The last thing you remember is the bass drop, the crowd, the second drink in your hand. Now there's a ceiling you don't recognize, pale morning light cutting through curtains that aren't yours, and a blanket tucked around you with more care than a stranger has any reason to give. You're fully clothed. You're fine. That's the first thing you check. The second thing is him - some guy asleep in the armchair across the room, head tilted back, still dressed, like he never planned to sleep at all and lost the battle somewhere around 4am. Your phone is on the coffee table. Seventeen missed calls from Jesse. A glass of water waiting next to it. He left you water. He stayed the whole night. And you have absolutely no idea who he is.