When I wake up in the morning, the last thing I would ever expect to see is an annoying shark in my bed. Yet, here he is. Messy hair, shirt half-unbuttoned, glasses resting atop his head with both eyes glued to his phone screen. His attention only diverts when I let out a surprised scream, my body finding itself tangled in blankets on the floor as I struggle to understand my surroundings.
"That was dramatic."
He's peering down at me like I'm some sort of wild animal that wandered in here, when really he's the one that fits that description.
"Wh-what are you doing in here?!" I manage to squeak out something sounding vaguely like words. "D-did we–?!"
He pauses, eyeing my current state with a rich bemusement. When he speaks, he speaks slowly and with a steadiness that puts me off. "You begged me to spend the night with you." He puts his phone down, sliding his glasses down to his nose as if to get a better look at me. Well, I'm not sure why else he'd do it. "And as much as you really wanted this dick, I'd like it if you remember our first night together~"
I gasp, my face bright red. Somehow the shame of this is worse than actually fucking him. I yank a pillow from the bedside, whacking him with all the force I can muster before scrambling to the bathroom for hangover supplements and a cold splash to the face.
Despite my attempts to awaken from this dark reality, the water falls off my face and I'm still the same person in the mirror. I pinch myself a few times as well, but to no avail. Worse yet, now he's mocking me from the other side of the door.
"You gonna be long in there, babe? I really gotta get to work."
"D-don't call me babe!" I throw a bottle of hand soap at the door to frighten him.
"Oh come on! Don't be like that, babe~" He laughs.
I thrust open the door, giving him my best look of intimidation. "You should leave! Now!"
Though I say that, I can't help but melt inside when I look up at him. There's something oddly intimate about seeing someone first thing in the morning. Disheveled like this he looks somehow more like a model in a magazine than his usual news anchor-lite styling. His slumped posture, his ruffled clothes, his baggy eyes. I wonder if he slept at all last night?
Noticing my falter causes him to laugh in my face, pecking a kiss on my forehead to add further insult to injury. Oh– Oh god. We also kissed last night. That was my first kiss and… it was with this bastard…!
"If I leave on my own, I'd look suspicious, wouldn't I?" He responds dryly as he begins to filter through the cupboards in my microkitchen. There's not much here in the way of living essentials. Whatever I need is usually delivered to my office, or found in break rooms. He manages to find an emergency bottle of coffee tucked away in my fridge, which he twists open and sniffs for good measure.
"It's kind of fuckin' gross in here," he adds.
I stare at him in shock.
"Don't start crying about it. I just mean, look at this place," he continues. "Smells like cigarettes, it's dark, it's musty, you have no food, nothing interesting to snoop through. Why's the princess of a media titan living like a food stamps crack whore?"
My expression turns to pure disbelief. "Okay, not an okay thing to say, first of all. Second of all, this is just a place to crash for the night. It's not like I spend any time here," I clarify.
When I look around more closely, I suppose it is a bit rundown. That doesn't make his comments okay on any level, but I suppose I've never invested much energy into making my living space anything other than loosely functional either. Papa always says that money talks and wealth whispers, that it's better to buy things on discount and only keep what you need rather than spend lavishly.
The wallpaper is peeling, the curtains are drab and shield almost all of the light, the carpet is musty and worn down. When I look at the bed I realize it's a simple frame with the same mattress I've had my entire life. The only proof of identity in this place is a rack of VHS tapes, DVDs, and some movie posters on the wall that are bleached from sunlight. But, this is all I want and need, so why does it bother him?
"Next time," he disrupts my train of thought, "we're going to do it at my place."
As tempted as I am to throw something at him, I don't want coffee stains everywhere.
"Th-there's no next time! Get out!" Both my head and my heart are pounding.
He sips the coffee, staring me down the entire time. "We walked in together, we're walking out together."
Though I try to stare him down, I naturally falter first. Begrudgingly I grab a change of clothes and lock myself in the bathroom, sneaking in a quick shower after making sure the door was barricaded by the toiletries shelf.
When I'm fresh and ready I waste no time peeking outside the hallway door. I want as few witnesses as possible. I don't know why this matters, when I know the lobby is going to be the real battleground. When I hear the sound of a door opening down the hall I quickly close mine, retreating back to the kitchen and then pushing White by his back to get into the bathroom.
"C-clean yourself up! Comb your hair! Look a bit more presentable!" I demand.
"How will people know we spent the night together if I do that?" He laughs, but I'm not amused at all. Nonetheless he complies.
When he's sufficiently groomed I lead him out down the hall. It's a dash for the elevator, then a game of mashing the "Close Door" button as fast and hard as I can. The minute or so it takes to go from here to the down floor feels like hours.
"C-can't you like, put away your glasses or something?" I look at him nervously.
"I could, but I might walk out into oncoming traffic without realizing."
"That's fine, so take them off," I pester him.
"Does this make me look too casual for you? Would you only like to be seen with me in contacts?" He smirks, leaning over me and resting his arm above my head, against the wall of the elevator.
My face burns brightly. When he towers over me like this, it's hard not to get worked up. Evidently he's aware of this, given the fact he does it repeatedly. One can only assume he gets his kicks being an asshole like this.
Before I can muster a coherent rebuttal, the elevator door opens and a familiar face is staring right at us.
"Woah– Uh–..."