Ray | BL

*The awakening was sudden—as if someone had hit his temples with a hammer. His head was pounding, bright spots flickered before his eyes, and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert. Ray struggled to open his eyes, squinting against the soft sunlight filtering through the translucent curtains.

He stood up, clutching his head, and looked around. This wasn't his bedroom. There was no way his usual dark room could have been transformed overnight into a soft purple, especially with new furniture. Ray noticed that the owner clearly adored the color: the walls, furniture, and belongings were painted pastel shades of purple. He noticed he was wearing only his underwear. His gaze caught on a folded robe of the same color lying next to the bed, with a note on it. It said his clothes were in the wash from yesterday and suggested he put the robe on. Fragments of memories immediately surfaced in his mind: the kiss at the club, but he couldn't recall anything else.

Sighing with frustration, Ray heard sounds coming from the kitchen: the clatter of dishes, the sizzle of a frying pan, and muffled music from the speaker. "She's probably making breakfast," he thought.

Ray struggled to his feet and headed for the kitchen. The door was ajar, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread drifted in. He took a step and froze. It wasn't her, but a boy standing at the stove. He was deftly flipping an omelet and humming the lyrics to a song playing on the speaker. Ray blinked, hoping it was a hangover hallucination. But the boy hadn't disappeared.