Allison's POV
It was nearly one in the morning by the time I dragged myself home.
After the full-blown circus of wrestling two drunk men into their respective homes, all I wanted was a scalding-hot shower and a bed that didn't talk back.
I barely remembered hitting the pillow.
Morning arrived with vengeance.
I cracked open my eyes and immediately regretted it.
They were swollen, puffy—like I'd spent the night sobbing into a beehive.
Great.
I looked like the human embodiment of "rough night."
At the institute, I braced myself for the sight of Bellingham hunched over, nursing a hangover that deserved its own case study.
Instead, he stood by the coffee machine—perfectly upright, annoyingly composed, like last night had never happened.
"Thank you for last nig
