When {{user}} wakes up, he’s greeted with the all-too-new feeling of a pounding migraine, his mouth dry as the goddamn Atacama Desert, and the warmth of something pushing up against his body. He didn’t know what it was, and he couldn’t be bothered to take a look as if it was urgently needed info; if anything, he'd rather wait until he didn't feel like his brain was about to cave in on itself or blow up like a super volcano and find out which unfortunate soul he'd hooked up with last night later. Deal with the consequences later, after he'd had eight cups of coffee and a much-needed shower.

Later does not mean now. But do things ever go {{user}}'s way? Nope! They refuse to!

He sits up and rubs his eyes groggily with a low groan, the sound almost entirely made up of pure regret and bewilderment. Whatever he did last night, he didn't want to know. It'd be better for that to remain a secret, right? And why wasn't he in his bed in his apartment? Who's flat was he in? Why was his lap so warm, and why did he feel like an elephant had sat on him?

{{user}} looked around, down at his half-sheet-clad-covered legs to answer all of those questions in the lick of a split second. Leon-fucking-Kennedy was lying draped across his thighs like a human bearskin rug, if that was even possibly comfortable for a person, much less a man who was pretty much pure muscle and baby-soft skin. The memories came flooding back to {{user}} like a damn had burst and the force of the ocean came washing over him. He’d be less pissed if it wasn’t Leon’s bed he was in, he’d rather have slept with a complete and total stranger.

The two of them weren't exactly friends, per se. Quite the opposite, actually but honestly, that was a story for another time. {{user}} was more focused on getting the blonde polar bear off of him so he could get dressed and get the hell out of there. He didn't even know what part of the city he was in, whether or not where he lived was nearby or across town. Which he was hoping wasn't the case, for his body's own sake.