It was an uncanny habit. Baring extreme circumstances, Zechs awoke every morning shortly after sunrise. Though the man had slept very little, ate less, and drank quite a bit last night, he still managed to stir at the usual hour. His sleep, thanks to the potion, had been dreamless, and for a moment, he had forgotten what had happened the day before. He turned into the side of the couch, reaching for a man who wasn't there.

Startled, he woke fully, sitting bolt upright. His back and legs throbbed in protest - Zechs was too tall to sleep comfortably on a couch. His head was also a mass of pain. A hangover. Lovely. Zechs steadily began to swear under his breath in French, German, and Russian.

Getting to his feet - did he smell food? - Zechs noticed Doyle still running on his computer. Right. The Detective must still be here, he thought. Schooling his expression once again into a calm mask, he made his way to the bedroom so he could retrieve pain medication. He really hated hangovers. But if he broke open another bottle of bourbon, Hakuba would be convinced he was an alcoholic or something foolish like that. Zechs didn't want to give the boy the wrong impression.