The mornings were always the worst for him. The fuzzy mouth, the slight pounding between both eye balls, it reminded him that the later he stayed u, the more he drank, the less likely the nightmares were to come back. Or maybe he was just always too drunk to notice.
Lifting his head off the pillow, he blinked twice at the bright son. His sheets pooled around his waist, and he looked around his room. Slightly messy, he called it lived in. Maps decorated the walls; pins and the occasional dart marked where his adventures had taken him. The memories of adventures and fun (and trouble) were carried throughout, photos of him and Smee in Puerto Vallarta, a bottle of sand from Fiji, a black bra hanging from the door knob.
That one was clearly from a more recent adventure.
Looking to his left, light brown hair spilled across the pillow beside him. Ruby and him had an agreement of sorts, whenever she missed Peter too much, whenever his memories of Liam came crashing in a little too hard. They had fun, but it was always just that. She cracked an eyelid, looked over at him, "You smell like rum and death".
He chuckled, raising his arms above his head to stretch out, "Well good morning to you too, love".
Getting up from the bed, she started putting the remnants of last night back on.
"Wanna get some coffee?" asking as she zipped her shorts back up her long legs.
"That's the only thing that's going to get me out of bed right now," he chuckled.
Heading out the door, she grabbed the keys, "You say that every damn time Killian."
Waking up with Ruby wasn't so bad