Summary: After preparing for the arrival of her new housemates, the last thing Rose expected was for one of them to be the man whose flat she had snuck out of the night before.
Thank you to @demdifferentstories-29 for being a seriously amazing beta and helping me, the research proposal writer, get back into writing fanfics. If you haven't checked out her fics yet, please do. They're some of my favorites!
Read here on AO3
Naked.
That was the first thing Rose Tyler noticed when she woke up.
The bed she was in was not her own, and she was naked.
Blearily sitting up, she noticed it wasn’t much of a bed, really — it was a mattress on the floor.
She really had shagged a guy who slept on a mattress on the floor.
At least it had a sheet on it, she mused pathetically. As Rose looked around, however, she noticed the cardboard boxes littering the room. All of the walls were bare, save for the blinds over the single window letting in the sliver of soft morning light that was illuminating the room. The hardwood floors and white walls were a stark contrast to what she would have expected from someone with so many bloody boxes. The bareness was disorienting.
He must have just moved into his flat, then. But it didn’t matter, though.
She looked over to her right and there was a bloke, seemingly also naked, fast asleep next to her. Brown, messy hair donned his head, his expression peaceful. Rose could barely make out the constellations of freckles on his face. Based on his upper body, he was definitely fit – the light smattering of hair on his chest and sleek musculature easily got her attention. His light snores cut through that awkward silence of waking up in a random man’s bed.
She remembered the strobe lights giving her glimpses of the crowd in the otherwise darkened bar, the bass drowning out all other sounds besides her heartbeat in her ears. Dancing in the crowd. Laughing while she walked up to the bar and procured another cocktail — of which the name of she wasn’t sure. Getting several drinks in and seeing this absolutely gorgeous man. This man who had been looking at her with such confidence and desire. Eyes impossibly dark, looking at her like there was nobody else in the room. Dancing with him as his hands roamed, becoming more comfortable with each other. Drunken kisses turning into fumbling into his flat.
Which turned into some pretty amazing sex. There was something about him, some kind of pull drawing her closer, though she couldn’t be sure of what. Maybe it was just the alcohol that had coursed through her body the night before.
Quietly standing up, she made her way around the room to silently collect her clothes and put them on one by one. Her pair of knickers, however, were nowhere to be found. She barely was able to keep her balance while trying to get her jeans on. Her mobile was still in her pocket. ‘6 missed calls from Jack’ the phone screen showed. Checking the time, her stomach flipped.
4:53 AM. It was 4:53 in the morning and she had spent most of the night at this stranger’s flat.
Rose rushed to yank on her trainers, frantically checking for her bag and making sure all her belongings were still in it. After a moment of panic, she quietly and slowly opened the door to his bedroom, wincing as it creaked. The man, however, did not stir from his slumber. As she gently closed the door, save for a crack, she surveyed the layout of his flat. It wasn’t very large, probably about the size of the one she had shared with her mum. More bare walls and nearly a dozen cardboard boxes were in what was supposed to be the living room. The floors were quiet as she carefully walked through the hallway, eventually reaching the front door. It was quieter than the first, allowing a seamless transition from the dark flat to the outside world.
It was 5 AM at this point, the city coming back to life. It didn’t take long for a Lyft to arrive. As she sat in the back of the white sedan, Rose was thankful for the silent driver who had quiet, peaceful music playing. The sun had already begun to rise once they made their way out of the main city. The twenty minute ride felt like an eternity and Rose was thankful when the driver finally pulled up to the front of her house. The lights were still off, indicating there was nobody awake.
Her house was more posh than anywhere Rose had ever lived before. She grew up on the estates and could have never imagined living in a house, especially one where she had a large enough bedroom and her own en suite to feel like an actual adult. There was a garden, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a full kitchen, a properly sized living room, a formal dining room, and even a small library. It was stunning and definitely out of her wildest dreams — there was no way she would be able to afford living in a house like this if she was on her own.
Her flatmate, Jack, had recently inherited it from his grandfather. They had met during a drenching storm, in which he offered to give her a lift back to the flat she had shared with her mate Shareen. After keeping his number, she confided in him regarding her numerous failed attempts to find a new flat after some particularly nasty fights concerning her shared living situation. As one would have it, Jack was also looking for a new place to live and suggested that they share a flat, strictly as friends. It was just as platonic as he said, and their relationship blossomed from there. They were practically family, even having the typical rows you would see in sibling pairs. Once Jack’s grandfather had passed and he had gotten the deed to the house, Jack practically begged for her to live with him in it. She accepted enthusiastically.
However, it was definitely an adjustment. Rose had never lived in a house quite this large before, having two whole stories in it. They had only been there for two months even though it seemed like less after spending most of it decorating, acquiring furniture, and painting the walls to make it seem less like an old man lived there. Her room actually felt comfortable and grown up opposed to her vibrantly pink room at her mum’s. The walls were a soft light grey which gave the impression of a room much larger than it actually was. The soft pink duvet on her bed provided a nice pop of colour to the whole thing while the frame and sheets accentuated it with a simple white. Artwork lined the walls, all holding the same signature in the bottom right corner. Her signature.
Wearily unlocking the door, she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding since she woke up. She was now home, where she could lay in her own bed alone. Rose still had to get used to manoeuvring in the dark, narrowly avoiding bumping into various pieces of furniture that had recently been rearranged. The walk of shame up the stairs would have been far more embarrassing had Jack been actually awake. But thankfully, she still had about three hours before his alarm was meant to go off.
She quickly made her way up the stairs, her room at the end of the hall feeling more and more enticing. The door closed silently, finally giving Rose the chance to strip her clothes off. Rose admired the skimpy, strapless pink top she had worn.
‘Was this what made this man approach me?’ she wondered.
She so desperately wanted to feel the hot water cleansing her skin from the dirty one-off shag she had. Never had Rose been so thankful that Jack gave her the master bedroom — not worrying about anyone needing to use her bathroom was a nice, peaceful feeling.
As she turned the water on, multiple thoughts began to plague Rose’s mind.
Did they use a condom?
Was he clean?
Was this whole thing a huge mistake?
The mirror steaming up pulled her out of her spiral. Mentally, she made a note to go get tested as soon as possible.
The scalding water on her skin was much needed. She felt the night washing off, the bath sponge scrubbing away his tender touches and dirty words; the feelings of hot, sweaty sex full of lust. She remembered more and more while she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair — the fire in his eyes, the way his teeth felt on her neck. Her fingers gripping his hair as he—
Oh.
Rose’s breath hitched as her full memory of that night flashed through her mind at lightspeed, and she realised that it was the best shag of her life. She stood dumbfounded under the spray for a minute as she desperately tried to recall his name. Not once did they exchange names during the entire night.
She quickly finished her shower, turning off the water and stepping out with a towel wrapped around her.
It was a one-off, she reminded herself, albeit a little disappointed at the thought. You’re never going to see him again.
She threw her pyjamas on and crawled into bed. The fatigue from the night before had begun to set in. Her body felt so heavy and her head throbbed lightly — the result of a mixture of alcohol and exhaustion. She hadn’t even realised she had fallen asleep until the familiar pounding on the door pulled her out of her – quite unrestful – sleep.
“Wake up, Rosie!” Jack called through the door. “I need your help prepping the house for the guests!”
Oh — that was today.
It was bloody Saturday. Of course it was Saturday — the day Jack’s friends were supposed to be coming to move in. The house was just a little bit too big for the two of them, so Jack had invited some of his old travel friends to come live with them. After a lot of ‘Come on, Rosie, you’ll love them’ and ‘It’ll be nice to have some extra hands around here’, Rose eventually caved and told him that maybe she wouldn’t mind the extra company. Her only worry is that she knew almost nothing about them. She knew their names were James and Donna, they were siblings, and that they live in central London. Well, they lived in central London.
“Well, I thought you would never wake up,” Jack laughed as she sluggishly drifted into the kitchen. The distinct smell of coffee emanated through the room as Rose finally began actually waking up, taking a seat at the table. As he turned his head to look at her, she could see the smirk on his face. “Have too good of a time last night?” God, sometimes she wanted to punch him in his stupid American face. Even when he sat a cuppa down right in front of her with a splash of milk, just how she liked it.
“Maybe I did,” she sighed. “Don’t look at me like that.” He waggled his eyebrows, grinning at her as he chuckled lightly. “You’ve shown up plenty of times after a quick shag in the middle of the night.” Rose picked up the cup, sipping her tea as she eyed him.
Rolling his eyes, Jack grabbed his own coffee mug and sat down at the table with her. “Yeah, but Rose Tyler doesn’t do one night stands.” He was right and she knew it. It was very out of character for her to just have a meaningless fuck and sneak back into the house like she was a teenager. Changing the subject, he continued. “Are you ready to help with the move-in?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Rose groaned. It was going to be a long morning.
She had been counting down the minutes as they felt like hours, exhaustion creeping in. The day felt like it was never going to end. The doorbell rang as Rose finished up with tidying up the bathroom upstairs, not including her own. The door opened and she could faintly hear Jack greeting his friends, encouraging them to come inside. She began making her way down the hallway and to the staircase, all with the intention of warmly welcoming her new housemates.
“I’m so glad this worked out,” Jack laughed. “I’ve missed you guys.” He saw Rose coming down the staircase out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, Rosie! Come here! These are our esteemed guests,” he enunciated, giving a little wink. Her footsteps quickened as she descended. Rose looked up from her hands and wiped them off on her pants as she approached them.
“Hi, I’m Donna.” The ginger woman in front of her turned to Rose, greeting her after giving Jack a quick hug. “Thank you for letting my brother and I stay with you. It’s nice to finally be out of the city for once.” Her smile was warm and she had this aura of kindness around her. Rose was happy that Jack’s friends at least seemed normal.
“I’m Rose. It’s so nice to finally meet you!”
As she turned to greet the man in front of her, she froze. That messy brown hair and constellation of freckles that Rose had tried to trace in the dim light of the morning. His eyes were this deep brown, and the glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose framed his face gorgeously. Her stomach flipped as their eyes met. It was like a string had been pulled so taut between them that it would snap at any moment.
It was him — the bloke whose flat she snuck out of after the best sex of her life. And here he was, standing in front of her, a matching look of shock adorned his features as he had the same realisation. And she didn’t even know his name.
“Hi, uh—” he stammered, stiffly offering her an outstretched hand. “I’m James. James Noble. It’s, er, nice to meet you.” He swallowed thickly, waiting for a response. Rose blinked the flabbergasted look off her face, taking a deep breath and accepting his hand to awkwardly shake it.
The day that you start thinking that love is overrated is the day that you’re wrong. The only thing wrong with love and faith and belief is not having it. (happy birthday, sandra!)
"we live in an uncaring universe." sorry the special planet full of beauty and animals and food literally growing out of the ground isnt good enough for you. i guess
It is a curse of a grieving heart that it never stops mourning. It clings onto grief as its last refuge, as its final act of defiance. It stands singing in the wake of its own destruction, refusing to move on.
But this isn't tragic, you know? Grief isn't sad, it isn't something to move out on; grief is the acknowledgement of love, it is an acknowledgement of life, and of the truth that follows. It is a promise of rememberance. "You were here, you were loved, and even though my heart aches from the weight of the hole you left, I'll remember you, in every moment of happiness, in every fickle realization of content, in every dream, in every prayer, in every act of kindness, in every breath, in every twinkle of every star, in every little whisper of wind, in every sob of nostalgia, in every turn of time, in every way of existence... I will carry you on with me, until I can't anymore"
The lost life continues. The love lives a thousand lifetimes. The span of one's life is only the core of their actual existence, and you owe all of it to a grieving heart.
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
2087
dededos
