Chapter Text
You wake up in your bed, head pounding, mouth dry, and wishing you hadn’t drank so heavily the night before. In fact, you don’t even remember how you got home, so that’s unsettling, but you probably just called Perry. Before you even open your eyes, you’re shielding them from the sunlight coming in through your sheer shades. You really should have invested in some blackout shades, but those combined with your erratic work schedule would cause you to entirely lose all sense of time. You open one eye enough to see the clock beside your bed, and it’s already past 10:00am, so it looks like your Sunday routine – it is Sunday, right? – has been shot to hell.
Still, you push yourself up and out of bed and make a beeline for the bathroom. For a moment, you’re fairly certain you’re going to vomit, but a few deep breaths and a slow drink of water seem to settle your stomach. For the time being, at least.
You place your hands on either side of the sink and lean into it, eyes closing. What happened last night? You needed a night out after weeks of moping about Danny but, judging from your spotty memory, you might’ve had too much fun.
You hear a rustling behind you and your eyes snap back open. Your first thought is animal and your second thought is intruder. Either way, you should be armed, right? The nearest weapon, if you can call it that, is your plunger.
You’ve just gotten a solid grip on the wooden handle of the plunger when you hear, “So you and I had quite the night, huh?”
You know that voice. You spin around and there, leaning against your doorframe with her arms crossed in front of her – is that – it couldn’t be – “Carmilla?”
You think you see her face fall, just slightly, but you forget a moment later when the smirk you remember so well stretches across her lips.
“In the flesh.”
You look her over, from her - your - Black Widow t-shirt to her legs, clad only in underwear, which, wow. She doesn’t look much different than you remember; just a little older and maybe a bit weathered.
In your mind’s eye, you can see her as she was when she barged into your room (and your life): 18, alluring, aggravating. She’d kicked open the door to 307 – or at least that what you assumed the jarring BANG was when she entered – and dropped her bags in the middle of the floor without so much as a hello.
“Um, excuse me, but who the hell are you?” you’d asked.
She looked up for the first time then, eyes quickly roaming down your body and back up. Suddenly you wished you wore something more than sweatpants while doing homework.
You didn’t have much time to think on it, because then she said, “I’m Carmilla. I’m your new roommate, sweetheart” before cracking open a soda – your soda – and cranking the volume on some punk rock song.
You’re snapped back to reality when Carmilla clears her throat at you.
“We didn’t, you know…” you trail off, gesturing past Carmilla toward your bed.
“Have sex? No, cutie. Regretfully, you passed out the moment we got home after saying some spectacularly explicit things to me on the stairs.”
Your cheeks heat up. “But – you – how did you – home?”
Her brow creases now, smirk falling into something more melancholy. “You really don’t remember, do you?” You shake your head and, before you manage to say anything in response, Carmilla holds up her left hand, showing you the back of it. There, on her ring finger, is a tiny but admittedly beautiful ring, but you don’t see what that has to do with -
Oh no. God no.
Your chin falls to your chest, allowing you to see your own left hand, where an identical ring sits on the third finger, and then Carmilla confirms your panic with a simple, “We got hitched.”