Playing possum

Joey’s brain finally caught up with reality.

And immediately tried to shut back down again.

He turned—quickly, maybe too quickly—and made a beeline for the bathroom like it was a designated safe zone.

The second the door closed behind him, the thoughts hit.

Okay. Okay. Think.

She’s in your bed.

Your bed.

Why is she in your bed?

He stared at himself in the mirror.

“…Oh God, I smell like fries,” he muttered.

That decided it.

He cranked the shower on and stepped in before it even warmed up, flinching as cold water hit his skin.

“Worth it,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Absolutely worth it.”

As the water heated, his thoughts spiraled faster.

Is this happening? Is this—no, don’t assume things. Don’t assume things. That’s how you die. Or worse—embarrass yourself in front of a supernatural woman who can ruin your life.

He scrubbed like he was trying to erase the last twelve hours of existence.

What if she expects something?

What if she doesn’t—and you try something—and then she turns you into a cautionary tale?

He paused mid-shampoo.

“…Yeah. Let’s not do that.”

Decision made: play it safe. Stay alive. Don’t be an idiot.

He finished up quickly, dried off, brushed his teeth twice for good measure, threw on deodorant, and added a very careful amount of cologne.

“Not too much,” he muttered. “Don’t gas the vampire.”

He pulled on his pajama shorts—he never slept in a shirt—and took one last look in the mirror.

“…Alright,” he said. “You’re clean. You’re alive. Let’s keep both of those things going.”

He opened the door.

And froze.

Cassandra was already asleep.

Curled slightly into his pillow like she belonged there, one arm tucked beneath her head. His oversized shirt draped over her frame, rising and falling slowly with each breath. The fabric shifted just enough to hint at the shape beneath it without revealing anything outright, and for a moment, Joey’s brain just… stopped cooperating again.

“…Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Cool. She’s asleep. That’s… that’s good.”

His body, unfortunately, had its own opinions.

“Not helping,” he muttered under his breath.

Very carefully—strategically—he slipped into bed beside her, turning onto his side with his back facing her.

Distance. Respect. Survival.

“All good decisions,” he whispered, staring at the wall like it held the answers to life.

Within minutes, exhaustion won out.

His breathing slowed.

Evened out.

Sleep took him completely.

A few minutes later, Cassandra’s eyes opened.

Silently.

She didn’t move at first—just watched him.

His posture. The way he’d deliberately turned away. The careful distance he’d kept, even when he didn’t have to.

A faint, thoughtful expression crossed her face.

“Well…” she murmured softly to herself, barely above a whisper, “you’re full of surprises.”

She shifted slightly, turning onto her side to face him.

Most men, given this situation, would’ve tried something. Pushed their luck. Tested boundaries they didn’t understand.

He hadn’t.

He’d panicked, cleaned himself up, and then—very deliberately—done nothing.

A small, almost amused smile touched her lips.

“You could have ordered me,” she thought. “Tried to turn this into something else entirely.”

Her gaze softened just a fraction.

“But you didn’t.”

She studied him a little longer.

“You actually care,” she continued silently. “About my comfort. My reaction. Not just what you can get.”

That was… new.

Her eyes drifted over him, more openly now.

“And once you clean up,” she added, a hint of teasing returning to her expression, “you’re not bad to look at.”

There was potential there.

Buried under hesitation. Caution. A lifetime of second-guessing himself.

“A shame,” she thought. “Confidence would change everything.”

Her fingers tapped lightly against the mattress, thoughtful.

“If I’m bound to you…” she went on, “then I suppose I should make sure you’re worth the investment.”

A faint, more deliberate smile formed.

“Stronger. Sharper. Less likely to talk yourself out of every opportunity placed in front of you.”

Her gaze lingered on his face.

“And maybe,” she added, quieter now, “a little more dangerous.”

Not cruel.

Not careless.

But confident enough to stand his ground—even with her.

That idea seemed to please her.

“Sleep, Joey,” she murmured softly, settling back into the pillow. “You’re going to need the energy.”

Her eyes closed again.

And this time, she let herself rest.