“Kid, you’re cute ‘n all, but you have to learn to shut your goddamned mouth more often.” His head is throbbing which must be the mixture of his budding alcoholism and whatever pills the kid fed him at the party. Big mistake. Huge. Even worse to decide that, for some reason, sleeping with him seemed like a good idea for even just one second, considering the amount this kid talks. He was a non-stop chatterbox last night and has resumed this activity the moment he opened his eyes this morning, and Wes thinks if this goes on any longer his head might just explode. He’s almost forty, for fuck’s sake. Partying isn’t his thing. Or shouldn’t be. Even at New Year’s Eve. Ever. Rubbing his eyes, he removes his hand from his face when something stings him to find that it is utterly covered in glitter. “Fuck me...”
@feverintersomnia.