𝐌𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 | f. w

7.

I woke with a start, my eyelids heavy as I slowly became aware of my surroundings. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. My head throbbed with a dull ache, a reminder of the drinks from last night at The Laughing Hippogriff. As I turned, my gaze fell on Fred lying beside me, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. His tousled red hair and relaxed expression softened the shock coursing through me.

Memories flooded back—laughter, shared drinks, and the comforting familiarity of Fred's company. But now, in the sober light of morning, I felt a surge of disbelief and regret. How had I let this happen? Alcohol-induced recklessness had led me here, to Fred's bed, a place I never imagined I'd find myself.

I sat up slowly, the sheets slipping off my shoulders as I tried to gather my thoughts. The room was simple yet cozy, with mismatched furniture and a few scattered books on the nightstand. The air was still, save for the soft sounds of morning outside the window.

Looking down at Fred, his peaceful demeanor starkly contrasted with the turmoil in my mind. What would he think of me now? Would this change our working dynamic? Anxiety gnawed at me, but beneath it all was a flicker of something else—a strange mix of attraction, confusion, and a hint of guilt.

Carefully, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet finding the cool wooden floor. Each movement felt deliberate, as if I were trying to navigate a maze of uncertainties. My clothes from last night lay discarded on a nearby chair, a tangible reminder of how far I had let things go.

Leaving Fred to his sleep, I found a piece of parchment and a quill on his desk. With trembling hands, I scribbled a brief note—a feeble attempt to convey my remorse and gratitude for his understanding. The ink smeared slightly from my shaky penmanship, mirroring the turmoil inside me.

LATE FOR IMPORTANT MEETING. HAD TO LEAVE. DID NOT WISH TO WAKE YOU. - FREYA

As I dressed hurriedly, the weight of the morning settled on my shoulders. The sunlit room seemed to mock my predicament, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill in my heart. I couldn't face Fred just yet, not without sorting through my own emotions first.

Stepping out into the hallway, I closed the door quietly behind me, exhaling a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The corridor stretched ahead, empty and silent, a stark reflection of the questions racing through my mind. How would I navigate this unexpected twist in our relationship?

The corridor stretched ahead, its walls seeming to close in on me as I walked, each step echoing my racing thoughts. Panic surged through me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown out any semblance of rationality.

I couldn't shake the image of Fred sleeping peacefully in his bed, unaware of the turmoil he had inadvertently caused in my mind. Guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. How could I have let myself lose control like this? I prided myself on being level-headed, on maintaining boundaries—yet last night had blurred everything.

The note I left on his bedside table felt inadequate, a feeble attempt to apologize for a mistake I couldn't undo. My mind raced with a thousand questions, each more daunting than the last. What would Fred think of me now? Would he understand, or would he feel as uncomfortable as I did about what had transpired?

Navigating the corridors of Fred's home felt like navigating a maze of my own emotions—twisting, turning, with no clear way out. The weight of my actions pressed down on me, a heavy burden that threatened to crush me under its weight.

I needed to gather myself, to find a way to move forward from this awkward and unexpected turn. But with each passing moment, the panic threatened to overwhelm me anew. The sunlit windows along the corridor seemed to mock my distress, their brightness a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within me.