With a grunt, I sit up on the bed—quickly enough for the room to spin around me just before my vision goes black. I try to roll to the side and spring up to my feet, ready to jump into fight-or-flight mode because there's no way Matt is in my hotel room right now, but I can't see.

With a tiny whimper, I stumble over my feet as the air gets knocked out of my lungs, like a punch to the chest, and fall back onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath me as Matt sits down, pulling my knees up so I can weakly tuck my head beneath them.

He acted so fast.

Faster than me, faster than I could process the signs my body was giving me. It was screaming danger, and I hesitated, more preoccupied with his presence in my room than with being careful. That says a lot about me, I think—worrying more about being perceived than with my actual well-being.

"Don't pass out on me," Matt asks. His voice sounds distant, muffled, like I'm underwater. "Breathe in through your nose, breathe out through your mouth."

"I'm—"

"Shh. Don't try to talk. Just breathe."

Matt has his flaws. I would know; I'd constantly list them on a daily basis, searching for new reasons to justify my annoyance. However, his concern for me is genuine, something I can't say about most people in my life, but those people tend to be temporary. They come into my life, do what they have to do, and move on. I'm usually the one who stays.

My mom stays. Lottie and Tilly stay. Sadie stays, in her own way; we have a professional relationship and she has her dark moments, but the optimistic, starry-eyed side of me wants to believe she cares about me as a person.

I thought Oakley would stay, too, but that proved to be one of the biggest mistakes I've made. I vowed I wouldn't do the same thing again, placing my trust on someone so unpredictable and willingly giving them every weapon to cause me harm.

And then Matt came, made me hate him and made me like him—a lot more than I probably should.

"There's no way there's only one bed," I choke out, once I manage to regain some of my physical capabilities. Though my vision is slowly returning to normal and the room is no longer spinning deadly fast, I don't trust my balance. "Surely Sadie and Kirk booked singles."

"Maybe for them, they did. Like I said, it's hilarious in theory; in practice, we have a little bit of a problem."

The rooms were all booked under false names. Even if they hadn't, the whole point of this charade isn't to make people think we're dating; it's to make them think we could or could not be dating. The uncertainty is at the epicenter of this.

If we're recognized when we check in and people put two and two together, noticing we're staying in a double room together, it's easy to come to a definite conclusion. If you're dating someone, you'll get a double room with a king-sized bed and you'll just have to deal with the embarrassment of knowing the staff will assume what you'll be doing.

Heat rushes into my cheeks just by thinking about it. We're not doing anything—and will not be doing anything—of that nature and I'm getting all flustered.

"You don't think they'll let us get another room, do you?" I question. His hand is on my shoulder, steadying me, and I tilt my head to the side until I can rest my cheek on it. "I didn't know—like, I didn't ask Sadie to do this. I didn't know this would be the arrangement."

"Same here. I don't mind, but if you're uncomfortable with it . . ."

"Please. It takes a lot more than this to make me uncomfortable. We won't be here for long; it's just three sleeps in New York. We can either share or take turns."

"I don't mind sharing."

My heart does that impossibly idiotic thing—it beats along to the sound of his voice. "It's no big deal, right? We've been in bed together. Being intimate."

"Fake intimate. There were cameras around, and we were playing parts." His thumb draws a line across my cheekbone. "I think you and I both know things are different now."

I bite down on my bottom lip, raising my head to get a proper look at him. This proves to be a bad idea; I'm usually good with looking people in the eye when I talk to them, but Matt is not a regular person.

Not to me.

"You're the one who keeps reminding me we're actors. We pretend. Is this not pretending?"

He ponders my words, a strange emotion flickering in his eyes. "There . . . there used to be a line between a performance and the real thing. I'm not that big on method acting. I'm not sure where the line is anymore."

"Is there still a line?"

He gulps. It takes everything in me to stay put, hands curled into fists so I won't trace the sharp outline of his jaw with my fingers. "No. I don't think there is. That makes this a lot more complicated, doesn't it?"

I exhale through my mouth. "Yes. I guess it does."

Every thudding of my heartbeat feels like torture. He can hear all of it, feel it in his bloodstream, thanks to where his hand is; he can witness all the chaos, every storm in his way.

And yet, he stays.

"I know everything is confusing right now, but we'll work it out," Matt tells me, voice soft like honey. My heart begs me for one chance, to let him in, but my brain has fortified the fortress. "It's going to be okay."

"The sleeping arrangements? Or everything?"

"Everything." He plants a quick kiss to the crown of my head. "We'll figure it out."

˗ˏˋ★‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Matt sleeps like a rock.

He doesn't stir, doesn't snore; in fact, he's so quiet I barely hear him breathing.

It freaks me out, even with me sleeping with my back turned to him, but the fact that I could very well be lying next to a dead body keeps me wide awake. Realistically, I know he's not dead, but what if he is?

Could I go to jail for this?

It feels like I'm dreaming, in a way. When I roll to the side and prop myself up on an elbow to get a good look at Matt, faintly illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the curtains, he certainly looks the part.

He's beautiful, even in his sleep; not because he's not speaking or being annoyingly frustrating, but because he looks so peaceful, angelic. His brow isn't furrowed, he's not smirking, and his arm is loosely wrapped around himself. He sleeps on his back, head slightly turned to the left—to me—and, for a moment in time, I allow myself to take it all in.

I'm in New York. I'll be on a late night show tomorrow, and then it'll be his turn. I'm sharing a bed with him—no doubt thanks to Sadie and Kirk's scheming—and I'm slowly uncovering what these complicated feelings I have for him are. Feelings in general are something I don't like dealing with.

With Oakley, it was a whirlwind—it was always high intensity, high stakes. I enjoyed the thrill of it at first, always being on the move, always glistening like a diamond by association because I was next to him. It also left me terrified of slowing down, of stopping, out of fear he'd think I was too vanilla, too boring and unfit for his world.

I adapted. I did everything I could and more, and it still wasn't enough.

It's quieter with Matt. Cozier. I don't know how to feel about it.

"You just gonna lie there and watch me sleep, sunshine?"

My elbow slides across the soft mattress. "Fuck. Sorry. Did I wake you? I was just checking if you were alive."

"I am." He stifles a yawn. "Can't really fall asleep with you tossing and turning, can I?" His other arm moves to support his head and he shifts on the bed. "What is it? Fancy a snuggle?"

I'm tempted to say yes. I could.

We've done it before while filming and I know how comfortable his chest and shoulder are, how easy it is for me to mold my body to fit perfectly against his. I know exactly how it feels . . . when there are eyes on us and cameras following us, when we're following instructions. Here, it's just us—no script, no pretending. No one can see us.

No one would ever know.

"The song has already leaked," I say. "I should feel bad, right? He probably worked hard on it, and it leaked."

"I have many opinions on that subject, but none of them are nice. Serves him right." He finally opens his eyes. "Have you listened to it?"

"The night before my interview? Of course not."

Matt laughs. The sound echoes in my chest. "Good girl."

I ignore the provocation. If it even is that.

Instead, I accept the snuggle.

It's warmth and tangled legs and reassurance that it will, in fact, be okay. And it's all I could ask for right now.

˗ˏˋ★‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

you really thought we wouldn't get a bed scene