Author's Note: May or may not be lightly inspired by the game One Night Stand. And also the song from which this story is titled, and quoted.

Disclaimer: I do not own Life is Strange or its characters. I also don't own AWOLNATION's Wake Up.

Wake Up
by. xxBurningxx

Don't you fall,

it's only gonna take a little time
before we start to lose our minds.
We're leavin' all the haters behind
before the sun decides to hide.

I know you think I'm maybe out of line;
I'm scared to love what we love most.
It's only gonna take a little time
before we start to lose out minds.

Wake up.

It's the rays of early-morning sunlight filtering through the blinds that initially pulls her out of her unconscious state. Or at least, that's what Max thinks, but maybe it was the sleepy little grumble that sounded somewhere to her right. She squints against the sun for all of three seconds before shutting her eyes again and pulling the comforter up to her shoulders, hugging the fabric close to her chest. It's nice and warm and Max is still pleasantly floating adrift a comfortably sleepy haze, and she's not ready to exit yet.

It's for that reason, and for that reason alone, that she doesn't shoot out of the bed in alarm. Max drifts in her solitary bubble for at least another ten minutes, and she's walking right along the precipice of unconsciousness again when another small groan sounds beside her. However, this time the noise doesn't merely rouse her with a soft shake of the shoulder... this time, it abruptly grabs her by the ear and slaps her awake.

Eyes shooting open, Max immediately sits up, blinking numerous times against the lighted scenery. Cold air affronts her chest as the comforter falls and icy panic laces up her spine because she realizes she's not wearing anything and Max scrambles to grab the material and cover herself up again. Her heart thumps uncomfortably loud in her ears and her throat feels constricted, making it seem as though breathing is a long-lost art that she's not familiar with.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she counts to three in her head, accompanying the numbers with deep inhalations and slow exhalations in a meager attempt to calm herself. When Max finally feels like she's under control enough to not have a panic attack, she opens her eyes and risks looking at the person next to her. Immediately, blood rushes to her face and she slaps an embarrassed hand over her eyes, ridiculous as it is... but the woman next to her is sprawled out in a less-than-graceful manner, and also sans clothes, and the comforter isn't hiding anything.

Hand still over her face and refusing to look, Max awkwardly grabs another part of the comforter and tosses it over the other girl, hoping that it gets the job done. And when she takes a hesitant peek, Max is only slightly relieved to see that the other girl is at least covered now, but so is her face. She bites her lip because she should probably at least move the comforter down a little out of respect, but just as Max extends her arm to do so, the girl makes another little noise and she snatches her hand back, heart racing. Max isn't ready to cross that bridge yet.

Instead, she looks around her surroundings. The entire room is unfamiliar, and it doesn't take a genius to deduce that this is definitely not her apartment. There's also the fact that while Max is messy, she isn't this messy; there's shit strewn all over the place, like a hurricane had whipped itself through the area before promptly exiting through the window. Max anxiously curls her toes when she spots her own top lying in a sad little heap near the door, her pants thrown not far off either... There's no signs of her bra or underwear, but she has no doubt that they're somewhere in this mess of a room, and she mentally groans, massaging her temples.

What the fuck did I do? she thinks, trying to recall the events of the previous night. Her memories are foggy at best, and the ghost of a hangover latches onto her head. Then a short vibration startles her out of her gloomy thoughts, and her eyes are drawn to her left, where a phone is face-down on the nightstand. She hastily makes a grab at it, thankful that it's a familiar device and most certainly hers, before unlocking it to see the message. It's from Kate.

Kate: Are you okay? Things got sort of out of hand last night...

Max just stares at the screen for a few moments because she doesn't know what to say, and at the same time, she wants to know just how "out of hand" things got. Another glance to her right tells her that the other girl is still (presumably) sleeping soundly underneath the comforter. Max can't exactly tell her hardcore Christian friend that she's naked in a stranger's bed; for some reason, she gets the feeling the poor girl wouldn't react well.

Max: Fine. I'm fine. What happened?

Only a few seconds pass before a response comes in.

Kate: We were at the club with Warren and some of his friends and then you just disappeared at some point. I tried texting but you didn't answer.

Scrolling up, sure enough, there are numerous worried texts from her friend, time-stamped from the previous night. A small prickle of guilt tingles through her chest as she writes a reply.

Max: I'm really sorry, Kate. But I promise I'm fine.

That's only somewhat true. She's honestly still freaked the fuck out, but she's apparently already been a terrible friend last night and she doesn't want to make Kate worry any more than she already has. When almost five minutes pass, she assumes she's not going to get another response, and Max can only hope that she's not upset. I'll have to take her out for tea sometime...

At the very least, though, the brief text conversation was able to bring a few memories to the surface about the events that had transpired last night. She remembers meeting up with Kate and Warren, and deciding that they'd go out to have a "party of their own" because last night had been the date of one of the biggest Vortex Club parties of the year, of which they obviously were not invited. Not that any of them had cared about that, but it had seemed to be the only thing anyone could talk about in their small college town, and that fact was admittedly a bit fraying on the nerves.

Apparently it'd been a mistake. Max wonders why or how she ended up drunk enough to accompany a stranger to bed. She'd never been a fan of drinking, and it's hard for her to imagine letting herself get to that point, even if she was with a group of Warren's nerd friends. Shaking her head, she looks over and her stomach does a little flop when she thinks about pulling the comforter down.

She's curious though, because she hadn't exactly gotten a good look earlier... Hesitant fingers extend to lift up the covers, and when they do, Max can only stare as her pulse steadily increases. The first defining feature Max really notes is the fact that her hair is blue. And usually Max isn't really into that sort of stuff, but she has to admit that it sort of suites the other girl's slender face and... The memory is faint and blurry and she can't even be entirely sure, but she thinks her hair matches her eyes too.

Max is then left to awkwardly sit there, at a loss for what to do. She twiddles her thumbs for a good expanse of quiet seconds; she's hardly familiar with these types of scenarios. Do I... just leave? But isn't that what assholes do after a one night stand? But then she has to ask herself if that's even what this is? Of course it is, Max thinks, shaking her head, but the fact is still a little surreal. Mentally acknowledging it is even more difficult. Who would have that plain and boring Max Caulfield would have... Another quick glance at the blue-haired girl and she can feel the blood rushing to her face, heating her cheeks up.

Honestly though, Max has no idea what to do with herself. A part of her wants to get dressed and then take a peek around the room, see if she can learn anything about the girl lying next to her, but then she envisions the latter waking up and she immediately retracts the idea. Really, she should just leave. It'd be simple: gather up her things, get dressed, and waltz out the door and try to put everything past her. She could pretend it never happened, tell her friends that she'd just gotten a little sick and decided to head home early, and everything would be great and cheery... right?

The blue-haired girl stirs a little, and Max's stomach sinks and she freezes (not that'd she'd been moving in the first place, though). And that's what does it. After many fearful seconds of baited breath, waiting to see if she'd wake up, Max decides that she needs to depart. She needs to get out of this stranger's house.

As quietly and with as little movement as she can muster, the brunette removes herself from under the covers and immediately makes a beeline for her clothes; she finds her underwear somehow kicked underneath the bed a little, but she fails to locate her bra. Too intent on getting out of there as soon as possible, she decides to ditch the article of clothing and leave it behind. The moment she's fully clothed and her phone's securely in her back pocket, Max makes her way for the door... and really, she should just leave.

But as her hand hovers over the doorknob, she takes a look back at the sleeping woman and something in her chest—a little something that she can't even identify—snaps. She is cute...

And before she even really knows what she's doing, Max is rooting around in this stranger's room for a piece of paper (and manages to strike gold with a miscellaneous pad of sticky notes) and a writing utensil (she finds a pen on the desk by the window) with the intentions of leaving behind some kind of information. But then she comes to the actual message-writing part of the issue, and she doesn't even know what to scribble down.

She starts writing, "Had a good time," on the paper but then scratches it out and then rips the sticky note off before promptly crumbling it and shoving it in her pocket. Max doesn't remember enough of last night to warrant saying that... although what she does remember is... she blushes again and shakes her head before trying again.

Again, she only manages a small string of awkward words before crumpling the thing up. In the end, she simply writes her phone number down before jaggedly sticking on the nightstand, mumbling, "I'm so fucking awkward," under her breath as she does so. And while the words are uttered so softly that it shouldn't have been humanly possible for anyone to hear them, the blue-haired girl stirs nonetheless, causing Max to duck out of there with a new-found vigor.

And in retrospect, there was no possible way Max could have ever predicted how important that decision to leave her number behind would be.

Author's Note: This might get a second chapter from Chloe's POV. It was supposed to be a two-shot anyway, but then things fizzled out. I'm bad about that. (I'm also working on Of the Night, so if you're a follower of that, fear not... though I'm not going to guarantee any updates anytime soon.)