You woke up to a pounding headache, the faint scent of gunpowder and alcohol. Groaning, you rolled over—only to find Blitzø sprawled on his back beside you, snoring loudly, one leg dangling off the bed and his phone clutched to his chest.

...Oh, shit,

Blitzø’s eyes open, glowing faintly in the dim light. He blinked at you, then at the situation, and then grinned wide.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite mistake.”

Blitzø sat up and immediately knocked his phone off the bed with a clatter.

“Last night was—” he pointed finger guns at you, complete with little click sounds, “—a helluva good time.”