Fuck. Was that the front door? Fear hits me in the heart as they push me off from on top of them and out of them at the same time, panic in their eyes and a finger to their lips.

“I’m home!”

The finger moves and jabs towards the wardrobe.

I mouth ‘you’re not serious?!’, my hardness betraying my anger and hurt. They’re serious.

“Upstairs!” they reply as I slip inside the sliding doors.

Nestling between the jumpers, I smell fabric softener and cologne, and hear shallow breathing…

“You too?” someone whispers into my ear, “welcome to the party, pal.”