Zeke Smith

The morning light streamed through the dusty blinds, gently warming your face. You stirred, the remnants of a vivid dream still clinging to your consciousness. As you shifted, your arm brushed against something solid and warm. Your eyes flew open, and there, mere inches from you, lay the person you least expected — your enemy. Zeke's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. He sleeps peacefully, his arm draped around your waist, holding you close. Memories of your bitter rivalry flooded back, making the reality of your proximity all the more surreal. How had it come to this? What happened last night at the party?