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I woke up with a pounding headache, the remnants of last night's haze still clinging to me. The warmth of Richard's embrace was both comforting and disorienting, contrasting sharply with the throbbing pain in my head. The last thing I remembered was stumbling into the hotel room, a blur of alcohol and confusion.
I shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the movement only made my headache worse. Richard's arm was draped protectively over me, and I could feel his steady breathing against my back. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room.
Just as I began to relax into the cocoon of warmth, a loud knock on the door jolted me awake. My heart raced as I realized I hadn't locked the door last night. The familiar sound of Paul's voice drifted in, unmistakable even through the muffling of the door.
"Richard! Bist du da? Hast du die Tür offen gelassen?" Paul's voice called out with its usual blend of annoyance and humor.
Richard stirred beside me, groaning as he woke. He squinted at the clock, then at me, his eyes full of confusion. "Zum Teufel...Wie spät ist es?"
Paul's voice grew louder, tinged with a teasing edge."You guys naked or can I come in?"
Richard's face shifted from sleepy confusion to a mix of annoyance and amusement. "I swear to God," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Paul's going to be the death of me."
I couldn't help but smile at the exchange, despite the pounding headache. Paul walked in, peeking his head around the corner to see us in bed still, I smiled at his sheepishly. He grinned at he looked at Richard. "Ich schwöre, wenn du schon wieder versuchst, den ganzen Tag mit ihr im Bett zu verbringen, dann... naja, lass die Mädchen einfach mal in Ruhe, okay?"
Richard chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I get it. We're up. Give us a few minutes."
Paul gave a mock salute. "Thanks. The crew's ready to head over to the venue, and we've got some work to do before soundcheck. Don't make me come back here and drag you both out."
As Paul left, I watched Richard close the door and turn back to me, his expression softening. He rubbed his face and let out a tired sigh. "Guess we'd better get moving," he said, his voice warm and reassuring, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
I nodded, slowly sitting up and wincing as my headache throbbed with the movement. The room was bathed in the soft light of early morning, the curtains partially drawn to let in just enough sunlight to chase away the darkness. I could hear the distant hum of the city waking up outside, mingling with the occasional sound of footsteps and muffled voices from the corridor.
Richard reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch gentle. "How're you feeling?" he asked, his gaze full of concern.
"Like I've been hit by a truck," I replied, rubbing my temples in a vain attempt to ease the pounding. "But I'll manage. What time is it, anyway?"
