Phil’s POV
Weight.
Pressed down over me.
It was familiar and I could smell something good.
Cologne.
My sheets probably.
My sheets still smell like him.
Shifting, I felt that weight at my waist, the tickle at the back of my neck.
My throat was dry.
My head ached.
When I sat upright abruptly, I stumbled forward, promptly vomiting in the trashcan next to the dresser. Theo’s trashcan. Theo’s room.
Coughing, I heard a groan.
Deep. Familiar.
Teary eyed, I spit into the trash, panting, and found him sitting on the bed.
Hand pressed over his face. “f**k,” he mumbled.
“What—”
He froze, hand slipped to his lap, green eyes peering down at me.
Cold. Guarded.
“What happened?” I breathed, noticing my attire.
