Hi everyone. Just a couple of things first: it wouldn't feel right to upload this right now without addressing the current situation in the US, UK, and elsewhere, because: Black lives matter. Wattpad have uploaded a piece in their News & Updates story with several resources, if you're still looking to educate yourself, donate, or support more Black creators. 

I also wanted to say - Happy Pride Month! Again on Wattpad's News & Updates, they've shared some resources, including a reading list from writers in the LGBTQ+ community.

And as another (rather more selfish) note from me - this story hit 250,000 reads today, which is absolutely incredible! Thank you, again, to everyone who's been reading. I was a little on the fence about whether to do a 'wrap-up' part of the story like this, but seeing you guys get so invested in the characters, I couldn't resist.

Part 6 is a little different, in that each chapter will revisit the protagonist of each short story so far (in order), now that the week is over and lockdown on London Lane has been lifted. I hope you all enjoy it!

It's already light out. There's a cold foot against mine, and heavy breath on the back of my shoulder. There's an arm tucked under my neck, wrapped around me. Sunshine pours in through the closed blinds and the mattress creaks as I shift, stretching and yawning.

I knock him in the arm with my elbow when I try to lift my arms, and Nate grumbles in his sleep, rolling onto his back. He scrubs the back of a hand over his mouth while I rub the sleep out of my eyes.

"Sorry," I say, my voice thick with sleep.

"S'okay." Nate yawns, noisily, and then his head tilts sideways so he can look at me through heavily-lidded eyes. "Morning."

"Morning," I say. I turn onto my side so I'm facing him, snuggling into his body. His arms wrap around me, hands cool against the bare skin of my back. It's nice, and it's cosy, and I let myself indulge in it for a minute before I remind him quietly, "It's Sunday."

Nate lets out a sigh so soft I barely even notice it. I don't think I would've, if he hadn't gotten that little frown on his face. It seems to wake him up a little, and his nose nudges against mine.

"I should go."

"Not yet," he says, and wraps one leg around me, too, as if to keep me from going anywhere. His lips find mine, and my eyes slide shut as I kiss him back.

I'm not exactly sure how this happened.

Nate had seemed like a great prospect for a one-night stand. He'd been easy to talk to, could take a joke, but he was still a pretty sensible-sounding guy. And both of us had been upfront: we weren't looking for a relationship.

Don't get me wrong, I love guys.

But that's exactly the point. Why tie myself down to just one of them?

Nate only spent two nights on the sofa. He was trying to be nice, and trying to be chivalrous and whatever, but... well, it was a wasted effort. We were both adults. We were having sex. What difference did it make to just share the bed to sleep in, too?

I don't know when this went from being trapped in the apartment of my one-night stand and casual sex to actually liking the guy, but...

It's kinda nice.

Extra nice that he's been trying to help me and not be too judgemental about the haphazard (read: somewhat-shitty) state of my life this week, doing things like helping me make a budget and set up a standing order to pay off a little on my credit cards each month, and helping me write an email to the landlord about some of the things in my house-share he should be fixing for us – all things I told him I'd been putting off, because it was intimidating and I didn't even know where to start.

Extra extra nice that we've been having sex, and that it's really good sex.

Not so nice that he's very adamant I am not allowed to keep his Ramones t-shirt.

I've become particularly attached to it this week.

We've been using it as a kind of bartering tool. Our own personal in-joke.

"You can have the shirt if you cook dinner and do the washing up afterwards."

"I'll give you the Ramones top if you clean the bathroom, and let me do the living room instead."

I had managed to hang on to it for a while, until I interrupted one of his team meetings on Friday by muting his microphone and climbing onto his lap where he sat at the dining table, to kiss him. He hadn't appreciated that. Or, I guess, he'd appreciated it a little too much. We'd stopped when his boss was barking through the computer, "Nathan? Are you still there? Do you have the final numbers on this or not? Nathan?" and he'd had to push me off, scrambling at his computer to get off mute and stammering out a response.

Totally worth it though, to see him all pink-cheeked and flustered, and the way he'd kept looking at me all afternoon, like his work day couldn't finish soon enough.

I'm still not totally sure when the cuddling had become such a thing, though. I'm not usually a cuddler. Mostly, really, because I was always too busy getting up and sneaking out of the guy's place, or getting up to get dressed so he knew he had to leave.

It was never like there was any point in pretending. I wanted to spend the night with the guy – whoever he was – not a morning in bed pretending we were a couple, and this was what we did. I had places to go, people to see. Sometimes, I just had to get to work. I didn't want to waste my time like that – and neither did he, not really.

Apparently, though, I am a cuddler. At least when it comes to Nate.

Now that Sunday is here, I'm... pretty disappointed, actually, that my one-night stand is finally at an end. I'm disappointed that I'll have to go home, and that my time with Nate is up.

I don't blame him for wanting to keep me in bed a little while longer. I don't really want to leave, either. I stop kissing him to bury my face in the crook of his neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone and sighing. One of his hands trails lightly up and down my spine.

I don't know how long we stay like that.

I just know that by the time I decide I really need to pee and can't stay there and hold it in any longer, the morning is already slipping away.

I take a shower. Nate joins me.

He offers to make me breakfast, but I shake my head. My stomach feels weird, and I'm not sure I could eat right now.

It takes me a little while to realise what's wrong with me.

I'm sad.

I don't want to go.

I'm going to miss him.

Oh my God, I'm as sappy as that guy in the proposal video.

I delay pulling all my things together. I shove my emergency online purchases of underwear, leggings, and a couple of t-shirts into my handbag as best I can. Nate watches on, laughing, and says, "You know, you could've borrowed a backpack, or something. Or even a plastic shopping bag."

I settle for sticking my tongue out at him.

He gets off the sofa to come and kiss me again, and why, why does he have to be so good at kissing? Why does he have to make my insides melt like that, and make my pulse race this way? It's not fair.

It was good for one night, but for a week? It's just uncalled for. Because now I'm hooked, and he's making it harder to remember why I should leave.

He's wearing the Ramones top, as if to make a point. I run my hands over it, over his chest, and narrow my eyes at him. "You know, that looks much better on me."

"Next time, maybe. We can draw up a rota."

"Oh-ho, next time? You sound awfully sure of yourself there, mister."

He blushes.

Fuck, even that's cute.

How dare he.

"Well, just, you know," he says. "I thought, maybe, when this all blows over... Maybe we could, um..."

"Do this again?"

"Maybe I'll even take you out to dinner first," he says, lifting his chin, his eyes sparkling, even though he's still blushing.

"Gosh, I'm swooning."

"It was just – we don't have to."

I pat his arm, stepping back. "Well it was good knowing you, Norman, but now I'm free, this whole Beauty and the Beast fantasy is over, and I'm going to head back to my quaint little village and forget all about you."

Nate laughs, understanding my humour well enough after being stuck with me for a whole week to know I don't mean a word of it.

"I'll call you when I get home," I suggest. "I know you'll be missing me already by then. You won't remember how you ever lived without me in your life."

"Oh, I believe that," he says softly.

I let him walk me to the door. I put my shoes on – now mercifully dry, and clean, compared to the state they were in last Sunday morning. There's another note under the door, this time reminding residents of the building that the lockdown has been lifted and while they continue to urge caution, we are now able to go outside again.

Hallelujah.

My stomach twists again. Even Nate looks sad to see me go – even though I barged into his life, pretty uninvited, messing up his apartment and getting in the way of his life all week.

I lean forward to kiss his cheek. "See ya round, Honeypot."

***

I'm halfway down the path to leave, when I hear a familiar voice.

I whip around, not quite believing my eyes.

I don't believe it.

Lucy says goodbye to some girl, and then starts off around the side of the building. I gawp for a moment before running after her (well, as best as I can in my heels). A pair of knickers fly out of my handbag and I have to turn back to snatch them up.

"Oi! Lucy Kingsley!" I holler, and she jumps, turning around, head twisting side to side before she notices me.

"Oh my God," she says, eyes bugging.

"You absolute bitch," I declare, none too quietly, as I stride towards her. "How dare you not tell me where you've been all week. How dare you be in the same fucking building as me, and not even mention it."

She laughs, hugging me back when I engulf her in my arms. She'd said she was stuck at this wedding planning weekend with her soon-to-be sister in law, but I'd sort of assumed it was in some cottage in the arse end of nowhere, and she'd never really said otherwise. And I guess I hadn't been particularly explicit on where I was stuck, either.

We hadn't talked too much all week anyway, for a change. She was busy with the bridal party stuff, and – well, yes, okay, I'd been pretty wrapped up in Nate and been an utterly awful person, neglecting my friends for sex.

"I don't believe it," she says.

"So when you said you had a hell of a story to tell me about that guy's proposal that went viral..."

"And you said you'd just seen the cutest bit of quarantine romance," she adds, and cracks up laughing before running a hand over her face, pressing her palm to her forehead. "Bloody hell. Where have you been all this time?"

"Number fourteen," I say.

"Twenty-two, top floor."

I shake my head. "Of all the gin joints..."

She takes a look at my bag, overflowing with scrunched-up clothes, and my shoes. "You're not walking home, are you?"

I get my phone out of my pocket to wiggle it at her. "Can't get an Uber. Or a taxi. I was going to see if the buses are still running."

Lucy huffs at me, turning away and striding towards her car. "Get in, Immy. I'll drive you home."

"Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?"

"You can keep saying it, but you still owe me money."

"But I do. I love you so much."

Lucy just laughs, and once we're in her car we barely stop to catch our breath as we spill every detail of the last week at each other.

My phone buzzes on my lap when we're halfway back to my place. Lucy glances at it. "Who's that?"

And right there on the screen, in the text notification that's just appeared, is the honeypot emoji, followed by the words: You were right – I'm missing you already x