he was definitely surprised over the star-studded celebration. he was expecting to come home, lay on his bed and cuddle with peter to ease the loneliness he had been shackled with in his last weeks in san francisco. great city but worthless beauty when you’ve got a lonely soul just trying to make it out alive. he hadn’t been his usual self. usually when he was down, he had ways to cheer himself up and it worked. the jokes and the encouraging thoughts just wasn’t cutting it out this time.
was it a tragedy? waking up with a migraine, naked, no clear memory of last night. it sure was a tragedy. it wasn’t like him at all. he always drank responsibly. he remembers he did anyway. one thing out of the norm was that he remembers sharing his sob story in detail to one person. just one. because he wasn’t the type to openly talk about things and people expected him to pick himself up. he needs to find out first what she looked like. was it even a she? he hopes that at least, what with the setting he’s currently in. yet she.. he... they... were nowhere to be found at the moment.
the last thing he knew was him drifting on a transient bridge between asleep and awake. there was a flash of a face but the lights were dimmed and if he shook his head fast enough, he could already see his own face. that’s a lie but excuses related to a party premise aside, he just was too taken over by alcohol to truly recognize. he attempts to stand up, maybe look around for the person responsible then he hears a moan under the sheets, which he pulls, revealing a female curled next to his feet and still shaking off the remnants of slumber.
eyebrows curved down, meeting halfway from its former relaxed placing. now thoughts have invaded his mind. speculations and such. so he starts the third degree interrogation. “what mistake did we commit...?!” wrong choice of words, but the first to come out. he mentally facepalms at himself and expects that she walk away from him.
