This isn't weird.

Gimme

The first thing Ben was aware of was the faint smell of lemongrass.

The second thing he was aware of was the excruciating pain pulsing through his skull, followed in short order by the overpowering nausea that swirled through the rest of him.

His eyes opened, and the split second confusion of not knowing where he was made his body jolt. The jolt made his legs involuntarily straighten, bringing also to his attention the incredible stiffness and pain of his lower extremities, and he let out a yelp.

The cry woke Millie, and she rolled out of his arms and sat up. "Oh, boy," she said with a piteous look. "Here's the hangover."

"Fuck," Ben groaned. "Why has God forsaken me?"

"You poor thing," she said, reaching down to gently stroke his hair. "I warned you."

"I don't remember that," he grumbled. "I don't remember... much." He covered his eyes with his hands. The light through the windows was blinding.

"That's a shame," she said. She stood up from the couch and one by one, closed all of the curtains in the room. "It would be way more satisfying to make fun of you if you could remember how goofy you were."

"Oh, no. Did I embarrass myself?"

"Oh man, you have no idea," she said with a grin, returning to sit on the floor next to him. Seeing the horror cross his face, Millie felt guilty. "I'm kidding, Ben, I'm kidding! You were just a little silly, and very bad at walking."

"I don't even remember you coming over here," Ben said.

"I picked you up from the bar. You were quite wasted. I wanted to make sure you got home safe."

"Millie, you're a fucking saint."

"Oh, I know. I was just gonna drop you off, but Drunk Ben had a life-or-death cuddling emergency, and I got trapped."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I got an incredible night of sleep. I feel great."

"I hate you."

"Fickle, aren't we?"

Ben tried to roll onto his back, but the effort made his legs scream in pain and his stomach churn. He quickly gave up and fell limp. "Fuck, I can't move. I'm broken. I'm a broken man. I'm going to die here."

"Well, you had a good run."

"No, I didn't. I had a terrible run. Worst mistake of my life. My legs, Millie. My fucking legs."

"Oh, Ben, you sorry little creature. I'm going to find you some aspirin. And maybe a trash can or something, because you look like you're going to throw up."

"I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"Try not to drown in your own vomit before I get back." Millie pushed herself up from the carpet and disappeared from Ben's line of sight.

As he waited for her to return, his brain engaged in a desperate struggle to summon any trace of memory from the previous night. Waking up with her in his arms was certainly the only good thing about this morning, but it was also terrifying. Had he done or said anything weird or inappropriate? It seemed next to impossible that he could have been that drunk and that close to her without trying... something. But she didn't seem uncomfortable. Maybe Drunk Ben really had just wanted to cuddle.

But... What if he had tried to kiss her, or talk her into his bed, or made some humiliating confession? Would she still be here? And would she tell him, or keep it to herself to spare him the embarrassment? He could almost make out a vague image, a split second flash of her in his lap. He was holding her tightly around her waist, speaking softly into her ear, his lips a hair's breadth away from making contact... Was he remembering a dream, or... had it actually happened?