Glynda frowned a little, half-asleep, and—upon opening one eye to examine her surroundings—realized with a jolt that she was in a completely unfamiliar bedroom.

Sitting bolt upright, Glynda glanced down and found with some relief that she was still fully clothed. Though she was thirty-four years old and completely unashamed to admit it, one could never be too careful about these things. But what happened? she thought, frustrated. I didn't have that much wine. How could I have ended up here?

The last thing she remembered was laughing, something she rarely did, as Ozpin read aloud portions of one of his many books. She never would have guessed that he had a weakness for terrible romance novels, but that was really only half as entertaining as seeing his color heighten upon reading the excerpts to her. He had always seemed so unflappable, even in the most explicit circumstances; Glynda was relieved he was actually human enough to blush on occasion.

Glynda shook her head to dispel these thoughts from her mind. Her head did ache slightly, but not enough to constitute a hangover. So I probably didn't black out, she thought with some relief. But that still leaves the problem of figuring out where exactly I am.

She gave the room a quick glance over to size up her situation. Morning light streamed through the slightly open window, green curtains drawn back. The walls were lined with bookshelves and one writing desk—the only disorganized place in the room. It was littered with paper, inkwells both empty and full, and several quill pens were stuck in a ceramic mug emblazoned with Beacon's crest. She was definitely still in the academy, at least, so that was good.

Now it was just a matter of figuring out whose room this was. Glynda sat in an extremely comfortable bed layered with silken spring-green sheets, a fluffy brown blanket, and a soft leaf-patterned comforter. Many pillows, decorated with various patterns in colors evocative of forests, were piled behind her head. All of them were comfortingly scented, somewhat musky or even a little spicy. Almost… familiar. Like a certain coworker's cologne. No, more than a coworker; a superior.

Could this be Ozpin's room?

Throwing off the covers as though they were poisonous, Glynda got to her wobbly, nylon-clad feet—what happened to my boots?—and staring around. The more she examined her surroundings, the more she saw Ozpin's touch. Finally, throwing open the door, she found herself standing at the top of the stairs in his office, and closed her eyes, trying even more desperately to remember how she had ended up in the headmaster's bed.

Desperately attempting to fend off the less likely but more desirable of the several options, Glynda eventually determined to simply find and ask Ozpin, as soon as she located her boots. She descended the stairs cautiously, wondering where he could be, but halted as his voice arose lazily from his desk chair. "It's about time I got my bed back. My back isn't too happy about last night."

Glynda's heart seemed to stop for a moment, and she clung to the railing for support. "Wh-what?" she managed after a few dumbfounded seconds. Did I black out after all? Or did he put something in my drink? She glanced around for her wand, snatching it from his desk and gripping it tightly, just in case she had to use it.

Ozpin spun around to face her—thank God, he's wearing all his clothes too—with a twinkle in his eye. "Don't tell me you don't remember? You only had half a glass of wine, after all, and that simply isn't enough to cause a blackout. I should know."

"Ozpin," said Glynda sharply, smacking her wand into her hand. "What happened." It wasn't a question: she had a right to know what had gotten her into his bed, and she would find out by force if necessary.

But Ozpin only raised his eyebrows, the tiniest of smiles on his face. "I'm flattered you apparently think me capable of outright seduction," he said, almost reminiscently, as though remembering days gone by. (Glynda felt her cheeks grow hot, and a twinge in her heart she refused to admit might be jealousy.) "Unfortunately, my back and my age beg to differ."

"Just tell me what happened!" exclaimed Glynda, staring at him. "You're being awfully roundabout for an innocent man."

Ozpin smiled faintly, clearing his throat as if in preparation for a long story. "You walked in on me with my wine, crackers, and cheese. You accused me of breaking my own rules, so I offered to share some with y—"

"I remember that part," interrupted Glynda, glaring, and stood on one hip. "I just don't remember how I got into your bed. And where are my shoes?" she added as an afterthought, glancing around. Only with her shoes was she even close to Ozpin's height. Without them, she stood a full head shorter, and felt distinctly inferior. (Even if it did also make her feel younger.)

Ozpin bent down, wincing, and retrieved her boots from under his desk, handing them to her a moment later. "Here you are," he said, sounding the slightest bit pained, and worry flickered in Glynda's mind. His back, she remembered, and reluctantly laid her wand down in a gesture of peace.

"Sorry," she said, bending to put on her shoes and lace them up. "I… the last thing I remember is listening to you read excerpts from your romances—though why exactly you chose to do that, unless you were particularly tipsy, I couldn't begin to guess."

She straightened up again, and Ozpin smiled. "Particularly tipsy. Perhaps I was. Or perhaps I just wanted to share an evening with you in a way not having to do with planning lessons and speeches. You be the judge." He crossed his arms. "In any case, you fell asleep in the middle of one of the most interesting scenes. I recall your earlier warning that you were exhausted, but I didn't think that meant you would fall asleep with your head on my desk."

Glynda sank into a chair in defeat, resenting that Ozpin had seen her sleeping. She made it a point always to appear as dignified as possible in any situation she found herself in, regardless of whether or not he was a part of that scenario. "Blackmail. You're going to blackmail me, aren't you."

"Only if you give me a reason to, dear Miss Goodwitch," smiled Ozpin, putting his fingers together lightly in an almost menacing way. Glynda grimaced in advance; he was remarkably adept at coming up with new ways to mess with her. "For example… if you don't come to my office and play cards with me tomorrow evening, I'll be very disappointed."

"Cards?" repeated Glynda, looking at Ozpin, surprised. That's a new one. "You play cards?"

"Solitaire is one of my sole occupations when I'm alone," said Ozpin. "And while I don't condone gambling at all, I'm rather good at poker… though I haven't played it for quite a while, come to think of it. You can pick the game," he added with an air of resignation, as Glynda gave him her best disapproving look. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction, recognizing that this was as good as it would get, and leaned back in her chair with a short exhalation.

There was a long, somewhat awkward silence before Glynda remembered to ask her foremost question. "So—how did I actually get into your bed?" she asked, glaring. Ozpin only sighed, as though having been hoping she would forget to ask the question. Glynda's hand moved automatically to her wand, but she jerked it back again, determined to solve this without slapping him with it this time (as always seemed to happen).

"Well," began Ozpin, a peculiar note of hesitation in his voice. "You made some sort of vague threat when I tried to wake you up, and even though you were half-asleep, you seemed more than capable of laying waste to the whole office if I continued trying to bring you around. So I removed your wand, picked you up, and carried you upstairs, and that was that."

He leaned back, a tentatively contented expression on his face, but Glynda stared at him. That wasn't just a dream…? She half-remembered the velvet touch of Ozpin's jacket brushing against her cheek, his slightly elevated heartbeat separated from her ear only by his clothing, and the gentle feel of gloves on the crook of her knees—covered only by nylon. And she remembered more clearly being set down gently on those silken sheets, covered with that fluffy blanket and soft comforter, and finally hearing Ozpin's whisper—"Good night, Glynda"—and a light kiss on her forehead.

But she had assumed it all to be a dream. (It wouldn't have been the first time, after all.)

"There it is," said Ozpin, satisfied, dragging Glynda unwillingly to the present. "I knew you would remember."

Glynda swallowed dryly. "I remember a lot more than just you bringing me up to your room," she said, standing up, the beginnings of triumph rising within her. "You called me Glynda."

"I'm sure you're imagining things, Miss Goodwitch," said Ozpin, though with a barely noticeable wink after his words.

Glynda rolled her eyes, flushing slightly. I hate it when he does that. "And," she snapped, the aggressiveness in her voice summoned mostly to work out her embarrassment, "Professor Ozpin, you kissed me. On the forehead."

That disarmed him. Ozpin opened his mouth as though to reply, but shut it again abruptly, looking away from her as his color rose slightly to match Glynda's. She smirked: just this once, the universe had allowed her to get the upper hand, and make even Ozpin speechless.

"And I won't play cards with you tomorrow," added Glynda sweetly; Ozpin still could not quite look her in the eye. "But I'll be very disappointed if you don't spar with me later today, no matter what condition your back is in. Three o'clock. Grand Courtyard. Be there." She smiled at him, careful to let her triumph win over the affection she could feel in her eyes, and turned to stalk out the door and leaving Ozpin to stare after her.

Life here is going to be a lot more fun now that I know where his loyalties lie.