Morning came like haze of sunlight and chirping birds that would be beautiful if Caleb didn't have a hangover.
The yelling reached him before he was fully conscious.
Caleb surfaced slowly through the hangover, each sound arriving louder than the last until his brain had no choice but to work.
He lay there for a moment. Stared at the ceiling. Took inventory.
Head. Terrible. Mouth. Worse. The general sense that last night had happened and couldn't be taken back. All present and accounted for.
And then he heard it again.
"—said I was just cold—"
"The thermostat is on thirty two degrees, Sophia—"
"I run cold—"
"Nobody runs that cold—"
He pulled the pillow over his face. And screamed.
It didn't help. How the fuck did they still have this much energy?
He got up.
The hallway hit him with a wall of heat that was genuinely disorienting at whatever time the morning currently was.
