PART 1: Getting to Know You - Chapter 1

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Here it is! The first story in Lockdown on London Lane. (It's worth saying this is just a first draft, so please don't expect it to be anywhere near perfect...) But anyway - I hope you enjoy it!

) But anyway - I hope you enjoy it!

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It's starting to get light out. There's a knee digging into my thigh. I rub a hand over my face and start to peel myself out of the bed, hissing when I find out his arm's pinning down my hair. I bunch my hair up into a ponytail to slowly, inch by inch, ease it free.

The mattress creaks when I sit up, but... Nigel? snorts in his sleep, still totally out of it.

I glance over my shoulder at him.

Still cuter than his profile picture, I think, even with a line of drool down his chin.

"This has been fun," I whisper, even though he's fast asleep. I blow him a kiss and creep across the bedroom, silently wriggling into my jeans. I look at the t-shirt of his I 'borrowed' to sleep in. It's a Ramones one, but it feels genuinely vintage, not just some £5 Primark version. Actually, it's really goddamn comfortable. And cute, I think, catching a glance of myself in the mirror leaning against the far wall. Oversized, but not in a way that makes me look like a little kid playing dress up. I tuck it into the front of my jeans, admiring the effect.

Oh, yeah, that's cute.

Sorry, Neil. (Neil?) This shirt is mine now.

I collect my own t-shirt and bra from the bedroom floor, tiptoeing into the open-plan living room/diner. Where'd I leave my bag? Wasn't it... Aha, there it is! And my coat, too. I stuff my clothes into my bag, then look around for my shoes.

Where did I leave those?

Oh my God, no, I remember. He made me leave them outside, saying they looked muddy. Like it was my fault it rained last night and the pathway up to the apartment block was covered in mud from the flowerbeds. And I'd joked that they were Prada and if someone stole them, this had better be worth it, even though I'd bought them on sale on ASOS.

I do a final sweep, just to make sure I got everything. Phone, check, house key... yep, in my bag...

I hesitate, then do a quick dash back to the dining table to nab a slice of leftover pepperoni pizza.

Breakfast of champions.

I step over some junk mail as I sneak out of the front door. It can't be later than about seven o'clock – who the hell delivers junk mail that early in the morning, I wonder?

My shoes are exactly where I left them.

And, alright, in fairness, they do look like I trekked through a farmyard. I really can't blame him for making me take them off outside the flat. I'm gonna have to clean them up when I get home.

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