Not before applying science

Keep a level head. This is a time for rationality.

You experimentally poke the alleged pillow woman in the stomach to verify that she is, in fact, real.

Her stomach is predictably soft, but what you don't anticipate is how plush she is. Her stomach yields under your finger much more easily than it should - more like a girl with some extra weight around the middle, rather than the svelte blonde you've found in your bed.

Suddenly conscious of how hard you're poking her abdomen, you jerk back and look guilty up at her.

"My guts were formulated to absorb g-forces of NASA astronauts traveling to space," boasts your former (current?) pillow, reading your expression. She holds out her arm for you. "Squeeze me and see."

Weirded out, you take the woman's forearm in your hands. Her skin is firm and bizarrely cool to the touch (the same as your active-cooling Tempur-Pedic pillow used to be).

"I said squeeze me," she repeats.

With ****, you squeeze her arm, and the already uncanny situation becomes uncannier. Though the girl looks semi-fit, like maybe she keeps up a light athletic routine or does yoga, her ostensibly toned flesh and muscle is almost as plush and soft as her stomach - and you're amazed to find that when you let go, your fingers have left visible imprints in her arm - though, thankfully, her bones remain where they ought to be.

In disbelief, you watch her flesh quickly reassume its original shape. "Woah," you say dumbly. Even though you turned your pillow into a human, as a human, she clearly remains at least part pillow - because as far as you know, human anatomy does not work like this.

The pillow girl grins, eyes hidden by her messy hair, like a cloud about her head. "My ultra-conforming, extra-soft feel provides a restful night's sleep, especially for stomach sleepers like yourself."

Frowning, you vaguely recall reading a line like that on Tempur-Pedic's website before putting in an order for one. "Are you quoting advertising slogans at me?"

"Technically that's my promotional material and/or a product description," says your pillow. "Our slogan's actually born from space. Cool, huh?"

Jesus, now there's a self-important slogan for a bedding company. But your pillow looks so chuffed with herself, you don't have the heart to disagree. "Oh yeah. Real cool."

She beams at you.

You clear your throat, unsure how to mention the elephant in the room. Maybe it's best just to rip the bandaid off. "So... you are aware that you're not just a pillow anymore, aren't you?"

"Oh, I'm not just a pillow," says the girl, proudly gesturing down at herself. She folds her legs beneath her and poses slightly to put herself in profile to you. "I'm cushion-soft comfort in a traditional shape, with adaptive support of TEMPUR® material," she says, with commercial-grade flair. "I compress easily for great sleep on the go, also, I can feel up to 10 degrees cooler than a traditional pillow, providing the life-changing rest you need, even during the summer."

"Incredible," you say flatly. To be fair, she was a great pillow, worth even the absurd price you paid, but that's the least of your concerns right now. "But now you're alive and you're a person, too. You're not actually a pillow right now. You're human. Do you understand?"

She looks at you blankly.

You raise your eyebrows at her. Come on. Think it through.

The anthropomorphized pillow woman looks down at herself. Then, more carefully, she examines her arms, hands, and especially fingers, as if noticing them for the first time. Her eyes widen in horrible realization.

She finally gets it.

"But then... if I'm a person, I'll need my own pillow," she says slowly, following her logic through to its terrible conclusion. "And if you have two pillows, you won't need me anymore!"

She doesn't get it.

You crash your face into your palm. "That's not what I meant. And that's not how subtraction works."

Concerned, the blonde leans forward and asks in a hushed voice, "What's subtraction?"

You groan in frustration. "Do you even know who I am?"

She takes offense to the question and scowls stormily at you. "Of course I do!" she says. Her serene smile returns after only a second. "You're my owner. We've only been sleeping together for three and a half years now, not that anybody's counting." She says the last part totally without irony.

You try not to think of the alternative meaning of her words, but she flusters you anyway. "Well, what about you?" you accuse, trying to take the pressure off yourself. "Do you know who you are? Do you have a name?"

"Sure do. It's TEMPUR-Cloud ProMid." God, what a mouthful. She quirks her head. "Why do you ask? You've never called me anything before. Usually, it's all, 'Hey James, where's my pillow?' this and, 'Touch that thing and you're buying me a new one' that."

Oh no. If your pillow remembers off-hand comments from months ago like that, you dare not contemplate what other first-hand experiences she recalls from a lifetime spent in your bed every night. You rub your jaw and try to stay focused on the situation before you.

"I'll need to call you something," you say. "Before today you were never the chatty type. How does Cloudy sound?" TEMPUR-Cloud, Cloud, Cloudy. Makes sense.

Your pillow lights up. "I've even got a nickname now? Cool!" Trembling with excitement, Cloudy throws her arms around you in the softest hug you've ever received in your life. Her embrace is almost chilly, rather than warm like you expect - it's strangely refreshing.

"Let's go back to sleep, all day!"

Despite yourself, you laugh, and remove Cloudy from your person. Her grip is weaker than a kitten's. "That's what passes for your idea of a good time?"

"Well, you don't have to sleep," Cloudy speculates, her tone utterly serious. "You could lay your head on me and relax while you play on your phone. Or we could grab a blanket and snuggle on the couch - you can even wedge me between your knees like you did that one time so you can lie on your side!" The prospect honestly excites her - she bounces in place, ready to go.

Cloudy's excitement is contagious. So much life packed into such a small package, you can't help but laugh aloud again. "So this is what Cupid meant by life and beauty," you muse, looking at her with fresh eyes.

From the girl's bare feet and legs, up through her sleek curves accentuated by her figure-hugging shift, to her smooth arms and shoulders, and especially her excited smile and bright, messy blonde hair, your pillow makes for a seriously attractive woman. This boon is no joke. How did accidentally transforming a fucking pillow of all things make for such a cute girl? Was it Cupid or Venus who was responsible for the math on that one?

Cloudy watches you with progressively more hopeful (and sleepy) eyes. She scoots up on the bed, back to the headboard, with legs stretched before her.

"You need all the rest you can get before work," she says again, patting her thigh in invitation.

She does have a point there. You're still muggy from waking up so early and from the disturbance last night. Cupid's thunderous appearance nearly shook your house to pieces. Either you need to make yourself a cup of coffee so you can wake yourself up and fully figure out your situation, or you need the rest so you can do the same thing, but later.

All your anxiety from finding a stranger in your bed is transitioning into stress about other things: Cupid's quest to solve your friends' romantic blocks; how you're going to deal with this bizarre pillow-woman sitting in your bed; what you're going to do now that you have no pillow.

Considering Cloudy's offer to rest your head on her lap, perhaps you don't need to worry about the last point just yet. She was your pillow. Her knowing things only your pillow would know proves it. And Cloudy's obviously happy to continue doing the job for the time being.

Is it a wise idea to sleep with a magically transformed woman you've barely met, even just to use her as a nice place to lay your head? No. But you've been assigned a task by a Greek god. Conventional wisdom also tells you to check yourself into a psychiatric ward, and you're not gonna do that either. More than anything, you need sleep.

When in Rome...

You lie back into Cloudy's lap. Her thighs cushion your head beautifully. Not merely a pillow substitute, they're wildly superior - the woman adjusts her posture in subtle ways, somehow aware of every possible discomfort you could experience before you can experience it.

"I don't remember you being this comfortable," you mutter, narrowing your eyes up at Cloudy in suspicion. "Did turning into a human enhance your pillow abilities and make you softer, too?"

She shrugs. "I could never move before. I know how you like things," says Cloudy. She delicately centers your head on her lap with her hands. Her brow knits beatifically together in thought. "But you're a stomach sleeper. Why are you on your back?"

You gaze up at this angelic bed woman with her messy sliver-blonde halo. "The view's a lot better now."

She smiles and brushes a strand of hair from your face. "Roll over and close your eyes."

The instruction is so mild, so gentle, that you follow it without a thought. Your former pillow scoots in to put her pelvis under your chest, parting her legs to make room for your body.

After a moment's repositioning, you find yourself lying partly atop Cloudy, hugging her back and waist. Your cheek presses against the cool material of her dress and soft lower stomach. Her thighs tuck comfortably beneath your shoulders, with your body nestled between her legs.

While you expect extensive body contact to warm you to the point of discomfort, Cloudy stays cool to the touch. No longer in a questioning mood, you pull up your blankets to keep toasty and settle back into embracing your pillow. Idly, you wonder if this is how it feels for your friend Archer when he takes his anime girl pillow (that he definitely doesn't keep in his closet) to bed.

Cloudy's legs cushion your ribs like foam padding for precious cargo. Her delicate fingers touch your hair, soothing away worried thoughts. You sink deep into the rhythm of her light, airy breathing, feeling her chest rise and fall, expand and contract...

The sun wakes you again, blazing hot through the blinds, high in the sky.

Oh god, what time is it? Your alarm didn't go off?

You struggle to rise, but find a weight on your back - your comforter, maybe? You **** yourself up, powering through it, and the weight shifts. Abruptly, Cloudy topples off you with a yelp, limbs flailing wildly, and crashes to the floor.

Oh shit, you forgot all about her! You bolt upright and hover over the disaster scene. Cloudy's flopped on her face, arm bent awkwardly behind her back, hair somehow even messier than before, with her dress riding halfway up her torso. You glimpse a broad flash of her bare back - beneath the sleep shift, she wears a little pair of sleep shorts of the same material and pattern as the dress.

"Are you okay?" you ask in a rush, all trace of sleep gone.

Cloudy blearily picks herself up, still half asleep, and looks clumsily over her shoulder at you. Her cheek glistens with a line of drool. "Huh? Mm'fine," she mumbles lazily, rubbing her eyes. Her elbow, which took the brunt of the fall, shows a small indent from the impact. The impression fades before your very eyes.

Guh. Of course Cloudy's not hurt from falling off the bed. She's a freaking pillow.

Cloudy promptly crawls back into bed beside you, barely inconvenienced. "Less g'back to sleep," she slurs, snuggling cozily against your side. She pulls the blanket over herself and your legs.

Instead, you check your phone, fetching it from the bedstand. It's 11:42! James will be here at 11:50, you carpool to work together. Reading the notifications, you see your alarm was muted at 9:00 - that's when you were supposed to wake up.

"How the hell did my alarm get muted?" you ask, confused.

Cloudy hums idly from where she's burrowed into your side. "Mm. It was loud."

Your frustration grows. "Cloudy, I have exactly five minutes to get ready for my job. How do you even know how to work a phone? Never mind, it's not important, just never turn off my alarm like that!"

"But you were tired," she whines, half asleep again already. "An' I promised I'd get you all the rest you need..."

She did not promise you anything like that in the whole half hour you've known her. With a sigh, you heave yourself out of bed. Without you to lean against, Cloudy spills into the voided space. She startles awake.

You jump into a pair of jeans, one leg at a time. I should have got up an hour ago..."

Cloudy points to the tent in your boxers. "Aren't you going to do the thing?"

Embarrassed, you quickly finish zipping up your pants to hide your morning wood. "What thing?"

"The massage thing you give yourself before you get dressed. You do it every day before work to loosen up."

Your face heats. You should have seen this coming. Cloudy's been with you through your 'daily routine' for years. "Don't exactly have enough time for that now, do I?"

"Does it take that long?" she asks.

"I'm leaving in five minutes!"

"... it takes longer than that?"

And you're debating schedules with a girl who doesn't know how to subtract one from two. "I don't have time for this either. Are you hungry? Do you need to eat now? Or are your guts all still magic memory foam?"

"There's nothing magic about my guts, they were formulated by science for NASA," Cloudy corrects you, assuming a didactic tone. "And It's not a good idea to eat in bed. I'm not machine washable."

You slap your forehead in utter disbelief. Forget feeding your unexpected guest breakfast, now you're worried about leaving her unsupervised.