@wcnderlcsts
much of last night was gone from his memory. too much, probably . . . his head pounded and every sound made it worse. despite his drunken stupor, ambrose had posted a note to byron’s door while on his way to his own apartments. it read something along the lines of i fucked up again, if byron’s roaring was any indication. apparently not even spirits could dull his self-loathing enough to keep the tense peace between the two brothers.
ambrose covered his face with a pillow, considering for a moment the pros and cons of suffocating himself with it. pro, it would end his headache, and he’d never have to speak to byron again. con, he would be dead, and therefore all his fun would be gone, and therefore he might have to face his other brother in the afterlife. damn his mother for having twins.
when the pillow was ripped away before he could come to a proper decision, ambrose sat up with a sigh. he turned so he was sitting on the edge of his bed and hung his head between his knees. “if you’d stop yelling, i could explain.” ambrose dug through the blurry memories from the night before. where had he fucked up? he lost all his money in a game . . . maybe that was it . . . but that was common enough that even telling byron about it anymore was a waste. then realization dawned on him “oh . . . oh no.”
