You wake up with the hangover of the century, and get to see Drake's apartment. At the end of the semester the class wants to give him a present.

4. The Morning After

You woke up and wished you hadn't. You must be dying. You were so sick... And why was it so bright?

You feebly tried to cover your eyes with the duvet.

"Here, drink this." Drake poured liquid from a small bottle into a drinking glass and put it next to you. He was sitting on his bed, fully dressed, not even looking tired.

"What is it?" you mumbled, groaning weakly at the torment of speaking.

"Medicine."

"Thanks." You picked it up with trembling fingers and gulped it down. Too late you realized it tasted absolutely vile.

Drake's lips twitched at your horrified look and he gave you another glass. "This is for the taste. Orange juice."

You gratefully emptied the second glass as well.

To your surprise your head now felt perfectly clear and the pain had disappeared. "Wow!" You touched your forehead. "I feel good. What was that?"

"An American treatment," he said smoothly. "Very effective. Want breakfast?"

"Yes, please!" Your nausea was gone and you were hungry. "Can I use the bathroom first?"

"Of course."

He turned his back when you put your jeans on, for which you were grateful. Your face heated as you thought of how unshyly you had undressed in front of him yesterday, but then you recalled how he had looked when he did the same and felt an excited twinge in the pit of your belly. His ripped body as he finally exposed his biceps and wide shoulders had been bewitching, and the snake tattoo he tried to hide was sexy. You would probably live on the memory of Drake in a sleeveless shirt for quite a while.

After freshening up, you returned to the kitchen where he had spread a classical English breakfast complete with toast, scrambled eggs and baked beans.

"I didn't know if you wanted tea or coffee so I made both."

You chose tea and put a small amount of beans and a large amount of eggs on your plate; the beans mostly to be polite. That wasn't a common breakfast in Sweden.

The china looked expensive and very old, it was silver rimmed with a green leaf pattern, and you suspected the cutlery was real silver too.

An awkward silence fell as you began eating; Drake was probably equally embarrassed over getting so drunk, but at least he hadn't vomited all over town like you did.

Instead of talking you focused on the food. It was very tasty, even the beans to your surprise. The scrambled eggs were divine and you had two more helpings. "You're a great chef," you complimented between mouthfuls.

Drake seemed amused but also pleased over your appetite.

When you munched on a piece of buttery bread you curiously looked around the kitchen. How did he make toast without a toaster? In fact, you saw no appliances at all, and though there was a stove it was so spotlessly clean it looked unused.

The eggs were served from an iron skillet, so perhaps he had fried the bread in that as well? He must have wiped the stove meticulously afterwards.

Now that you had eaten, the curiosity over Drake's home grew. It was the most old-fashioned place you had seen outside a museum. No wonder he dressed so formally and used a real ink pen if this was how he lived.

You looked out through the large windows and managed to figure out where you were. At the other side of the road was the large Slottsskogen park, which meant this apartment must be near the botanical garden; an expensive area, known for housing many retired doctors and dentists.

You weren't surprised Drake lived here. He had mentioned old blood yesterday, that he was from an old family. Almost royalty, he had said.

There were bookshelves lining the walls, full of tomes with leather backs in shades of brown and black. An actual concert piano stood in front of them.

"Do you play?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. I prefer piano music to the noisy stuff they play at the pub."

"Can I hear it?" You drew your fingertip along its shiny, black surface.

"Sure." He sat on the leather stool and began a soft, beautiful piece you vaguely recognized. His long fingers danced over the keys, mesmerizing you. You would never tire of watching his hands.

"That was amazing," you breathed when he had finished. "What was it?"

"Mozart. And thank you; I've practiced a lot. Not much else to do here."

That was true. Looking around, there was nothing in the apartment to use for entertainment. No TV, no stereo, no computer, no games. There wasn't even a phone. Just the old books and the piano, and in a corner a pile of dumbbells and gym weights that explained his great physical shape.

A door led into a separate room and you poked your head in. It had shelves with assorted glass bottles with labels written in Drake's neat hand, and a table with two clean cauldrons and a rack of test tubes. The room looked straight out of a Frankenstein movie, but less cluttered and messy. "So, are you a mad scientist or something?" you joked.

He chuckled. "I like old things. Mouth-blown glass... the plates we used during breakfast. I browse antiques shops for things to add to my... eh, collection." He picked up a small bottle with the label pepperup potion and swirled its contents.

"That's where you get the books as well?"

"Mm-hm." He set the bottle down.

It became quiet again in that same uncomfortable way as before.

When the silence grew too pressing you mumbled: "I guess I should get going then..." Even as you said it, you wished you had an excuse to stay longer, to keep him company – for now that you had seen his home you could also envision him in it, the way he must often be. Alone. Bored. Practicing a piano piece for the hundredth time, doing endless repetitions of weight lifting, memorizing a chemistry book just because.

"Okay. I'll see you out."

You nodded morosely.

To your delight he followed you part of the way. It was already noon, a chilly November day, but when walking next to him you didn't feel the cold at all.

As you went, he asked about you; your family and background, where you went to school.

"Was your school in America?" you returned.

He hesitated before replying. "No, Britain. I went to a boarding school from the age of eleven."

"Eleven!" You gave him a sympathetic look. "That must have been lonely. Didn't you miss your parents a lot?"

"I did." A shadow passed over his features and he swiftly changed the topic. "What do you remember from yesterday? You were pretty wasted."

"You were too," you retorted, face growing hot. "And I wasn't that drunk. I remember everything." Except for the brief blackout at the bar which you certainly wouldn't tell him about.

"Everything?" He sounded disappointed.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you won't. It's our secret."

"Hm." He stopped walking. "I have to return now."

"No worries." You hid your disappointment under a forced smile. "Well, bye then. Thanks for having me over and for the amazing breakfast... Oh, and not to forget the impressive musical performance!"

You gave him a hug – which was the usual way of saying goodbye in your group of friends – but to your surprise he kept holding you, prolonging the hug way beyond normal friendliness.

Thrilled and flustered at the same time, you leaned into him, feeling his strong arms around you. You pressed your face against his chest and let his pleasant perfume fill your nostrils.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low, sad voice.

"What for?"

"There is something I must do. And I don't want to, but I have to... it's about the things I said yesterday." He released you, distractedly rubbing his arm. His expression was so reluctant and pained that you wanted to hug him again.

"Okay?"

"If there was a way for you to forget what I mentioned about royalty, and about that... tattoo you saw – then would you?"

"I won't tell anyone," you said again. Why was he behaving so strangely? You didn't know what to think.

"But if you could erase it from your memory, would you agree to do so for my sake?"

"Of course. If it means that much to you, why would I refuse?" You tried to smile. "Sadly I can't, but trust me, I can keep a secret."

He gently cupped your cheek. "Look at me."

You nearly stopped breathing as you met his gaze, spellbound by his beautiful eyes. Clear and pale blue, matching the wintry sky.

Then they clouded over with regret, and he murmured a word in a foreign language.

"I have to return now," he said.

"No worries." You hid your disappointment under a forced smile. "Well, bye then. Thanks for having me over and for the amazing breakfast... Oh, and not to forget the impressive musical performance!"

You gave him a brief hug and he returned it.

When you released him, you noticed his expression had become deeply sad. It puzzled you. Was he regretting inviting you over? You hoped things wouldn't get weird between you from now on.

"Are you alright?" you asked.

He looked away. "I'm fine. Take care."

"You too."

You watched him go with a strange feeling in your chest. Like there was something you had lost.

Drake didn't show up at uni the next day, nor the day after that. You were not the only one who missed him; most in class relied on him to answer questions and help them during labs.

"Perhaps he's sick," said Catrine. "Too bad we don't know where he lives, or we could go cheer him up."

"I do. I've been there," said you.

The others looked surprised.

Feeling a little smug, you explained that you had followed him home after the party. "It was somewhere near Slottsskogen I think, but I didn't memorize the address."

"Ahh, you drank that much, eh?" said Martin with a teasing grin.

That was too close to the truth for comfort. Thinking back, there were a few blanks in your memory both from the walk home and the morning after. "Did not! It was too dark to see when I got there." And in the morning you had been preoccupied talking to Drake as he followed you out, but you didn't add that.

"So, what happened?" Catrine moved closer, piercing you with her most quizzical gaze. "I need all the juicy details."

"So do I." Martin took the seat at your other side.

Both embarrassed and flattered, you described how nice his apartment had been, with the concert piano, his collection of old glassware and books, and the delicious breakfast he had served.

"Yeah, yeah, but what about the night?" Catrine's eyes gleamed excitedly. "Did you sleep in his bed?"

"No!" You gave her a shove. "It wasn't like that at all. I slept on a spare mattress and nothing happened. We're just friends." But even as you said it, you thought of how the two of you had danced long after the others left, and how he had seemed so pleased when you called him a nice guy. And you didn't think you had imagined him checking you out.

You certainly had checked him out. With a flutter of excitement you saw in your mind's eye how he had looked in the tank top. His fit body, muscular arms... you just wished you could recall what had happened next – whether he had taken off the tank top too, or slept in it – but you must have fallen asleep right after he undressed.

No, you weren't just friends, at least not where you were concerned.

More days went by and Drake still didn't return. By now, you were both worried and more than a little guilty. There had been something off about him when you parted – was it something you had said or done that scared him somehow?

But that made no sense. Drake didn't seem like someone who became afraid easily.

Two weeks later he suddenly turned up again, entering the lecture hall with a rather sheepish expression.

The class greeted him eagerly, with many curious questions about where he had been.

"We thought you were ill," said Catrine.

"I was, yeah," he said without looking at her.

You had a strong feeling he made that up on the spot.

"You should have told us so we could bring candy and get-well cards," she scolded him.

That made him smile and look more like himself. "You would do that?"

"Of course. That's what friends do."

His smile widened. "Then next time I will."

During the day, you soon noticed something had changed in Drake's behavior towards you. It was subtle, but you felt he kept his distance. Treating you kindly but not more.

Dismayed, you figured you knew why. He must have realized you liked him a little too much and decided to put you in the friend zone.

The next morning you got more bad news: you had failed one of the midterm exams. But in a way you were glad about that, for with the extra studying you wouldn't have as much time to think bleak thoughts and pine over boys.

You spent the rest of the semester with your nose in the textbook. You told yourself you were over Drake, but it was hard not to throw long glances at him in class or think about him at night. Pondering endlessly over what you did wrong that time.

When there were only a few days left until the Christmas break, Catrine gathered the class at lunch when Drake had gone to his usual restaurant.

"I say, we ought to buy Drake a Christmas present. He's been so nice and helpful to us all, and I've noticed he's seemed a bit down and distant ever since he was sick. A gift would cheer him up."

You were surprised; you had thought it was just you he kept away. Had he been like that to everyone? Then maybe his behavior wasn't your fault at all... That made you feel a lot better.

The others agreed to the plan wholeheartedly. But what would you give him?

You thought about his lonely home that lacked entertainment, and got an idea. "He likes piano music but doesn't have a CD-player. Maybe we could afford a small one if we all contribute?"

Your suggestion won, and the next day Catrine and you went downtown to buy it. Since you were a big class, the collected money was enough for a whole CD-box of classical music to go with the CD-player.

When it was time to deliver the present, Drake looked both surprised and pleased.

"For me?" He gingerly prodded the wrapping, pulling on a serpentine string and releasing it to bounce back. Then he looked down, coloring. "I didn't know... I didn't get you anything."

"You didn't have to," you exclaimed earnestly. "You've helped us so much. With labs, and saving us from robbery, and..." You didn't add how he also helped you when you were too drunk to ride a bike.

Clearly a little emotional, he opened the gift. "I love it," he stated, though you suspected he probably had no idea what a CD-player was or how to use it, the same way it had been with the appliances in chemistry labs.

You showed him how to turn it on and put in a CD.

When the music started, his eyes grew large. "Mozart! My favorite composer. Seriously, this is the best Christmas present I've ever got. Thanks a lot, mates!" He turned his gaze to you. "Someone must know me well."

You knew he understood the gift had been chosen by you, and his warm expression made you fuzzy within.

For the first time in weeks, you felt hopeful there could be something between you after all.

A/N:

Thanks a lot for the comments and votes on previous chapters! If you like the fic, please let me know. xx