Wilde flinched into consciousness, awaking to the sounds of morning, construction outside the window. The first sensation was that of his bare butt gracing the maroon sheets made of silk as he slipped into a sit up. He rubbed his temples, forcing for the pain to fade. Like many nights before when cocktails and curiosity had led him away from his own bed and into new territory, he had passed out before he could switch off his Eyes. The disks now felt heavy, bombarded and drained, causing a sophisticated pain in his head. But this inconvenient, morning after ache had never stopped him from ending the night crashing elsewhere. The thing about Wilde was that he could comfortably fall asleep anywhere, under the most absurd of circumstances, even in a stranger’s bed. Not that anyone nowadays could be considered a stranger.