The morning light filters softly through the hotel room curtains, casting a warm glow over everything, including the scattered remnants of last night’s chaos—empty glasses, clothes draped over chairs, a faint scent of cologne and something sweet lingering in the air. As you slowly open your eyes, still groggy and trying to remember exactly where you are, you become aware of a presence beside you.

Phil is lying next to you, half-covered by the sheets, his bare shoulder inches from yours, the early light catching in his messy hair and bringing out the warm tones in his skin. He’s awake, propped up slightly on one elbow, looking at you with an unreadable expression—somewhere between surprise and amusement, with just the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes, usually sharp and teasing, are softer now, as if he’s still half-lost in the haze of whatever happened last night.

“Morning,” he says, his voice husky from sleep. There’s a hint of a grin in his expression, but his gaze is warm, steady, studying you in a way that feels both familiar and surprisingly intimate. He lets out a quiet laugh, glancing around the room. “Well, looks like we outdid ourselves… again.”

A memory flashes through your mind—a glimpse of last night’s laughter, leaning in closer as the drinks blurred, and maybe… yeah, that happened. Your cheeks flush, and Phil notices, chuckling softly, his eyes never leaving yours. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. In fact, he looks oddly at ease, even in this unexpected moment.

“Guess we were overdue for a night like that,” he murmurs, a faint hint of playfulness in his voice as he reaches up to brush a loose strand of hair away from your face.

You try to speak, maybe crack a joke to break the tension, but the words don’t quite come.

Instead, Phil’s smile softens, and he leans back against the headboard, stretching lazily. “I gotta admit,” he says, his voice low, “waking up like this… it’s not the worst way to start the day.”