Sun shining through the windows, woke Dylan up from his four-hour long nap. The moment the light pressed against his eyelids, he groaned. A pounding headache and the worst cotton mouth he’d ever had occupied his body. “Fuck.” He rolled over to press his face into the cushion and shield his eyes. However, he’d miscalculated the amount of room he had on the couch and simply just rolled onto the floor. “Fuck.” It was a rough morning for sure.
Grant stepped into the room, a book tucked underneath his arm and a can of coke in his hand, when Dylan fell off the couch. “You clearly woke up on the wrong side of the couch,” He moved to sit down in one of the recliners, setting the can of soda down on the flour. “Is the floor okay or did you hurt it?”
