The Morning After

It takes a minute for it to sink in.

Manon's eyes snap open when she realises that the arm wrapped around her is indeed real and not a dream.

Trying not to wake him, she turns her head slightly to the side so she can look at him.

Charles looks cute when he sleeps, she thinks.

She hates it.

She looks away from him, hating herself for not hating him.

The pillow that was meant to be their barrier is underneath them, and she wonders how they came to be cuddled up like this. Wishes she could see it like an onlooker would.

She wonders if he knows, if he moved closer on purpose when she was asleep. If he'll remember this.

She certainly won't be able to forget it.

She decides to hedge her bets and pray he won't remember. If she leaves now, she can pretend it never happened.

She starts to slowly untangle herself from his embrace, freezing when he makes a disapproving noise. She looks back at him cautiously, but his eyes are still closed and his face still peaceful.

She makes another move to free herself, sparking a larger reaction this time. His arm around her tightens, pulling her closer to him. He presses his face into her shoulder, nuzzling it slightly into her. She fights the urge to melt into his embrace, to give in.

What would Daphne think?

She closes her eyes for a second, mentally shaking away the urge to stay here in bed with Charles wrapped around her. She could so easily pretend there wouldn't be consequences for that.

His head moves up, and she can feel his lips on the back of her neck. His breath hot against her skin. It's possibly the best damn thing she's ever felt.

Gathering all her willpower, she tenderly extracts herself from Charles embrace. Her movements ridiculously calculated, she finds herself standing by the bed staring back at him.

His brow creases slightly and his hand smooths over the bed as if looking for her. She wants to get back in bed.

She looks around the room, still unable to merge her image of him as a douchey basketball sleaze with the boy who sleeps surrounded by books.

She wishes she didn't know that fact about him. It would be so much easier if he didn't endear himself to her.

Sighing quietly, she knows she has to get out of there.

Shoes in hand, she tiptoes out of the room, unable to stop herself from taking one last look back at him.