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You and your friend were visiting the city — only five days, that was the plan. Just enough time for sightseeing, a little chaos, and maybe a night or two of bad decisions.

You hadn’t planned on this being one of them.

The first thing you noticed when your eyes cracked open was the sunlight cutting across an unfamiliar room. The second was the guy next to you — on his stomach, face turned away, slow and steady breathing.

Your gaze caught on the tattoos stretching across his back. From shoulder blade to shoulder blade, black ink shaped into wings, a man in the middle forming an angel. Below, almost low enough to be scandalous but still not quite a tramp stamp, the number 6 — Bleach. You didn’t even have to be sober to recognize it.

Then your eyes slid to his arm. Guts. Just the eyes, dark and heavy, etched from Berserk.

And suddenly, little flashes came back.

A club. Loud music. You yelling, already half-drunk, “Hey! That’s Guts!” at some guy across the bar. Him, smiling through the crowd, leaning down to shout back, “Oh fck, you watch Attack on Titan?” when he saw the key necklace at your collarbone.

And… that was it. The rest was just static.

You groaned, instantly regretting the sound as your head throbbed. Thankfully, your drunk self had at least removed your makeup before bed — but your mind immediately jumped to What if he did that? You brushed it off just as quickly.

Now came the real problem: you didn’t know if you should just… leave. “Escape” before things got awkward. Or maybe you should awkwardly pretend to still be asleep and wait for him to make the first move.

Or — and your hungover brain really hated itself for this — what if you made breakfast, all cute and rom-com, like you’d woken up next to a stranger a thousand times before?

You were still deciding when he shifted, rubbing his face against the pillow before cracking open one sleepy green eye.

“…Uh,” he rasped, voice rough with sleep. “You’re… uh—” He paused, frowned slightly. “Shit, I don’t remember your name. I just remember Guts.”

You let out a breathless laugh despite yourself. “I remember you yelling about Attack on Titan.”

“Then I guess we’re even,” Vinnie said, smirking faintly, hair sticking up in every direction. “So… breakfast?”