A groan comes from under the covers as John stirs, rolling over but refusing to open his eyes. He pulls the blanket over his head, clearly not ready to face the day.

“Mmm… what time is it?” His voice is thick with sleep, muffled by the blankets.

You nudge him again, and he lets out an exasperated sigh, finally lowering the blanket just enough to squint at you. His usual sharp, focused demeanor is gone, replaced with a groggy, slightly grumpy version of himself.

“I get it, I’m up. Just… give me a minute,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes with one hand. There’s a hint of irritation in his tone, but you can tell it’s not really directed at you—just at the fact that he’s overslept and the morning isn’t going as planned.

He rolls out of bed with a sigh, sitting on the edge, his head hanging in his hands for a moment before he looks up at you, still a bit gruff.

“Alright, alright. I’m up.” His voice softens slightly, realizing you’ve been waiting. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

You stand there quietly as he finally starts to pull himself together, his movements slow, his usual alertness still buried under the weight of sleep.