(A/N: Set to Panic's Hurricane, and I've interpreted this as a secret between two people, slightly cliched to say, but a whirlwind romance. Enjoy.)
He wakes up, and she's still there, he doesn't know what he's surprised at - him still being there, or her staying the whole night. Admittedly, it's his place, so he's right where he should be. Under normal circumstances, he would wake the female up, make her get dressed and usher her out of the apartment before she even started talking about breakfast and calling her back.
Barney Stinson did not do callbacks. But this wasn't a normal circumstance. I want you to catch me like a cold, he thinks as she looks at her, still sleeping soundly as his blinds remain undrawn. He doesn't wake her up, but merely stares at her perfect features, she isn't wearing make-up, she wasn't the night before at the bar. But holy crap, (she's) beautiful!
Out of curiosity, he opens her back, and he shouldn't be surprised, but he still is. A small pistol, unloaded, sitting at the bottom of her bag. He remembers laser tag, a few years back, when she spun quickly on her heels and aimed a shot at him, he knew she'd be right on target. When you shoot, I think I'd duck, he thinks, but he recalls just standing there because he never expected that she'd be as good as him at laser tag. Nearly as good.
Memories of the previous night floods his mind, when they stumbled into his apartment, his hands glued to her back, his tongue entangled with hers. I led the revolution in my bedroom, and I set all the zippers free. His pants, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as he notices how his belt buckle is slightly tarnished, and he smiles as he fingers it fondly. A smirk forms across his face, as he hears her voice in his head, "Unzip me, Stinson." They agreed, no more wars, no more clothes, just peace, "Kiss me."
He notices her squirming slightly, her hand was under the pillow. He gently pulls her hand out, her beautifully slender hand. The same hand that holds a scotch glass every night, the same hand that he once held at the intersection when they were pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend when they already were, just that they didn't realise it. We are a hurricane, he realises, they spin through, madly in love for a short period of time, and mess everything up. Nothing was the same after they broke up, no matter how hard they tried to pretend it was.
The way he talks to himself about relationships, I know, I know, that they don't sound like me. He dated Nora, she dated Don, it feels like their relationship was a gateway that opened them both to the world of dating, and past that of one night stands. He missed the no strings attached contract, among the dating people, he feels like a wolf among the sheep.
She stirs slightly, and he dashes into the bathroom, pulling out his shaver hastily. He sprays shaving cream all over his chin, and looks into the mirror, but pauses.
Who I am hates who I've been. I'm not the same Barney Stinson, I can't sleep with a woman without catching feelings anymore, can I?
He hears the sound of padded feet on the parquet floor, and his door is opened, just a crack, and he sees the messy dark curls peek through.
"I'll just, you know, get going. See you tonight, at McLarens. This... Yeah."
He wants to say more, but he doesn't want to ruin this dynamic. It's a screwed up dynamic, but one nonetheless. He doesn't want to risk not having this friends with benefits scenario, it feels like he's grown apart from her enough over these two years, and if this is all they've got, it's better than nothing.
Maybe, one day, he'll tell her.