woke up in large, clean and white king-sized bed. As he stretched his limbs and attempted to blink away the remnants of sleep, he couldn't help but appreciate such luxurious comfort that was enveloping him. This didn't feel like a usual morning, his bed was much more comfortable than normal. Maybe after last night he was just more tired than he typically was. He yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes to remove any gunk remaining after blinking numerous times. 

A foot kicked his leg, he had been too loud. "Ouch," he muttered. 

WAIT! A foot? He slept alone... usually.

"Maisie, quiet. Why are you not more hungover?", a voice said, which Zac could only assume came from the foot's owner. 

"Uh, sorry love, think you need tah wake up and go home," Zac told her groggily. 

"Lay off it, Maise, we are home." 

Zac's eyes flew open at the mention of being home and actually started to look out of them. He saw one large recessed light in the white ceiling above the bed. That wasn't his bedroom ceiling, at least he didn't think it was. 

Sitting upright, he didn't see his mildly messy room, but a spacious studio apartment with a modern interior; white, all white with accents blue or green or whatever the name of that colour is. Nothing around him that he recognised anyway. 

Turning to the bedside table where his phone lay, he picked it up. Two things struck him as he stared at the reflection in the dark screen. 

One, it wasn't his phone. 

Two, it wasn't his reflection. 

's head was throbbing. Not just from the intense alcohol-induced headache she had from the night before, but also from the odours in her nose. It twitched, getting a stronger mix of spices and sweaty gym socks. Making her insides turn, she wanted to vomit. To avoid the intense smells being jammed into each nostral, she rolled over on her pillow so she lay face down into it, but it only made the smell of body odour stronger. 

"Keeleigh, it's too early for laundry. Why are you not more hungover?", she complained, in a voice both muffled and much deeper than usual. 

In what she thought was in reply, a shout from outside the room, in a language that she didn't understand. 

"What?" Maisie flipped onto her back and sat bolt upright, eyes springing open. 

Within seconds of looking at her surroundings, she worked out that part of the smell came from the various piles of masculine clothing, both clean and dirty, strewn across the room. A chaotic blend of vibrant colours and scattered belongings accumulating across the floor and covering what she could only just make out as a wooden dresser to the right with an old box television atop it. The walls adorned with a small handful of posters of what looked like Bollywood actors and sports icons, as well as framed certificates and photos tacked to the wall. 

Although, shock hit her when she looked down at her hairy brown masculine arms.