Creed woke up in what could only be described as a blissful coma of post-chaos satisfaction, his face squished into a pillow that definitely did not belong to him.
He blinked slowly, as if his eyeballs had just completed a boss battle inside his skull. His body felt like it had just survived a category-five snuggle-storm.
His arm was tangled somewhere between Tierra's smooth waist and Lilith's hair, while Meredith's tiny hand was somehow gripping his shirt like a lifeline, her cheek pressed peacefully against his chest.
The sheets were half-draped, half-murdered across the bed, the pillows had given up, and the duvet had been used as a makeshift fortress wall during the night.
In short; it had been a very intense night. The kind of night that made ancient warriors nod in respect from the afterlife.
And yet… something was off.
Very off.
Creed blinked again, squinting at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. Where was the dramatic morning yelling?
