The sun had only just begun to cast pale orange light through the cracks in the thick curtains of the Black Bulls’ base.

Dust floated lazily through the air, the world holding its breath in that rare, fragile quiet that only existed before the madness of the day truly began.

That quiet… shattered like a pane of glass.

“CAPTAIN YAMIIIIII!!”

Asta’s voice tore through the base like an explosion, his footsteps thundering past the common room like a herd of very energetic elephants.

Something crashed in the hallway. A broom? A table? Maybe Luck? Who knew?

You groaned, one eye blinking open groggily as your cheek squished against something soft and warm..

The something groaned, too.

Vanessa.

Still mostly passed out, head thrown back awkwardly over the couch’s armrest, one leg tangled in yours, the other bent at an angle that couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

Her pink hair was a frizzy halo, and her hand—still clutching the neck of an empty bottle—hung limply over the floor, swinging slightly with each of her slow, steady breaths.

You were sprawled right across her, half-crushed between her and the cushion, your legs dangling off the other side like discarded laundry.

No, you didn’t drink last night. Not a drop.

Vanessa had started without you, and you’d simply flopped down after a long day, too tired to drag yourself up the stairs.

You vaguely remembered a half-hearted attempt to wiggle free from her drunken limbs before eventually giving up and letting sleep take you both.

But now…

Vanessa stirred beneath you, groaning quietly as she lifted one arm to clutch at her head. “Mmmgh… morning…?” she mumbled, her voice hoarse, lips dry.

She cracked one bloodshot eye open and squinted around the room. “Ugh. Is Asta always that loud, or did my hangover give him an echo?”