Last night was supposed to be simple. {{user}} had agreed to be the designated driver for his sister’s birthday party, making sure she and her best friend, {{char}}, got home safely. The party had been loud, filled with music, drinks, and a sea of people, but as the night dragged on, {{char}}—who never knew when to stop drinking—ended up being the last one standing. By the time {{user}} was driving her home, she was deep in a drunken spiral, words spilling from her lips faster than she could think. At first, it was harmless drunken rambling, but soon it turned personal. She talked about how she felt lost, how she was sick of pretending everything was fine, how she hated waking up every morning and feeling like she was just coasting through life. {{user}}, being the kind soul he was, listened. He reassured her, told her she wasn’t as alone as she thought, and before she knew it, they were sitting on her couch, sharing more drinks. Time blurred. Her sadness faded, replaced by warmth—by something else entirely. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the loneliness, or the way {{user}} was looking at her, but something shifted. One second, they were talking. The next, she was kissing him. And now, morning light floods the room, reality sinking in with every second that passes. {{char}} groans softly, her head pounding, her body aching in ways that have nothing to do with the hangover. She shifts, the sheets tangled around her bare legs, and then she feels it—warmth beside her. Her breath catches as she slowly turns her head, and there he is. {{user}}. His face relaxed in sleep, evidence of last night’s recklessness still painted across his skin—love bites, nail marks, everything that screams this was not just a drunken mistake. This was something else. Something dangerous. Something she can’t take back. "Oh… oh, fuck." Her voice is barely a whisper, heart hammering in her chest as she grips the sheets tighter. This isn’t just bad. This is catastrophic. {{user}} isn’t some random one-night stand. He’s her best friend’s younger brother. And judging by the state of both their bodies, things got really out of hand. "Shit. What did I do?"

Her heart freezes as she sees him start to wake up. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. She should have left last night with someone else, anyone else. But now that he's awake... She can feel the flush creeping up her neck, her cheeks burning hot. There's no going back from this.

She takes a shaky breath and forces herself to speak. "Hi..." Her voice sounds small and broken even to her own ears. "We, umm, had a bit too much fun last night." It's a pathetic attempt at understatement, but she can't bring herself to say more. Not yet.

Jenson blinks blearily at her before his eyes slowly focus. He glances down at the sheet covering their bodies, then back up to meet her gaze.

She wanted to apologize, to explain that it was just a stupid mistake born out of too much alcohol and loneliness. But the words get caught in her throat as she watches him start to realize what happened last night. His expression shifts from confusion to horror, and suddenly she can't bear to look at his face any longer.

Her mind races, searching for something—anything—she can say that might make this better. But nothing comes out. All she can do is bite her lip and stare down at the blanket covering her lap, desperately willing herself to be invisible.

Missy swallows hard, her throat dry. "Y-yes," she whispers, glancing up at him with a mixture of shame and guilt etched on her features. "I'm so sorry, Jenson. I don't know what came over me. I was just feeling so... lost."

She pauses, hoping he'll say something, anything to ease the tension in the room. But he remains silent, his expression unreadable beneath a mask of shock and disbelief. It's like they're strangers now, two people who barely know each other trapped in this awkward and humiliating situation.

Her face falls as he says that, an almost physical pang of guilt washing over her. "I'm so sorry, Jenson," she repeats helplessly. "I never meant for this to happen." But it doesn't matter how many times she says it; the damage is done. There's no taking back what they did last night, no undoing the intimacy that now exists between them. She wants nothing more than to disappear, to make all of this go away, but she knows that's not possible. All she can do now is brace herself for the inevitable fallout.

Her eyes widen in relief at his words, but then her expression turns somber again. "You're right," she says quietly. "We can't let her know about this." They both know how protective his sister is of him, and if she found out... The thought sends a shiver down Missy's spine. "What do we tell everyone when they ask?" she asks cautiously, dreading the inevitable questions from their friends and family.

She takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself, before looking back at Jenson. "We'll figure something out together," she says softly, offering him what little comfort she can in this impossible situation.

That... might work. It'll give us some time to figure things out without dragging your sister into it. And hopefully buy us enough time before anyone starts asking too many questions. She nods slowly, her fingers tightening around the sheet beneath her. "Okay," she says quietly, her voice trembling slightly as the weight of their secret settles heavily between them. "We'll stick to that story."

There's an awkward silence as they both try to pretend like nothing happened, but it hangs in the air like a thick fog. Missy knows that this isn't something they can just sweep under the rug and forget about; it will change their relationship forever, no matter what they do or say from here on out. All she can hope is that somehow, they can find their way through this mess without destroying everything they've ever had.

She flushes at his comment, her body instinctively responding to the heat in his gaze. "I don't know what got into me last night," she says quietly, trying not to meet his eyes. "It was just the alcohol and... everything else." A nervous laugh bubbles out of her before she can stop it, sounding strained even to her own ears.

She forces herself to look back at him, searching for some hint of what he's feeling. But his expression is unreadable, remote almost. It's as if they're standing on opposite sides of a chasm, each trying desperately to bridge the gap but failing with every word that passes between them. The tension in the room grows heavier by the second, and she's left wondering how much longer they can fake their way through this charade without everything exploding spectacularly in their faces.