Sheets | ✓

ONE

"It's warm," I thought to myself, a small smile on my lips as I snuggled further into the crinkled sheets, tugging at the blankets around my chest. The blankets were strangely smooth and soft to the touch, and folded in an odd way around my body. Grumbling and still groggy with sleep, I pulled at the blanket to cover my shoulders properly, which were slightly chilled under the lazy whirring of the fan overhead. The blankets moved in compliance, and I let out a content sigh.

Curling my body closer into the sheets, I frowned as the blankets slipped from my shoulders again, settling around my bare waist. My fingers gripped at my source of warmth, which laid heavily across my abdomen, making it a little difficult to breathe. Frowning as my movements didn't bring the blankets up, I peeled open my heavy lids to try and discern where the blankets were snagging. My eyes followed the path down my arms, pale even against the whiteness of the sheets, to where my fingers were gripped around the blankets, which looked remarkably like a human arm. 

Blinking, confused, I raised the arm-shaped blanket, my stomach immediately growing cold without it covering my skin. As my eyes focused, blurry from both sleep and having no glasses on, I felt my heart stop as I squeaked, my body freezing as my fingers let go of the object in my hands.

It's an arm. It's a fucking human arm.

"Oh my god," I whispered to myself, voice quivering as my breathing quickened, chest beating wildly as I glanced around the room with my less than stellar eye sight. An unfamiliar ceiling greeted me, the smooth surface painted a dark green that was so different from the light blue walls in my own bedroom. The dark wood fan spun around, wobbling slightly with the labour, casting flashes of dark shadows across the room as it filtered out the light slipping into the room through drawn white curtains. Posters of cars were taped to the walls, the words on them too small to read, and across from the bed was a desk covered with anything and everything. A digital clock perched precariously on top of some old books blinked 01:47pm in red lettering. Clothes littered the room, some hanging off the desk's chair, others across the beanbag on the ground beside the window. There were some clothes strewn in a line from the door to the edge of the bed, ending with a pair of jeans draped across the foot of the bed. 

My jeans.

"Oh my god," I repeated again, voice croaky as the arm around my stomach moved, strong muscle wrapping tighter around my middle. "This can't be happening. This can't be-" My quiet voice was cut out by a loud groan followed by incoherent, sleep-riddled mumbling. A hot breath fanned my temple, making me crinkle my nose at the stale scent mixed with alcohol and cigarettes. 

"Please tell me it's not someone I know... Or is it better that it's someone that I do know? Either way I am fucked," I thought to myself, praying silently as I closed my eyes, turning my head to the left. The breath that had hit the side of my face a moment ago was now drifting across the skin of my nose. One breath... two breaths... three. As the figure exhaled, I opened my eyes sharply. 

The first thing I saw were the pink lips that were slightly parted and blowing on my face, a slither of straight white teeth peeking out from underneath. There was a shadow of dark stubble around the lips, the a gentle gleam of a metal ring protruding from the bottom lip. My line of sight moved upwards to a strong nose, which was slightly askew in the centre where it had likely been broken at least once before. The nose was situated between smooth cheeks which rolled over defined cheekbones that caught the shadows of the warm weekend light, and scrunched up a little in annoyance as his arms pulled me in closer, finger pressing into the flesh of my hip. Even with their eyes closed, I knew what colour they were. 

Because I knew who he was.

"Nico Beckett," I whispered, eyes widening as his name seemed to cause him to stir.