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    Summary

    He fumbles for a lamp, finds the switch, and floods the room with warm light.

    This is not his fucking room. This looks nothing like his house, which he is 99.9% sure he made it back to last night.
    He blinks.
    Once.
    Twice.

    Looks down. Olive-toned hands. Smaller than his, broader, with rounded nails neatly trimmed. Bare thighs, a familiar curling scar tracing the tendon around the kneecap—one he had traced with his mouth the last time he’d seen it.

    “What the fuck—” The sound of his own voice makes him flinch. Too even. Too smooth. Barely husky with sleep, not his at all. The haze burns off fast, panic sharpening everything to an edge, because that is not his voice, and this is not his bedroom, and this—

    This is not his body.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    23,003
    Chapters:
    17/?
    Comments:
    297
    Kudos:
    862
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