"Jettieeee," Tessa groaned in the shadows of his open door. She leaned against his door frame, a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey barely in her grasp, as she pushed a handful of her tangled blonde locks away from her face. She had no idea what time it was or how she even managed to walk down to the dungeons without falling flat on her ass. All she knew was that two hours prior to his visit, she was sitting by the lake sneaking shots and having a laugh.
Tessa gave in and stumbled into his dorm. She knew the boys would probably be sleeping, but the blonde didn’t have the decency to care. She fell onto the floor by his bed, tugging on his comforter. “Jettie, wake up. I don’t feel so good.”
Jet turned in early that night -- he'd avoided the party that Tessa presumably stumbled out of. He sits up when the door swung open, the brass handle colliding with the stone of the walls. The dim light pouring in from behind her splays shadows over his bare chest, collarbones and the outline of his ribs. Jet rubs the sleep from his eyes, not bothering to cast a sidelong glance to the other beds of the room -- one empty, two occupied, curtains drawn. His roommates have hated him since early on in their Hogwarts career and he's surprised there there's no muffled cursing, sounds of protest, insults thrown out at him and her for disturbing their sleep.
He leans over his bed to look at her, realizing that she'd fallen before he's completely sat up, or became more alert of his surroundings. "Tess, you're on the floor," he states, as though it's more obvious than her inebriated state. "Why are you on the floor?"
