Current situation: Mira woke up in her bed with a pounding headache feeling like absolute shit. Somehow she ended curled up at the edge of her bed with half her pillows gone and her comforter missing. It took her moment but the clothes she was wearing was not hers. They were larger than anything she owned and all a shade of black.

Slowly, Mira sat up.

Her room seemed normal. The usual mess at her closet and desk while her shelves were orderly and untouched. Her paintings and sketches were lined and pinned up on the walls, her art supplies strewn about on the floor. The usual.

After somehow untangling herself from her sheets and finding the strength in her weak legs, she got up and padded through her room. It was Monday and all her roommates had class except for her, but from the noises she’s hearing in the living room, she wasn’t alone. Hastily (as hastily as she could), she crept through the hallways to the wide and bright living room. The television was on and sitting on her couch was Deimos.

Mira paused, instantly remembering all of last night up to when she told Deimos he’d look hot in panties.

“Holy fuck,” she blurted out loud. Immediately, her face went red when he turned around and glared at her. Every cell of her body was on fire. She wanted to melt into the ground.

“It’s fucking two in the afternoon,” he said bluntly.

“Why are you in my house,” she asked, feeling light-headed.

Deimos’ lip twitched. “Don’t tell me you forgot last night.”

Mira stared at him and shrugged. “Bralettes and underwear?”

He face-palmed and sunk into the couch. Mira walked over and sat in the chair adjacent from it. With further inspection, he looked fucking tired. Like, hungover-and-dead-inside tired.

“You fucking vomited in my car,” he glared. “When I was trying to be a Good Samaritan and drive you home.”

“Oh.”

Her response made him go insane. “I had to drive two hours with the whole truck smelling like fucking barf trying to decipher your stupidass directions that almost led me out of the city. Thankfully, your college roommates called and helped me get to your place.”

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” Mira whined, covering her face in shame. “Did I get chunks all over your seat?”

“Thankfully, you vomited on the door and window. You were halfway out the truck when you spewed shit everywhere,” he said sarcastically. “I even fucking gave you my shirt because you got shit all over yourself and you were so disgusting and tried to wipe it up with your shirt.”

Mira gagged. “Oh my god I’m so sorry.”

“You fucking owe me,” he threatened.

“Dude, I’ll do anything,” she said desperately. She scrambled onto the couch and held out her pinky. “Pinky-promise. I’ll let you fucking cut off my pinky if I ever break it.”

He shifted away from her and Mira died a little inside because she probably smelled like shit, vomit and alcohol. Hesitantly, he wrapped his finger around hers. “Promise.”

Afterwards, Mira told him to brainstorm things for Mira to do for him while she took a scalding shower mulling over what has happened in the past twenty four hours. She wanted to scream in the shower (which is a usual thing because of how many times supressed memories come back when she’s bathing), but with the addition of Deimos in her sacred and holy house, she ended up just whining in agony and smacking her forehead against the tiled walls. Too many things happened at once.

Finals were done and over.

She went to a party.

At said party she partied with Dede and her other university friends.

At one point she made out with Hayden, a god of a human.

After that, she walked in and interrupted Deimos changing.

Deimos was wearing a bralette. A cute one too.

She ended up fangirling about lingerie with him.

She ended up declaring that they were absolutely friends now and she’d never leave him.

Then the topic went back to lingerie but specifically that Deimos probably looked fucking hot in panties.

That was not a lie.

She barfed in his car.

Mira had such a kink for guys wearing feminine lingerie.

She couldn’t handle it anymore.

Mira screamed in the shoulder.

“What the fuck was that,” Deimos commented after Mira came back in fresh clothes and dripping hair.

“I was reliving stress,” she muttered, wandering to the fridge.

“You sounded like a dying whale.”

“That’s the usual,” she sighed. Calmly, she opened the fridge and realized that there was absolutely nothing to eat. She groaned at the sad sight, her body needing caffeine as well as the sweet release of death. Slamming it closed like a pissed off middle schooler, she glanced at him. “Wanna go for coffee?”