the morning after;
The first thing Mika says that morning is a big, loud Fuck.
Fuck, because his head hurt; fuck, because his entire body is aching; fuck, because he’s a failure; and most of all, fuck, because the moment he opens his eyes into an unfamiliar home, he remembers last night’s events and the horrible pain of rejection.
It takes a lot more emotional strength than physical strength to sit up, but he somehow gets the action done. Looking around is more difficult of a task---it has to be at least late morning, with how bright the sun is coming in through the nearby window---and the first thing to catch his eye aside from the generally sensible decor around him is the advil and glass of water on the table beside the bed. Stretching out, he manages to get the pill into his mouth and swallowed before he downs the entire glass in one sip. Not really because he wants to, but god knows he needs it.
He now has pretty much only two options. One: he can climb out the window, move cities, and forget this embarrassment ever happened. Or, two: he can get out of bed and go talk to the stranger that rejected him (the rejection part was a very important factor here.) As much as he would love to do option one, Mika’s not that rude. And he’s well aware the guy likely only said ‘no’ because Mika was drunk off his ass---but that doesn’t exactly make it easier to face him the morning after.
Groaning out loud, he shoves his cheeks together. “Don’t be a coward,” he mumbles to himself. After a few minutes of sitting up and getting used to being awake and hungover again, he tiptoes off the mattress and drags himself into the hallway.
The living room is the first room he sees, but once he gets further down the hallway, the distinct smell of pancakes fills his nostrils. The idea of food makes him nauseous right now and he prays that whoever is in this kitchen is that guy and not his family or whatever. As much as he hates the fact he has to talk to this guy, he hates the idea of having to explain to his family why he’s even here a lot more.
Peeking around the corner, he’s met with vaguely familiar broad shoulders and a head of messy dirty blonde hair. And even though the guy’s back is turned towards him, he can already tell why Mika tried to bring him home last night. “God damn it.”
Oh, shit, he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Pretending to cough, he straightens up. “Hi,” he says, waiting for the guy to turn around. Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s so cute. “... I’m Mika. Um. I probably told you that last night, I guess. Thanks for taking me here instead of just... y’know, letting me pass out outside and stuff. And for the painkillers and the clothes and... breakfast?”