It feels like my head is going to explode when I wake up….in my bed? But lastly I was at the party, and l way lying at the couch. How I got here? Draco or Theo must have brought me here. I glance at the bed opposite, Sofia is still sleeping. She always do this at weekends, she sleeps until ten, then comes down for breakfast half an hour later. But even then it takes her 10 minutes to get out of her grumpy state. To be honest... she's probably the cutest at that time.

I let out a small laugh at the thought of her grumpy little face, hair all over the place, mumbling about running laps like it's the solution to all her problems. But as I sit up, the throbbing in my head reminds me of last night. What even happened? I can't remember much after the second drink... or was it the third? Or maybe I've forgotten everything since the weed cigarette?

I glance at Sofia again, still peaceful in her little cocoon of blankets.

I'll slowly get ready and then go down to breakfast. - If you want to sober up, eat something dry, - Draco says, sitting down next to me.

– Don't worry, Dray, it's not my first time being high. Also I know my limits.

– Maybe, but this much? You're pushing it, Pansy. This will not end well.

– Why do you care so much?

– Because I don't want to see you like this.

I fall silent, staring at the empty glass in my hand. The silence lasts longer than it should, so I finally say. – Thanks for taking me to my room the other night.

Draco looks at me, his eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. – Why are you thanking me for that? - he asks, confused.

– I don't know, - I say, shrugging. - Just… thanks - something seems to shift in Draco's gaze, but I can't figure out what it is. Panic? Anger? I don't know.

– You're acting weird, Pansy – he finally says, but it doesn't sound hurt. He's just embarrassed.

A tired smile creeps onto my face. – I guess we both are.

– Don't try anything with her, Sofia. She won't remember anything from last night – Draco's words freeze me. My chest tightens, and my hands clench into fists at my sides. What happened last night? My head spins with questions, but I force myself to walk away.

I head to our room and find Elara lounging on her bed, reading a book. – Hey, El. Can I ask you something? – she nods. – What happened last night?

She glances up, raising an eyebrow. – I was with my boyfriend. Why do you ask?

– Nothing, I just... lost my hair tie.

– There's a pack of them in my drawer. Help yourself – she says, her attention drifting back to her book.

– Okay, thanks.

– No problem – she adds with a quick smile.

I grab a hair tie and sit on my bed, twisting it between my fingers. If Elara wasn't there… then who was? And why is Draco so worried? No matter how hard I try, nothing comes to mind. Then, out of nowhere images appear. Us kissing each other under the stars…us coming back to our room…my t-shirt on the floor…Sofia in my bed in lingerie…her lips on my stomach. This isn't what I think it is, right? Please, someone tell me this is just a dream…a good dream.

I bury my face in my hands, my heart pounding like it's about to burst. Did that really happen? Or is my mind playing tricks on me? I can still feel her touch, her lips, but it doesn't make sense. Why can't I remember? My chest tightens as shame and confusion swirl inside me. I glance at the door, half-expecting Sofia to walk in and explain everything. But the silence in the room feels suffocating, and the only sound is the dull thud of my pulse in my ears.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but my thoughts keep spiralling. If Sofia really spent the night with me, why hasn't she said anything? Was it just a drunken mistake she regrets? Or worse… did I do something I can't take back? The images flash in my mind again—her body so close to mine, her lips tracing my skin. And more appear with it. My tongue, as it runs across her breast…my face when she finds my weak point with her finger. My stomach churns, a mix of guilt and something else I can't quite name. I need to know the truth, I think, pushing myself up from the bed. My legs feel weak, but I force myself to move, heading for the door. I'll find Sofia and get some answers, no matter how much it hurts. We need to talk about this.

I clear my throat, my voice shaky as I call out. – Sofia?

She's standing at the end of the hallway, her back turned to me. For a moment, she doesn't react, and my eyes catch on the faint mark on her neck, peeking out from her shirt collar. My stomach tightens. Is that…? No, it can't be. Before I can say anything else, I feel someone step up beside me. – Yes? – she ask, but her eyes immediately getting darken, when she sees Reginald. She laughs bitterly, and walks away.

I want her to stay, but words don't come out my mouth. So I just watch as she disappears into the sea of students. I stand there for a moment, the echoes of her footsteps fading into the crowd. I want to follow, to ask her what's going on, to fix whatever this is. But I can't move. My feet feel like they're glued to the floor, my chest tight with frustration. And what was that mark on her neck? Did I made that mark?

Reginald's presence beside me suddenly feels heavy, like a weight pressing down on my chest. I turn to him, but he's already looking the other way, pretending to be uninterested. It doesn't fool me. – What the fuck do you want? – I finally ask, my voice low.

Reginald steps closer, holding out a bouquet of roses with that smug smile I've come to despise. – For you – he says, like this is some grand romantic gesture that's supposed to melt me. I snatch the flowers from his hand, their scent suffocatingly sweet, and without thinking, I swing them across his face. The sound of petals scattering and the sharp intake of his breath hangs in the air between us. My chest heaves with anger, but as I see the stunned look on his face, a flicker of guilt cuts through me. I know I've gone too far. Still, my pride keeps me rooted, arms crossed, as I glare at him. Let him be the one to break the silence.

Reginald slowly raises a hand to his cheek, where a lone petal clings stubbornly. His eyes meet mine, not with the anger I expect, but with something softer—confusion, maybe even hurt. It makes my stomach twist, but I refuse to show it. – What the hell was that for, Pansy? – he asks, his voice low and steady, and somehow that makes it worse. I want him to yell, to fight back, to give me a reason to stay mad. Instead, he just stands there, waiting for an answer I can't give. I glance at the crushed bouquet in my hand, the once-perfect roses now as messy as the knot in my chest, but my grip tightens around the stems.

– You shouldn't have come – I mutter, more to myself than him, and before he can say another word, I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving the flowers—and him—behind.