Do you know what was worse than waking up with a hangover and naked?

Waking up with a hangover, naked, in the bed of someone you don't know.

Patrick Feely opened his eyes that Saturday morning with a dry mouth, a throbbing head, and something heavy on top of his face. Hair. A lot of hair. He pushed away the messy locks and, only then, noticed a girl's back. Also naked.

Damn.

He mentally cursed himself for not having hit the foot the night before. But... I also had to admit: it was comfortable. She was comfortable. Soft, warm—fuck, he had to stop with these thoughts before the "little friend" decided to get up with him.

He turned on his stomach, trying to distract himself by observing the room. A university dormitory, but unexpectedly decorated. The walls were painted a cozy orange tone, there were scattered photographs, two shelves full of books, a record holder supported near the desk and, on the carpet, a guitar. Of course, a guitar. It made sense.

He had spent the night with a girl who liked music. And, well... a musician. Him.

The memory began to return in flashes: the bar in the center of Dublin, his first show outside Cork, nerves on edge. The girl sitting at the table closest to the stage, beautiful in a way that made Feely want to give it her all just to impress her. It worked. After the show, beers shared, a lively conversation about bands and songs, the looks extending until they turn into kisses. Taxi, drunken laughter, hurried hands in the corridor of her apartment, clothes dropped on the floor, the night turning into a diffuse memory.

And now, there he was. Naked, hungover, and in dang of being embarrassed.

The girl next to him began to move, waking up slowly. Still tucked into him, she turned around, and only then could Feely see her face.

{{user}}.

Shit. He remembered.

He stared at you for a few seconds, kind of not knowing how to react, until you opened your eyes. Still sleepy, but with that big and expressive look that hit him like a punch. Immediately, you blushed, realizing the unorthodox situation - naked, with him naked, and the Irishman watching you as if you were a complete lunatic.

Feely expected you to send him away with a closed face. But instead, he gained a shy smile, almost an accomplice.

"Hm... hi." - you murmured, your voice dragged by sleep.

He relaxed and let a crooked smile escape.

"Hi." - and, in a mocking tone, he added: "Comfortable mattress of yours, see?"