Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

The first thing I registered was movement.

Not gentle shifting or lazy stretching—the kind of movement that makes you feel safe and warm. No. This was the sudden, jarring kind, the kind that jerks you awake and makes your heart stumble in your chest.

Charles sat up in bed like he’d been electrocuted. His eyes darted around the room, chest heaving, skin flushed with confusion and something that looked an awful lot like panic.

“Easy,” I said softly from beside him, still curled under the blanket. “You’re okay.”

His head whipped toward me, eyes locking on mine. Slowly, his shoulders dropped an inch, his breathing started to settle.

“Oh,” he breathed. “You’re here.”

I raised an eyebrow, resting my head on my hand. “Do you remember who I am this time? Or am I still just the engineer you drunkenly tried to seduce?”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like his brain couldn’t quite decide which direction to go.

“Of course I remember,” he said, his voice low “You’re my fiancée"

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension in my chest easing. “Last night, you weren’t so sure about that,” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

He let out a breath, a small, sheepish smile forming on his lips. “I know. I was a mess,” he admitted, looking down at me with an almost apologetic expression.

Charles moved slowly, like even breathing took too much effort. After a few seconds of silence, he let out a heavy sigh and laid back down — this time curling into me, his head resting in the crook of my neck like he needed to disappear there for a while.

I felt the heat of his skin, the weight of him sinking into me, and without thinking, my fingers slid into his hair, gentle and steady.

“My head is killing me,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against my collarbone. “Seriously. It’s like there’s a drum pounding inside my skull.”

“You drank like you were nineteen again,” I muttered, trying to keep my tone light, even as I kept tracing soft patterns through his hair.

I shifted slightly beneath him, brushing my hand down his back before speaking softly. “I need to check a few things for work before we head out.”

Charles let out a small, sleepy hum in response, not moving. “Okay,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion. “I’ll just… stay here and die slowly.”

I smiled faintly, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head before carefully sliding out from under him. He mumbled something unintelligible and shifted to take up more of the bed, curling into the blanket I’d just abandoned.

By the time I stood up and glanced back, he was already drifting off again—mouth slightly parted, brows still faintly furrowed, one hand fisted loosely in the sheets. Completely dead to the world.

-------

It took longer than I expected—almost three hours, actually. By the time I finished the last email and closed my laptop, my brain felt like mush.

When I finally got back to the hotel room, the curtains were still drawn, the light soft and golden, and Charles… still dead asleep.

I stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, just watching him. His face was relaxed, lips slightly parted, one arm flung across the pillow like he’d been in the middle of a dream. I almost didn’t want to wake him.

Almost.

I sat down gently on the edge of the bed and brushed my fingers along his arm. “Charles,” I said softly. “Hey. Wake up.”