Different

The first thing I feel when I wake is nothing like the warm, intoxicating comfort I fell asleep with. Instead, my head feels heavy, the pain piercing through it growing sharper with every breath I take. My head hits the pillow again with a groan. Heavy. Pulsing. Definitely punishment for last night.

Last night.

I open my eyes slowly, trying to piece it all together. The soft cotton of the unfamiliar pillowcase, the modern ceiling fan above me, the faint scent of him still lingering in the air—Jace Evans' apartment.

Oh God.

Everything isn't quite clear, not every detail, but enough floods back to send a fresh wave of heat rising up my neck. The dancing. His hands on my waist. Me in my bra, on his lap. The late-night drive. McDonald's fries. And that quiet, too-intimate moment in his bed. The way he looked at me when he said no one else had ever stayed here.

I turn to the right—expecting to find him still beside me—but the space is empty. The sheets cold.

Panic rushes over me fast. It's ridiculous, I know, but I can't help it. I sit up and force a breath in, scanning the room. He's probably just in the other room. Mila. Breathe.

I grab my phone off the nightstand in a desperate attempt to anchor myself, opening the screen like it might explain something.

"Don't wait up on me,  spending the night at Austin's. Wink Wink." I exhale a laugh. At least someone had an easy morning. She has no idea I didn't sleep at the dorm either.

A softer notification follows.

"I hope you have a great time! I wish you all the best for your classes tomorrow!" my Mom says. I shoot back a quick response to both of them, still clutching the phone like a security blanket, my ears straining for any sound in the apartment.

Still nothing.

The silence starts to stretch too long. My stomach tightens again. Did he... leave me here? Am I supposed to let myself out?

I swing my legs off the bed and head for the bathroom. The mirror makes me cringe. Yesterday's makeup, slightly smudged. Hair a mess. I peel off Jace's shirt and pull on the clothes from the night before, feeling less like a mysterious girl from last night and more like a very tired version of myself. Still, I hesitate. I don't want to give the shirt back. Not yet. It's warm and smells like him. Maybe I can pretend this is still a dream for a few minutes longer.

When I open the door, I'm surprised to see him standing in the kitchen, unpacking a brown paper bag, like this is something we do every weekend. He looks freshly showered—his hair still damp, messy in an effortless kind of way.

"Morning," he says with a half-smile, glancing over his shoulder.

"Hey..." My voice is tentative, too small.

"Come sit," he says, pulling a chair out for me like a gentleman in a movie. "Hope you like pancakes."

"You brought me breakfast?" I ask, stunned, eyes flicking to the bag.

"What, did you think I'd only get some for myself?" He grins. "I'm not that much of a dick."

"Well..." I tease, lifting a brow.

"Shut up," he laughs, and the sound warms something in me.

I sit beside him and let him pile perfect golden pancakes onto my plate. My stomach grumbles in thanks.

"How's your head?" he asks, that amused glint still in his eye as he takes a bite of his own food.

"Uhm... terrible actually," I admit, blushing.

Without saying anything, he gets up and disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, he holds out a small white pill. I take it silently and wash it down with a sip of water, murmuring a quiet thank you for the painkiller.

Then I look at him, a little hesitant. "About last night..." I start, but the words catch in my throat. "I feel really embarrassed."

"You don't have to be," he says gently. "I got to see the fun side of Mila. I loved it."

I nudge his shoulder. "All of my sides are fun, okay?"

"And I can't wait to see all of them," he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

I pretend I didn't—but a smile tugs at my lips anyway.

Trying to shift the focus, I ask, "How come you don't live on campus?"

Jace wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back. "My mom and I don't have the best relationship. She cheated on my dad when I was a kid and ran off with some rich guy. She pays for the apartment, the car—so she'll feel better about herself."

I blink, not expecting that level of honesty this early in the morning. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to pry. I was just always curious how you could afford a place like this in Seattle."

"It's fine. I barely know what a relationship with her even looks like."

There's a pause before he turns the question on me. "What about you? What's your family like?"

"My parents split when I was six. My dad cheated too. We were living in California, but my mom moved back here to be closer to her parents. My sister and I used to visit him every other weekend, until we were around thirteen or fourteen. It was a bit of a back and forth."

"I get the sense that's not the whole story," Jace says, eyes narrowing just slightly.

I shrug. "Let's just say... it was an emotional ride."

I don't mention that I blame those events for my panic attacks. The anxiety. The days where I couldn't breathe and didn't know why. That's not a today topic.

Jace seems to understand and lets it go. "Alright, no more heavy stuff. It's already one. Want me to drive you back?"

I hesitate—part of me already missing the soft pull of his presence—but I nod. "If you don't mind."

He grabs his keys and I reach for my things. As I head toward the door, I suddenly remember—his shirt. My blouse is still on his bed.

"Wait, I forgot something."

I walk back to the bedroom and slip the shirt off, slowly, the fabric brushing against my skin. I reach for my blouse, hearing the soft creak of the floor behind me. I know he's watching. I can feel the air shift.

He's there—close, too close—and he does that thing again, brushing all of my hair over one shoulder, fingers skimming the curve of my neck like he owns it. Goosebumps rise instantly.

"What are you doing?" he whispers, voice low and rough.

I swallow. "I... forgot my blouse," I manage.

He exhales, almost disappointed. He takes the blouse gently from my hands, slipping it up my arms, slowly, carefully tying the front just like last night. His fingers linger near my chest a little longer than necessary.

For once, I don't feel self-conscious under the weight of someone's gaze.

"Come on," he says, finally, voice softer now. He opens the door and pulls me out into the daylight.

And just like that, I follow.

______________________________

Please remember to leave a vote :)