My face burns red from my chin to my forehead.

That's Hayden's mom. Lord, is this punishment? Should I not have agreed to lie?

I'm wearing a robe, dude. It's nude town under. My fake boyfriend isn't home. We haven't even rehearsed. And I'm still hungover!

"Ohhhh..." My voice shakes as I laugh. "Come in, come in. Welcome..."

"Are you his girlfriend?" She's white like a ghost.

"Me? Oh, yeah. Uh-huh..."

Why are you still laughing? Stop it.

She steps inside and studies me from head-to-toe. "You live with Hayden?"

She has an ankle tattoo. Maybe she's cool. I like her green eyes and red nail polish and—

She's waiting! Say something. Anything.

"Uh...yeah."

Such eloquence.

"Since when?" She gasps.

Who cares, I'm peeing myself.

"Sorry, let me go change quickly. I'll be right back. Okay?" Without waiting, I run to the guest bedroom—

Aaand all my clothes are still in the dryer.

"Excuse me..." Like a moron, I shuffle to Hayden's bedroom. She's on the couch, gaping at me. "This house is so big, I get lost sometimes."

Where's my phone?!

Hazel: COME HOME RIGHT NOW! YOUR MOM IS HERE!

Thank God! He's typing back.

Hayden: Any other dumb jokes?

Hazel: YOU DONKEY I'M SAYING YOUR MOM IS HERE COME BACK RIGHT NOW

Hayden: Are you serious?

I'm going to kill him.

I'm going to boil his bones, make collagen, and drink it every morning to stay young.

There's no time. I yank his robe off and throw on his clothes. Black briefs. Pajama bottoms and a black shirt. With my hair wet and brilliant anxiety, I go back to bond with his mom.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Alcohol?"

She's sitting with a straight spine. Silent. Staring.

"Um, sorry. All my clothes were dirty, I didn't have anything else to wear..."

"Oh...yeah, no problem!"

"Coffee?" I rush to the kitchen. "You want it with ice cream? Hayden always has it that way."

"I have diabetes."

Wonderful. I know nothing about diabetes.

Are diabetic people allowed to drink coffee? They can't have sugar, but what about caffeine? What about caffeine?!

She follows me to the kitchen and studies me with a suspicious smile. "What's your name?"

"I haven't even said my name yet!" I scream. Sorry, Milo. Don't worry, everything is okay. "Hazel. Very nice to meet you."

I shake her hand as if I'm greeting the President. Why don't we just bow?

Can you imagine if that interior designer stopped by instead of her? Hayden would be toast.

"I'm Alice. Do you want me to make you some tea?" She smiles. "You seem a little..."

"Drunk? Yeah, I'm still drunk. Last night we..." I spin my arm above my head like a cowboy with a rope. "Partied our...asses off."

I officially hate myself. This is worse than introducing myself as hazelnut to Hayden the first time we spoke on the phone.

But she laughs and calmly opens one of the cabinets, pulls out a mug, then a chamomile teabag, and boils the water. "It's my fault. I should've have come here without saying anything. Also I know Hayden works around this time...to be honest, I was scared of talking to him. That's why maybe...I wanted to leave it up to fate, whether I'd see him or not."

I have very little context of their problems. Hayden's ex stirred a fight between him and his family four months ago.

Hayden's into BDSM and she wasn't. She forced herself to like it. Hayden knew, but she kept fighting. He suggested that they break up. How did she react?

By telling his family that he abused her. And he hasn't spoken to them since.

"Did he tell you what happened between us?" she asks.

"No, not at all."

"I kept waiting for him to call, but he didn't. So I..." Her back is towards me, but her shoulders are curved forward and her voice is broken.

"I'm sorry..." I say. "Also, I told him that you're here. So he should be back soon."

"Really?" She turns to me, eyes wide and scared. "What else did he say?"

"Well...he's not that great of a speaker."

She chuckles. "That's for sure."

One of my wet hair strands pokes me in the eye. "Sorry, let me go blow dry my bangs. It's gotten so long, I can't see anything."

"I can cut it." Her voice lights up with...hope. Eagerness. "Does Hayden still have my scissors? I used to always cut his hair before."

Aw. Really? Is that why his hair kept bothering him? He was constantly pushing it away from his face. I wonder if he misses her. Were they close?

~

If people-pleasing is a disease, then I need to go to the hospital.

Why else would I risk myself going bald by giving this woman scissors? She doesn't know me. What if she seeks cold-blooded revenge, huh? I can't afford wigs.

I'm squeezed into a ball on top of the chair, outside the kitchen with her behind me, holding the deadly weapon an inch from my pupil.

"Have you been together for a while?" she asks.

The metal scissor slices through the air and chops my hair off.

"L-like three months or so."

"And you already live together?" To her credit, she sounds impressed, not judgmental.

"What can I say? We're two dumbasses in love."

Suddenly the front door opens and the man of the hour walks in.

He stops in his tracks and his mom's hand freezes above me.

"Heeey, honey." I strain to be cheerful and normal. "Your mom offered to cut my hair. It kept getting in my eye. Sorry, I'm wearing your clothes. I was, uh, doing laundry."

"It's fine..." His voice is barely audible.

There's an emotional conversation racing back and forth between them, and I am intruding.

"Okay, I'm going to go check if my clothes are dry. Thank you!" I bolt.

Five minutes later, I'm folding my clothes in the guest bedroom. And I hear them murmuring outside. I wonder what she wanted...maybe to make amends? Rehash their relationship? That's nice. She seemed like a genuinely nice person.

So imagine my shock when I hear the front door close, then two seconds later, Hayden bangs on mine.

"Hazel, let's go! I don't have all fucking day."

I open the door with pure confusion. "What?"

"Didn't I tell you we're going shopping?" He sweeps a harsh gaze over me. "And can you change your clothes, please? You're not a homeless anymore."

Oh.

No, he didn't.

"What did you just say?"

"Did you not hear me?" He raises a brow.

"Oh, I heard you. I'm just giving you an opportunity to correct yourself."

He rolls his eyes. "Can we just go?"

"You can stay. I'll pack my stuff and leave." With that, I shut the door on his face.

I hear him smack his lips. "Oh my God, can you not be dramatic?"

I grab my gym bag and start stuffing it.

He invites himself in. "What are you doing?"

"Crocheting. What the fuck does it look like?"

He steps closer and tries to stop me. "You don't have to—"

"Uh-uh. I'm not staying here, because I'm out options. I'm staying here, because I thought you respect me."

"I do respect you—"

"That was not a respectful way to talk to someone."

"I'm sorry..." His voice goes quiet, a mixture of guilt and surprise. "I didn't realize."

When I don't stop packing, he grabs my wrist. Not too hard. Hesitant, actually. I straighten my back and look him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry for saying that." He repeats. And it's obvious this doesn't happen often. "I really didn't realize. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I've already grown up with people who walk all over me. I'm done. No one else is going to treat me like that."

"I understand—"

"You don't." I pull my hand away, my firmness now weak. "If you knew, you wouldn't call me homeless as an insult. Especially after I told you how mortified I was when you didn't know."

His eyes shatter with shame, crushing him. "I'll never say it again. I promise. I'm sorry."

My pride and self-defenses scream not to trust. But this is the man who has shown me kindness more than once, through small acts and large.

His mom caught him off-guard after four months of silence. Now I'm under his roof, as his girlfriend. That must've been difficult for him.

When I don't respond, Hayden turns around and walks a couple of steps away, rubbing his face. His shoulders are stone-hard with stress.

"Let's go to the store, please..." he whispers. "I don't want you to go alone."

"Why not?"

He clenches his fist. Whatever he's holding inside, it's torturing him. I don't understand. Does he really not know or want to express his feelings? Would he rather quietly suffer?

I put my hand between his shoulder blades. (It's as delightful as expected, indeed). "Turn around."

When he does, I lift my arms and hug his neck. He bends down and slowly holds my waist like he doesn't know what to do. I squeeze him and close my eyes. If I had a tail, it'd be curling and swaying. He smells so nice.

"Are you calmer?"

He mumbles. "No..."

"Then hug me."

He wraps his strong arms around my waist, more and more, until I can't escape. My chest presses tight against his, and I feel him nuzzle his face in my hair. Thank God I washed it.

"Better?" I ask.

A deep breath leaves him, relaxing his muscles.

I smile to myself.

"Are you not wearing a bra?"

What?

I pull back and...yup, totally forgot. My boobs are free and independent under his shirt. My nipples say aloha.

"No, I couldn't find one in your drawer." I glare. "Where do you hide your bras?"

His cheeks form those endearing smile lines. "I'm not telling you."

"Why? Are they crusty too?"

He stops smiling. "Can you stop with the crust?"

"No."

His eyes are no longer on my face, they're below.

"You like them?" I ask matter-of-factly.

"Huh?" He blinks in surprise. "What?"

"What are you staring at?" I smirk.

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"Calm down, there's nothing even to stare at."

My jaw dislocates, but I quickly recover. "Hmm, yeah. I guess you're right. There's nothing to stare at."

I grab the hem of the shirt and slowly start lifting it.

"H-hey, what are you doing?" He freaks out.

"I'm giving your shirt back. Here." I say innocently, exposing my stomach. His eyes go wide. I lift the shirt higher. "Take it—"

"Stop!" He laughs, turning red. His hands are locked around my wrists.

And he's so much closer, I can taste his minty, sweet breath. Mm.

"Aw, what's wrong?" I bat my lashes, leaning closer. "Don't you want your shirt back?"

"No, I don't. You can keep it."

"I don't want your shirt."

"Let go. Now."

When he says it like that, like a warning...and looks at me like that. Oh. I want to bite him. I want to wrap my legs around him and bite his neck.

"Make me."

"Hazel."

"Fine, fine." I lower the shirt, rolling my eyes. "Don't get too excited, I'm just kidding."

He's sweating. There's a wild look in his gaze, his chest is heaving and his nostrils flare.

"We're leaving in ten minutes," he says and storms out of the room.

A/N
Someone is triggered, eheheheheh