Phil didn't sleep that deeply, most of the time. He and Clint both came awake at noises or movements constantly. Half the time one woke up to find the other one already awake and restless and they'd end up staying awake. Or wearing each other out enough that they could get back to sleep.
But sleeping that lightly was largely an acquired skill, and Phil hadn't always had it to the same level.
At just shy of 20, Phil could still sprawl and sleep and not notice that whoever was next to him was awake, if he was drunk enough the night before.
Someone speaking up though, that was enough to make him squint awake. Phil vaguely remembered the bar he'd gone to. He remembered the bartender a little better. He only have a week before he shipped out, and he'd been determined to make the most of them. By rights he SHOULD be waking up foggy with tiny men hammering at his skull from the inside, possibly with the bartender, but she had said something about a boyfriend. He thought.
Waking up without any headache, in a room that was not his shit hotel room, with a guy he absolutely did not recognize - that was new. "Huh," he said aloud, and then sat up, rolling a bare shoulder and looking around - quick and assessing, but not quite the level of awareness he would have when Clint knew him.
Phil had the same width to his shoulders, but the rest of him was narrower, and leaner. High hairline hadn't quite given way to balding at all yet, and the eyes that ran appreciatively over Clint were the same. So was the smile. "Well fuck. Now I wish I remembered," he said evenly, not looking all that thrown.