@fcarlessly
he wakes up to the rattle of train tracks, yet again in another strangers bed. broad fingertips cascade down his face, his lip tinged with cut -- jules. his body was also littered with a few more bruises he hadn’t recognized before the blackout, like how his knuckles are freshly cut-open, or how his ribs hurt when he breathes. sitting up, the male groaned in protest. it had to of been nearly six o’clock in the evening, the sun was setting. or maybe it was rising? he had no abbreviation of time in general. hazel orbs fluttered open, taking in the surroundings of a bedroom he had never seen before. sitting up, his feet dangle off the bed. he’s not wearing a shirt, or shoes -- but he’s got pants on, which meant he didn’t fuck anyone. right? he wasn’t sure, to be honest. there were plenty of times he’d waken up to a naked stranger with no memory of what happened. “fuck-” he muttered under his breath, rising to his feet and inching forward, opening the door to an equally unknown hallway. “where the fuck--” he’s groaning, and his head feels like it’s twice it’s normal size. careful steps cascaded downstairs, rounding the corner until he bumps into another body, a girl. his brows are furrowed, because he has absolutely no idea who she is --- which is evident by the look on his face. “um.” he glances around, confused. “do you know where my shirt’s at?”