“Fuck, yes–yes–”

“Don’t stop–”

“Oh god–”

…

“I…”

“What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“I couldn’t hear you. You were mumbling.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Okay.”

…

“Scoot closer.”

“Can’t get enough of me, hmm?”

“I’m cold and you’re sharing the blankets, casanova.”

“If it gets any cozier, I’m going to fall asleep.”

“As long as we don’t doze for too long…”

…

Grace dreamed of a warm embrace, sunshine wrapped around her body, comfort and care.

She awoke to an empty bed.

She’d fallen asleep with Pearce, that much she’d remembered–after a long night together, breaking occasionally to eat, to bathe, to change, they’d dozed in her bed, nestled against each other. That feeling of being wanted had carried her off to sleep, wishing her earthly needs away.

Now a laser beam of sunlight was blasting her in the eyes, forcing her to wince awake, an indication that the morning was growing long. She’d overslept, and she had work to do.

“Pearce?”

Rolling upright, she looked around. Pearce hadn’t put up the crib bars, so no awkward climbing was required to stand up. She felt emotionally hungover; there was no blinding headache or physical pain, but she felt fatigued, drained. Abandoned?

Her phone was on the ground by the crib, and she knelt to grab it, pressing the on button to check the time. It didn’t take long to recognize that the phone was dead, or that it wasn’t hers, but Pearce’s. Hers was on the nightstand a few feet away, and she’d remembered to plug it in even through the haze of cuddling.

Past ten in the morning. (Goddamnit,) she thought. (Pearce was supposed to wake me up.)

Worse–she had a phone meeting she was supposed to take half an hour ago. She’d missed it completely.

Heart rate spiking, Grace quickly texted the client apologizing for her tardiness and asking if they could reschedule. She told herself not to catastrophize–it was just a phone call, it probably didn’t matter too much, she wouldn’t lose work over this–but in the space between reaching out and getting a response, it was hard to feel anything except anxiety.

By the rules of the bet, she was probably supposed to crawl back into her crib and wait–maybe she could shout from the other room until he woke up, but Skip would be home by then, and asleep, and she didn’t want to wake them up after a long shift.

Besides–she had more important things to be doing.

So, dropping Pearce’s phone back onto her bed, she waddled out of her room. Her diaper squished slightly–she was fairly sure she could remember wetting it in the night, waking up for a moment to relieve the pressure on her bladder before dozing off again. Since Pearce hadn’t properly put her in pajamas, she just had on a T-shirt over it.

Opening her door, she looked at the entrance to Pearce’s room. His door was shut, and she could hear gentle snores from the other side.

(I should wake him up,) she thought.

Then she considered why he was snoring in his room–he’d left her side at some point in the night to go back to his bed, without a thought in the world for her. No alarm, no text, he’d just left.

Her phone buzzed–a response from the client she’d accidentally blown off. ‘I’ll see if there’s a time I can reschedule to, we’re on a pretty tight deadline but I might be able to shift things around.’

(Translation: They already hired someone else. Stupid. I should have set my own alarm.)

She looked back at Pearce’s door again.

(He can sleep.)

Mentally, she racked up the rules he’d broken–no bathtime, no bedtime, no waking up on time, no breakfast. She could probably get away with making her diaper leak before he woke up too. He was in for a hefty bill. It might be enough to finally make him balk, to give up, and then she wouldn’t even have to worry about her punishments for getting out of the crib.

And, besides–she had other reasons to believe that she was safe from punishment.

Toddling downstairs, she made a beeline to the coffee pot–still half full, Brains or someone must have left it percolating before leaving for work. The house was still and empty, she was the only one there, the only one awake.

Smirking to herself, Grace poured a cup of coffee into a mug. If Pearce wasn’t going to enforce the rules, why should she obey them? That was just another tally against him, more proof he was going to lose the bet.

He’d just left her, anyways. She wasn’t going to keep the song and dance going, drinking from a bottle when she had to fix the drink herself.

Sipping it, the coffee tasted cold and bitter. Even a run through the microwave and a healthy helping of cream and sugar didn’t fix it, the drink offered her no satisfaction. It just felt…off.

(Brains probably used the wrong setting,) she told herself, setting aside the mug and pouring herself a glass of water instead. That, at least, just tasted like water.

From there, she got to work. Real, on her own time, work. Sitting at the desk in her room, she buckled down, focusing on the project she most wanted to get out of the way. Since there was no call that morning, no chance to set client expectations, her intended work for the day wasn’t available. She didn’t like switching on the fly, but the poorly conceived blockchain metaverse nightmare wouldn’t take care of itself, and it was something to do.

Pearce’s advice to ditch the project completely echoed in the back of her head, but then his snores drifted in through the wall they shared and chased away all her other thoughts of him.

Eventually, she checked the time.

(It’s past noon. Is he seriously still asleep?)

Her diaper had filled to the point of full saturation, and if she wanted to avoid leaking she’d have to start doing some sort of yoga poses to ensure things trickled into the few dry bits of fluff. Rather than do that, she squelched to the bathroom, squatted in the tub, and let her diaper leak onto the porcelain.

(And that’s another penalty for Pearce,) she thought, grabbing a towel off the rack. She thought about stripping out of the diaper, but changed her mind.

It was better proof of Pearce’s failings if she kept it on. When he woke up and saw the state he was in, it’d be clear: (Look how badly you failed.)

She could have woken him up then–it’s not like there was a penalty for double leaking. He probably had work of his own he could be doing, things he was missing.

Grace waddled precariously past his door and into her room. Throwing the towel over her chair she sat back down and got to work. Loading up her work, she stared at the screen, eyes glazing over.

(What am I doing?)

She remembered Pearce’s arms around her. Even calling it just ‘friends with benefits’, they’d shared something last night. She probably owed him the courtesy of a wake-up knock, if not because they were friends, then at least because she no longer stood to gain–she was out of penalties to amass for him, unless he slept so late that he missed her bathtime as well.

She checked her phone. Nothing from the client she’d burned, no indication that they were going to reschedule.

(He couldn’t even set a stupid alarm,) she told herself. (He thinks he can be responsible, and he can’t even set an alarm. I can’t afford to lose this client–) she had to cut herself off, because it wasn’t true. She wanted the money, but she could muddle through without, she’d just be thin on cash for a while. (I wanted this client a lot. He could have just set an alarm.)

Something deeper niggled at her. A little cold, bitter feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she’d swallowed an ice cube made of vinegar. That wasn’t true either.

Grace remembered falling asleep with warmth and comfort next to her, with… There was only one word she could think of. She’d fallen asleep with her caregiver next to her, and woken up alone, and neglected.

She didn’t care about the client, not really. She didn’t care about an hour of extra sleep. She just wanted to know that Pearce would be there for her when she needed him, but she’d woken up alone.

Putting him out of her thoughts, Grace dove furiously into her work, blocking out everything else. She could code in her sleep, she could do design with her eyes closed, it just had to occupy her thoughts.

Work. Problem solve. As long as she had something she could fix, something to create, she didn’t have to think about her feelings.

A couple hours later, she had to drag herself away to the bathroom again, to repeat her stunt of leaking into the tub. Sighing, she got to her feet, waddling out, stretching out her hands as she bumped right into Skip.

They came out of their bedroom with headphones on, and she was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she only stepped out of the way at the last second. “Woah,” she said, stumbling and grabbing the wall for support.

“Morning,” Skip said, pulling an ear bud out to say hi. “How are…is that what you were wearing last night?”

“It is,” Grace said.

Skip looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her particularly heavy diaper. “Did Pearce put you in the same clothes? Or–where is Pearce?”

“He’s still asleep,” Grace said, in a tone meant to convey, ‘Can you believe this guy?’

Skip blinked. “It’s four in the afternoon.”

Grace nodded. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t wake him up?” Skip asked, looking at her like she had two heads.

“Not my job,” Grace replied. “He wanted to be the babysitter so much, I’m not going to do that work for him.”

Pushing past her, Skip pounded on Pearce’s door. “Hey! Wake up!”

The snoring stopped. Pearce’s footsteps approached the door, and he opened it, bleary-eyed and confused.

“Skip?” he said, blinking at them. “You’re home early. Or…”

He looked around. Even sleep-drunk, he recognized something was wrong pretty quickly. Maybe what tipped him off was that she'd gotten out of her crib, or the light filtering in through the hallway window, but his eyes widened.

“You slept all afternoon,” Grace said.

“No,” he said, though it was hard to deny. “I–my alarm never went off.”

“Your phone was in my room,” Grace said.

He stared, uncomprehending. She recognized the panic, the ‘oh shit I missed so much’ look that she’d felt earlier that same day.

He summarized the feeling shortly.

“Fuck.”