I'm completely disoriented when I awaken. The sun hasn't yet risen, and it takes me a moment to remember which day it is and which city I'm in. Once I realize where I am, my next pressing question is, who in the hell is next to me in my bed?

To my utter surprise, I'm wrapped around a soft, warm body. The woman's back is pressed firmly against my chest, and my arm is wrapped protectively around her torso. Our legs are intertwined, and, perhaps, the strangest thing is that we're both fully clothed.

None of this makes sense. I don't bring women back to my flat, and I sure as hell don't spoon them.

Without moving my arm, I slowly lift my head and peer down at the sleeping form next to me. All I can see is long dark hair, which rules out me bringing home the bird from the pub. So if it's not her...?

The woman next to me murmurs something unintelligible and turns so that she's facing me, tucking a hand under her cheek. Lifting my head once again, I pray that there's enough pre-dawn light trickling through the window for me to properly see her face.

My breath hitches as I gaze down at Skylar.

What. The. Fuck?

Furrowing my brow, I lay back on the pillow and command my jet-lagged, confused brain to do its fucking job and remember how we got here.Ever so slowly, my brain cooperates and it all comes back to me.

How Skylar showed up unexpectedly at the pub.

How I tried to convince myself that I was over her, which lasted all of five minutes.

How she actually said yes when I suggested leaving together.

How we just lay here chatting for several hours, the first time in months when I was truly able to relax.

And now, here we are, cuddled up like 14-year-olds.

I try to tamp down the flicker of panic deep in my gut. The bed suddenly feels claustrophobic, and my heart is beating too quickly in my chest. I'm both delighted and terrified that Skylar is here next to me. I've put so much effort into chasing her and didn't actually think much would ever come of it. Was it possible that taking things further could actually live up to my or her expectations? Or would it prove to be another passing fancy, and I'd be the arsehole in the end?

I have to get out of here.

I need a smoke.

And why the fuck is my bedroom suddenly a thousand degrees?

As if she can sense my distress--or, perhaps she can hear my heart hammering in my chest--Skylar extends her hand to press gently against my clavicle.

"You okay?" Her voice is raspy, her eyes still closed. I feel like such an asshole, wanting to escape our little cocoon. But it just feels so fucking intimate, and I just don't do intimate.

"Roger?" Skylar's eyelids flutter open, and she looks at me with sleepy, concerned eyes. She must see on my face that I'm freaking out because she scoots up so that we're at the same eye level. "Hey, it's okay."

Reaching over, she wraps her arms around me. Almost immediately, I feel more grounded. Her long fingers run through my hair soothingly. We don't say anything for a few minutes, and I feel the panic begin to subside.

I can do this.

Skylar pulls away and looks at me, brushing a hand over my cheek before tucking it back under the pillow. She doesn't ask what was wrong, and I know that she won't.

"Okay?" she asks softly. I hesitate for a few seconds, feeling silly about this all.

"Yeah," I reply with a nod.

"Jetlagged?"

I nod again. I'll admit, crossing time zones fucks me up. I'm sorry, but the human body isn't designed to travel around the world and back in four days. It's too much. And if admitting that makes me deficient in some sort of rock-n-roll gene, then so be it.

"Do you want me to leave? It's okay if you do."

I shake my head, pulling her closer so that I can wrap my arms around her. Tucking her head under my chin, I gently kiss the top of her head.

Skylar lifts a hand to my head and gently begins to run her fingers through my hair once again. She rests her forehead on my chest and murmurs something that sounds like 'go to sleep.' I assume that she'll pass out quickly, but she keeps running her hands through my hair until, eventually, I'm the one who succumbs to sleep.

When I awaken several hours later, the sun has just begun to rise. My mouth is dry, and I once again feel a flicker of panic in my chest. Sure, it feels good to wake up next to Skylar. But where could this possibly go? We lead two very different lives, and, honestly, maybe I'm not even capable of having a relationship that goes beyond a few shags.

And, anyway, she deserves someone better than me. That much I know for sure. She's going to be a doctor and I'm... well, I'm just a drummer in a moderately successful rock band.

I slowly slide off the bed, gently resting her arm on the mattress before tiptoeing out of the room. I walk to the kitchen, savoring a glass of cool water as it quenches my parched throat. I know that I eventually have to go back in, but fuck, man. As much of a wanker as it makes me, I'm not 100% certain how to interact with someone after we've spent the night cuddled up in a nonsexual manner.

"Thirsty much?"

I jump about three feet into the air as Clare's voice echos through the kitchen. She stands behind me in a bathrobe and pyjamas.

"Uh- I didn't know you were here."

"I was going to spend the night at Patricia's, but she went home with a bloke, so..."

I don't reply, taking another sip of water. Clare glances at my partially opened bedroom door and back to me, her eyes full of curiosity.

"Is that--?"

I nod, ignoring how her eyes light up and she lets out a little squeal.

"Shh," I hiss. "Go back to sleep."

"Rog, that's so exciting, that's--"

"—my business," I interject. Clare rolls her eyes and lightly swats me before swanning back to the sofa, where she lays down unceremoniously on the couch. Shaking my head, I head back to my bedroom making a mental note that, as soon as I'm rich and famous, the first thing I'm going to do is buy my sister her own fucking flat.

Creaking open the door, I peer in. Skylar is sitting up in bed, her face bathed in the warm glow of the early morning sun. She's looking out the window as if confused until I softly clear my throat. Her head whirls around.

"Hi," I say softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Hi," she replies with a hesitant smile as if perhaps she isn't confident about how to navigate the situation either. She rubs her hands together nervously, so after a moment, I gently place my hand over hers to still them.

"Fancy meeting you here." A small smile plays on her lips, and I notice that she looks just as gorgeous with an unwashed face and messy hair as she does when she's all dolled up.

"You're in my bed, love," I reply cheekily. "So it's safe to say that I'm the one who's been taken advantage of."

"Is that so?"

"That's so."

We sit there for another moment, neither of us making eye contact. We sit in silence but, surprisingly, it's not particularly uncomfortable. I finally decide to ask the question that's on my mind.

"Why'd you come to the pub last night, Sky?"

She mumbles something and looks down at the duvet, her hands once again fidgeting. Putting a hand on her chin, I lift her face so that she's forced to make eye contact with me. Cocking my head to one side, I wait for her to repeat herself.

"I want to try." Her voice is barely above a whisper, and I freeze.

"W- what?"

"That's why I called you... and came to the pub... you told me to find you when I was ready to try, and, uh, I'm ready... to try..." she trails off as if embarrassed, her eyes looking down at the duvet.

"Hey," I say, once again gently lifting her chin so that her eyes meet mine. "What do you mean when you say 'try'"?

"Oh," she replies, exhaling slowly. "As in, you want to define this?"

"No." Yes. Some people live their lives happily in grey areas, perfectly content not to know what's what. I'm not one of those people. I like clarity, precision, explicitness. But I'm not going to admit that to her at this very moment.

"Could-- could we take things slow?"

I roll my eyes. "Are you asking if I can restrain myself from sleeping with you?"

"I am."

I let out a breathy laugh. "Don't worry, I wasn't planning to anytime soon. We'll do things properly. Date, first. Shagging, second."

"Oh, so you think I'm the sort of girl who sleeps with a boy on the second date?"

"No, I think you'll make me wait until at least the ninth or tenth date."

Skylar grins mischievously, and, suddenly, she's pushed me on my back and is sitting atop my hips looking down at me. She leans over so that her hair cascades over us both, and it feels like we're the only two people in the world.

Slowly she lowers her face so that it's just above mine. I look at her with a question in my eyes, and she nods ever so slightly. I don't have to be told twice. Reaching an arm around her neck, I pull her mouth towards mine as our tongues crash together. God, I want her so much. Maybe by some bloke's standards, it hasn't been that long since I've been, um, amorous, but, by my standards, it's been bloody ages.

Skylar breaks away slightly, both of us breathing heavily. "More like five dates."

"Five? Is that a challenge?"

"More like a fact," she says with a cheeky grin. I lean up to wrap my arms around her, rolling so that her back is against the mattress, and I'm towering over her. I hover over her body, taking a moment to appreciate the delicious curves hidden under her long dress. I lower my face and press a soft kiss to her lips.

"That won't be a problem," I reply with a cocky smile. Flopping next to Skylar on the bed, I turn her way and prop up my head on one arm. She turns her head and smiles.

"Oh, really?"

"You think too little of me, Sky. It's insulting." I say with a mock frown. But, as always, she's ready with a witty retort.

"That reminds me, Rog, what was the name of the girl at the pub last night? She seemed nice."

"Jaclyn," I reply confidently. "...Or maybe Jada?"

She bursts into laughter, looking up at the ceiling and then back at me. "You're such a slut, Rog."

"Ah, but I'm your slut," I reply with an exaggerated wink, earning a guffaw from her.

"Oh, are you?" she asks playfully.

"Maybe," I reply impishly. "We'll see."

"We'll see?"

"On date five."

She bursts into laughter, and we tussle around on the bed, saying stupid things to one another. Finally, I corner her on the mattress, and we're in the middle of quite a passionate kiss when I hear someone calling my name.

"Uh, Rog?" Clare calls through the door in a panicked voice. "Shit, shit, shit. Roger?"

"Yeah?" I call back. This better be an emergency. Someone better be dying right now.

"The toaster-- bloody hell!--Roger, it's on fire!"

Skylar and I look at each other with panicked eyes before we both leap up and run to the door, flinging it open. I run into the kitchen and see that, indeed, the fucking toaster is on fire. I've no idea what to do: is this the sort of fire that needs to be smothered with a blanket? With water? Fuck, I'm not a bloody firefighter.

Clare is quietly freaking out in the corner, asking tearfully if she should call the fire brigade. Meanwhile, Skylar is rummaging through the cabinet next to my head until she finally lets out a triumphant aha! and dumps an entire tin of bicarbonate of soda onto the toaster.

"How'd you know how to do that?" I ask, looking at her appraisingly as the flames die down quickly.

"What else were we going to do, throw a blanket over it?" Skylar asks as Clare walks over, the three of us peering over at the smoldering ruins of my toaster. We stand there for a few moments, no one saying anything until Clare breaks the silence.

"So... uh, anyone want to go out for breakfast?"

I turn to glare at her, wondering if I'm just destined to have my sister cock block me forever. Not that things would have gotten that far with Skylar today, but really, is it too much to ask for an early morning cuddle without my sister setting the fucking flat on fire?

"Remind me when you're going home, Clare?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

"Wednesday," she replied, sticking her tongue out at me.

"Thank Christ," I mutter, earning a swat on the arm from Clare and a giggle from Skylar.

We ditch the idea of breakfast, mostly because Skylar has to get home to get ready for work. I insist on taking her back to her flat, even though my bed is calling to me to get about 12 hours of sleep. But seeing as Skylar has to work an 18-hour shift on very little sleep, it's the least I can do.

"We're at the studio all week finishing up the final mix on some tracks... want to come by?" I ask as we linger by her apartment door, neither of us wanting to say goodbye yet.

"Do you think the others would mind?"

"Please," I scoff. "They'd love nothing more than to see you."

Skylar hums agreeably and wraps her arms around my waist, leaning into me and looking up. "I know you told me this last night, but when do you leave on tour?"

"Early March," I reply. Suddenly it occurs to me that we'll be on tour for nearly three months, part of which will be in America. What terrible timing to start something new.

"Oh, good," she says with a smile on her face.

"Good?"

"I have my medical board exams in early April, so this means that you won't be around to distract me from studying."

"What happens after that?"

"Well, if I pass, then I'm a doctor. An actual doctor, with a white coat and stethoscope and everything."

"And then your life gets even crazier?

"And then it gets even crazier," she affirms.

"So we only have a few weeks to get those five dates in," I muse out loud, watching her cheeks flush just as I knew they would.

"Better get cracking," she says softly. I pull her closer, pressing a kiss on top of her head. We stand wrapped around each other for a few moments until, finally, she pulls away.

"Thanks for walking me home," she murmurs as she stands on her tiptoes and gives me a kiss.

"I'll phone you soon for that first date," I say, turning away from her and starting down the stairs.

"You haven't thrown away my number by now?" I can hear the laughter in her voice.

"Oh, I have," I reply cheerfully. "Chucked it in the bin a while ago... I was going to ask Brian for it."

As her laughter rings out in the cold air, I give her a final wave and walk back towards the bus stop.

**
Happy New Year, everyone! xoxo