Sunlight cuts through the blinds, harsh and uninvited. Your head is heavy, your neck is sore, and there is a warm weight beside you that definitely was not there when you fell asleep as a kid at sleepovers. Bella is in your bed. Her dark hair is loose across the pillow, your sheets pulled just to her collarbone. Empty wine bottles on the nightstand. Her dress - that green one she wore last night - pooled on your floor. She is already awake. Already watching you. One fingertip pressed lightly to the side of your neck, tracing something tender and raised. The smile she gives you is slow, warm, and not even a little apologetic.