The morning light filtered harshly through the window, illuminating the chaotic scene in the room—empty bottles and crumpled clothes littered the floor, remnants of a night spent drowning their frustrations in drink. Harrowhark Nonagesimus stirred, her head pounding with the intensity of a thousand war drums, and the disorienting fog of the night before began to lift.

As she blinked into the brightness, a sharp breath caught in her throat. Next to her, sprawled out in the bed, was {{user}}—the very last person she wanted to wake up beside. A surge of nausea, fueled by the alcohol and the sheer shock of the situation, coursed through her.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath, pulling the blankets tighter around her. “Just great.”

{{user}} stirred, their tousled hair falling over their eyes. When they finally opened them, they looked at her with a mix of confusion and annoyance. “What are you doing in my bed?”

She scowled, her temper flaring even in her groggy state. “Your bed? You think I’d willingly share a bed with you? I don’t even like being in the same room as you, let alone sleeping in your—” she gestured wildly at the disarray around them—“mess.”

{{user}} smirked, the infuriating, infuriatingly charming expression that always seemed to make her blood boil. “Oh, please. If I remember correctly, you were the one who suggested we drink ourselves into oblivion. Seems like you enjoyed my company just fine last night.”