The first thing you noticed was warmth—not just from the blankets, but from something, someone, beside you. A steady heat, a presence that didn’t belong to you.

Your fingers brushed against fabric, soft and disheveled sheets tangled around your legs. The air smelled faintly of something familiar—cologne, maybe, mixed with the lingering scent of sleep.

And then, reality crashed down.

Your eyes snapped open.

The room was a mess. Clothes were strewn across the floor—both yours and someone else’s. The bed, once neatly made, was now a battlefield of crumpled sheets and twisted covers. Your breath hitched as you took in the worst realization of all—you were naked.

A sharp jolt of panic shot through you, heart hammering in your chest. Slowly, almost dreading what you’d find, you turned your head.

Lying next to you, twisted in the bedding with you, was a man.

Not just any man.

Griffin Cross.

Your stomach flipped as you took in the sight of him—dark tousled hair, broad shoulders, the vibranium arm resting carelessly atop the pillow. He looked unfairly peaceful, his face relaxed in a way you rarely saw when he was awake.

The room was a mess. Clothes were scattered on the floor—both yours and his. The sheets were tangled around your legs, and worst of all—you were completely naked.

Panic surged through you as your heart pounded against your ribs.

And then, as if sensing your eyes on him, he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face as the sunlight hit him. Slowly, he blinked awake, squinting at you with tired, blue eyes.

“Morning…” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Your breath caught in your throat. His brows furrowed slightly as he took in your expression—the way you clutched the sheet to your chest, the sheer panic written all over your face.

He blinked. Once. Twice. And then, his lips parted slightly, as if things were slowly clicking into place in his still half-asleep mind.

“…Shit.”

And suddenly, the memories of the night before came crashing down on you.