flat, with the fluffy sheets and a heavy comforter, no pillowcase, and this isn't it. It also isn't Tom's bed because when you look around what would be his side, you don't see the fireplace nor the doors to the closet and the bathroom. There are two tall chests of drawers instead, several family photos on top and not a single Spider-Man reference. Definitely not Tom's.

Unable to confirm how early it is since your phone is nowhere in sight, you focus on sitting up. Slowly. Letting the weight settle around your temples, fighting the urge to close your eyelids, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. And noticing that you're in a pair of boxer shorts and an old jumper.

"Hm."

When you throw both legs over the edge of the bed and look around, you confirm that you're in Harrison's room. It doesn't make any sense. The images aren't clear, but you're sure you went to sleep in Tom's bed. Because why would you go to sleep anywhere else? No matter how close you are with Harrison, it's not like you've ever shared a bed with him, yet judging by the disarrayed state of the bedding behind you, you didn't sleep alone last night.

So you stroll out of the room, down the silent hall and into Tom's, finding the bed covers pushed back. On your side of the bed. Which makes even less sense.

"What the heck—"

Hand scratching the side of your head, you ignore the stream of questions in your mind and go check the time on your phone. It's still on the bedside table and when you double tap the screen, you realize how early it is. 9.08 am. Awfully early after two nights out with the pack and their lack of restrictions when it comes to alcohol.