Something About Us

Heather's head throbbed, a dull ache that pulsed behind her eyes. She groaned, the sound muffled by the soft pillow she instinctively clutched. The lingering warmth was a welcome comfort, and she drifted back towards sleep, only to find the pillow was far too firm.

Rhys's limbs felt heavy, pleasantly so. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so deeply, so peacefully. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and for a disorienting moment, he didn't recognize the room. Then, he felt it—the soft curve of a body pressed against his. His breath hitched. It wasn't a pillow. It was Heather. Her face was buried in his chest, her legs tangled with his. A wave of heat flushed through him, and he cursed inwardly. He had to get out of here.

Heather's finger twitched behind him, and he stiffened. Where was his shirt? He scanned the room, finding his clothes and Heather's discarded top on the floor. Heather's top? A knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach. He carefully lifted the blanket, confirming his worst fear: she was only in her underwear.

"It's cold..." Heather murmured, shifting closer, her breath warm against his chest. "Warm..."

Rhys held his breath, his heart pounding. He felt the rise and fall of her chest against him, and a surge of unwanted desire coursed through him. He had to look away, had to remember they were friends.

Heather's eyes fluttered open. A man's chest. Not a pillow. Rhys. Panic flared, and she scrambled back, pushing him off the bed with a startled cry. He landed with a thud, his eyes wide and disoriented.

"Rhys?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What... what are you doing here?"

Her gaze dropped, and her cheeks burned. She was naked, or nearly so. The blanket, her only shield, was clutched tightly to her chest. Her eyes darted to the floor, where her bra and top lay tangled with Rhys's clothes. A wave of heat flushed through her, and she cursed inwardly. Stupid, stupid girl.

"What the...?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and mortification. "What the heck are you doing in my room? In your boxers?"

Rhys scrambled to his feet, his face flushed. "I... I fell asleep. I was waiting for you to fall asleep, and I guess I drifted off."

"Drifted off?" Heather's voice rose, though she kept it hushed. "Without a shirt? And you let me sleep without a top?"

He picked up her clothes and his. "I don't remember taking them off," he said, handing her the clothes. "Here. I'll turn around. Just... get dressed."

Heather grabbed the clothes, her eyes still wide with disbelief. "If you dare turn around," she warned, "I will kill you."

He turned, the image of her flushed and vulnerable burned into his mind. He watched her reflection in the mirror, the way her shoulders trembled as she pulled on her clothes. He looked away, his conscience pricking him.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice low. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Heather finished dressing, her movements stiff. "It's fine," she said, though her voice betrayed her unease. "It's... awkward, but we didn't do anything."

"Yeah," Rhys agreed, but the unspoken tension hung heavy in the air.

"I shouldn't have drunk so much," Heather muttered, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "I feel like an idiot."

"Don't," Rhys said. "It was an accident."

The smell of bacon wafted up from downstairs. "Breakfast," Heather said, a flicker of relief in her eyes. "Come on. Might as well eat before you go."

Downstairs, Aunt Maggie's eyes twinkled. "Good morning, you two. Slept well, Rhys?"

"Good morning Auntie Maggie." Rhys replied.

"Yeah, fine," Heather said, avoiding her aunt's gaze.

"So, are you two official now?" Aunt Maggie teased.

"What? No!" Heather said, a little too quickly.

"As if." Rhys retorted, but a flicker of something unreadable passed across his face.

"Now, now," Tony said, patting Rhys's shoulder. "Let's eat."

The meal was a tense affair, punctuated by awkward silences and forced laughter. Heather and Rhys exchanged glances, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension between them.