No one knows what happened last night. (No names are mentioned, but I did have the pairing Frank/Gerard in mind when I wrote this.)
“Could you move please?”
“No,” a male voice croaks sleepily. His knee (I guess) digs further into my back.
I will my eyes to open, struggling with the curiosity to see where the hell I really am and the fear of seeing just where. They open and I take in the dark room, with a weak sliver of sunlight peaking from under a dusty curtain, hung over a small, square window near the ceiling. It’s a stuffy basement bedroom, and the floor and almost every flat surface is cluttered with random odds and ends and clothing. The bed mystery guy and I are lying in is covered with dark cotton sheets and a heavy knit blanket. This whole situation is starting to freak me out.
I turn my head to try to get a good look at him. He’s pale, like the sun is his enemy or something, and the chin length black hair that frames his rounds face is sticking up on one side. His green eyes twinkle as he stares back at me with a small smirk pulling at his pink lips, and I think that’s his hand on my hip.
“Who are you?” I ask in a whisper.
His smirk fades and his eyes lose their twinkle.