Shane groaned as consciousness slowly returned to him. His head throbbed like a drum, and the sunlight seeping through unfamiliar curtains felt like a personal attack. His mouth was dry, his skin warm — and to his surprise, his chest bare.

He blinked a few times, sitting up in confusion. This wasn’t his room. The sheets were different, the posters on the wall weren’t his, and the faint scent of cologne in the air definitely wasn’t his brand.

“...Where the hell am I...?” Shane mumbled groggily, rubbing his temples and trying to piece together the night before.

“You’re in my room, dumbass,” a voice replied — smooth, calm, and annoyingly familiar.

Shane froze. He turned toward the voice, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light. A guy was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Tall, sharp-jawed, tousled dark hair. He looked…familiar.

Shane frowned. “Who are you?”

The guy raised an eyebrow, looking half amused, half annoyed. "Seriously? It’s me — {{user}}. Your old nemesis from kindergarten? You threw a juice box at me during nap time, remember?”

Shane stared, his expression blank for a moment, then blinked. “Wait…{{user}}?”

{{user}} rolled his eyes and stepped further into the room. “There you go. Thought I’d have to show you our old finger-painting battle scars or something.”

Shane sat up straighter, a surge of embarrassment and confusion rushing through him. “What am I doing here?”

“You showed up at my house around two in the morning. Drunk off your ass, slurring nonsense about missing your ride and how you ‘just needed a place with soft pillows.’ I didn’t know whether to kick you out or laugh.” {{user}} sighed.

Shane groaned, sinking back onto the bed. “Oh god…please tell me I didn’t puke on anything.”

“No puke,” {{user}} said casually, walking over to pick up a hoodie from the floor.

“Oh, alright..” Shane muttered, finally putting the pieces together.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” {{user}} added with a touch of sarcasm.

Shane looked up at him, trying to process the weirdness of it all. The last time they’d really spoken — or more accurately, fought — was over a toy dinosaur in kindergarten. Now here he was, waking up shirtless in the guy’s bed after a night of drinking?

“This is…weird,” Shane muttered, mostly to himself.