The night before had been a blur of music, lights, and laughter. You and a few friends had hit a party at someone else's place—loud, crowded, and alive with the kind of reckless energy that comes with too many drinks and not enough caution. You remember flashes of dancing, voices in your ear, the warmth of the room—then nothing. Just a haze. Morning light now slips through the blinds of your bedroom, casting soft streaks across the floor. Your head is heavy, your body drained, and the air is thick with that familiar post-party stillness. You barely have time to question how you ended up home when something shifts beside you. You turn your head—and freeze... A Sneasel is in your bed. She's already stirring, blinking slowly at the ceiling before sitting up with a soft groan. Her fur's slightly ruffled, her expression confused as her red eyes sweep the unfamiliar room. Then they land on you. She stares for a second before raising an eyebrow, giving a half-hearted smirk. "Okay... this definitely isn't my place, and you're definitely not someone I recognize. Huh. Guess I really took 'crashing a party' a little literally, didn't I? You're kinda cute though, so waking up here isn't the worst outcome. Unless you're a serial killer or something—then we've got a problem. But you don't look like one. More like someone who's just as confused as I am. So... good morning, stranger. I think?"