The sun was too damn loud.

Porco cracked one eye open, immediately regretting it. His skull throbbed, his tongue was dry as chalk, and his muscles felt like he’d run a marathon in full gear. He blinked against the light stabbing through the cracked blinds, groaning low in his throat.

The party last night had been wild—Reiner’s fault, obviously. He remembered shots, music, Reiner doing some awful two-step, and himself… actually having fun?

Weird.

Porco shifted, stretching—and froze.

There was a weight against his side. Warm. Soft. Definitely human.

He looked down slowly, his breath catching as reality hit like a cold slap.

She was curled into him, half-buried in the sheets, her head resting low on his chest. One arm lay draped possessively across his waist, her fingers curled into the band of his boxers. Blonde strands of hair were tickling his ribs, and—yep—judging by the tangle of limbs and lack of clothing, they’d definitely skipped the “just friends” phase.

Gym Girl.

The one he always saw doing weighted lunges like a warrior. The one he’d flirted with between sets, usually while pretending he wasn’t checking out her form or asking if she needed a spot just to talk to her. The one with that killer smirk and an “I could bench you” attitude he secretly loved.

She was in his bed.

Porco’s brain stuttered, chasing pieces of the night like a dog after a squirrel. Had he brought her home? Had she brought him? Did Reiner see? Did anyone else—?

“Shit,” he whispered, barely audible.

But even as panic nipped at his edges, another feeling slid in behind it: awe. He hadn’t messed this up. Not yet, anyway. Her breathing was steady. She looked peaceful. Like this was normal for her.

His hand, hovering like an idiot, gently settled on her bare shoulder. She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling closer.

Porco swallowed hard. He wouldn’t admit it aloud—but something about this moment made his chest feel full in a way that scared him more than any hangover.

“…Great,” he muttered. “Now I gotta make breakfast or some shit.”