The first thing she is aware of upon waking up is that her head is throbbing.
The second thing that she is aware of is that she is most definitely not in her bedroom— she can tell right away because of the scent.
The air smells sweet, like cologne— or maybe even some kind of luxury shampoo— and it's simply far too bright in the room to be her dingy little apartment. She shifts her position on the unrecognizably comfortable bed in which she is currently resting, and receives quite a shock when something very solid and human-like weighs her down.
When her green eyes snap open (and she immediately feels a surge of pain through her aching head), she quickly discovers two facts:
One, she is stark naked, and her clothes are nowhere in sight.
Two, the heavy object is, in fact, a human arm that is wrapped around her waist.
Feeling her heart sink into her stomach, her bleary eyes land on the large hand, proceed to trail up a tan arm, glance at a sculpted shoulder, venture past a handsome neck, and finally rest on a very familiar face.
Oh, FUCK.
It is then she discovers another significantly more important fact: as of this morning, she, Detective Ema Skye, is thoroughly and completely screwed.
Trying her hardest not to wake the sleeping man next to her, Ema shifts again, making a half-hearted attempt to sit up. When the body next her doesn't move a muscle, she carefully slips out of its grasp, replacing her skinny frame with a nearby pillow. She swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands up, only to stumble and nearly collapse as another surge of sharp pain shoots through her head.
Brushing her tousled bangs away from her face, she proceeds to search all over the room for her clothes. Unfortunately, neither her red capri pants nor her green vest are anywhere in sight— all she sees is a clean floor and a comfortable bed.
Well, if they're not in here…
Ema tiptoes toward the bedroom door as quietly as she possibly can—
"And just where are you going?"
—which is apparently not quiet at all. The brunette curses her luck and slowly turns around, facing what she knows will be her imminent doom. For the moment, the fact that she currently has absolutely nothing covering her body at all somehow doesn't matter in the slightest.
All that matters is that she will probably lose her job, her apartment, and worst of all, her entire life.
Her green eyes land on a the very handsome German prosecutor sprawled across the bed— one with blue eyes and long blonde hair, to be specific. He is the handsome lead singer of a famous rock band— and her boss.
Ema may be dead silent in reality, but a voice inside her (aching) head is screaming at full volume:
I slept with my boss.
I SLEPT WITH MY BOSS.
She swallows the lump forming in her throat and manages to choke out, "Klavier."
Compared to her usual tough demeanor, the spunky detective feels like a cornered rabbit, and she despises it.
A moment passes, and then Klavier's signature smirk flutters across his lips— the smirk that she absolutely despises with every fiber of her being. He shifts slightly, and she notices that his eyes are roaming up and down her body in all her naked glory.
Squeaking rather indignantly, Ema snatches up a nearby throw pillow and promptly uses it to cover herself.
"You're still shy?" His blue eyes are now set on her face, his tone teasing. "Even after last night?"
That one sentence alone confirms all of Ema's worst fears. She is suddenly very aware of her knees feeling like they are becoming jello and collapsing underneath her. The detective clutches the pillow in a death grip, as if it is some kind of odd lifesaver, keeping her afloat.
Finally, she musters up the nerve to speak:
"…I'm fired, aren't I?"
It feels like an eternity as she waits to hear an affirmative noise. A sigh. A laugh. Anything.
Instead, she hears the quick swish-flick of a lighter. Ema's green eyes rise up to look at him, and discovers that Klavier has lit up a cigarette.
She wrinkles her nose. "Klavier, that's disgusting."
"You told me it looked oddly sexy." He says casually and then takes a long drag off the cigarette. Ema is thankful that the window is open— although she realizes he had probably already opened it for that very reason.
Ema glares at him angrily before vehemently insisting, "I did not!"
"Yes, you did." Klavier chuckles lightly, holding the cancer stick between his fingers. "At the party."
Suddenly, it all comes flowing back, like a tape on rewind— the party, the drinks, the cigarettes, the flirting, the kissing, the bike ride, and the… events that followed.
Ema bites her lip and stands up. After a moment, she sighs and drops the pillow— there's no point in hiding what he's already seen. Nervously, she walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. Though she dreads the answer, she finally manages to spit out her question:
"So, uh... what happened last night?"
Klavier sighs lightly, watching the smoke curl up from the cigarette and vanish into the air. The German prosecutor then sits up all the way, giving Ema a full view of his torso, which she quickly averts her eyes from— but not before sneaking a good peek and blushing profusely.
"Well, let's see…"
He begins his story of the sequence of events, "We were both at the precinct party, where you rejected me for a dance— three times. You then got completely wasted, and we made out against a back alley wall behind the bar. When you could barely walk, I offered to give you a ride to stay here— which you rejected. At that point, I tried to take you back to YOUR home, but you had lost the keys to your apartment... so I brought you here. And the rest, as they say, is history."
"So you… Did you take advantage of me?" Ema questioningly looks at the man behind her, knowing the situation is incredibly murky, and highly doubtful in the first place.
"Au contraire, fräulein. You were more than happy to receive my affection," he's smirking again, but she knows he is telling the truth, and she feels the blush on her face intensify tenfold as he continues with, "the sounds you made were better than any song I've written."
Ema turns once more so that her naked back is facing him and buries her face in her hands, completely mortified, and mutters:
"I am so fucking dumb."
Klavier suddenly shifts, scooting up towards her, abandoning the blankets unashamedly. She feels one of his his strong hands reach over to pull her own two hands from her face, and when she looks at their hands fitted together, she suddenly feels very small.
"I'm not going to fire you, Ema. This is as much my fault as it is yours."
Relief surges through every vein in her body, and she feels the tension evaporate from all her muscles. That feeling lasts a few fleeting seconds before she suddenly finds herself turning bright red again, spluttering and swerving her head away from him.
"P-Put some clothes on!"
Klavier laughs, but isn't a teasing laugh— it'a a sincere laugh, deep and masculine. Ema wracks her brain and realizes that she honestly has never really thought of Klavier as an individual outside of work— he had always just been her boss. Her annoying, arrogant boss, but her boss nonetheless.
"You're so adorable." He smiles and rests his chin in the dip between her shoulder and her neck, once again wrapping his arms around her waist.
Ema feels heat pooling in her stomach, but makes no move to stop him. Ordinarily, being called 'adorable' would fill her with violent fury, but in this case, somehow she finds that she can let it slide.
The two remain in that position for a few moments, Ema simply listening to the sound of his breathing, and Klavier closing his eyes while resting his chin on her shoulder. When he suddenly stands up, she weirdly has half a mind to make a noise of protest, but instead she elects to stay silent and stands up as well.
"So... uh, where are my clothes?"
"The wash. You vomited on them." He answers casually, and Ema winces, now even more embarrassed. He follows his the blunt statement up with, "You can wear one of my t-shirts."
A few minutes later, Ema (wearing a band t-shirt that is at least two times too big for her) is in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the instructions on the box of pancake mix.
Klavier, wearing a pair of red striped boxers that Ema had remarked "reminded her of Christmas," parades through the kitchen with a single red towel thrown over his right shoulder.
"I'm going to go take a shower."
"That's nice," She says monotonously, honestly not paying full attention to him. She reaches for the coffee pot and empties the last of the sweet caffeine into her mug.
Suddenly Ema feels his arms snake around her waist once again, and his lips are right next to her ear:
"Want to come with me?"
Klavier ducks just in time to avoid the empty coffee carafe that comes flying at his head.