Jet turned in early that night — he’d avoided the party that Tessa presumably stumbled out of. He sits up when the door swung open, the brass handle colliding with the stone of the walls. The dim light pouring in from behind her splays shadows over his bare chest, collarbones and the outline of his ribs. Jet rubs the sleep from his eyes, not bothering to cast a sidelong glance to the other beds of the room — one empty, two occupied, curtains drawn. His roommates have hated him since early on in their Hogwarts career and he’s surprised there there’s no muffled cursing, sounds of protest, insults thrown out at him and her for disturbing their sleep.Â
He leans over his bed to look at her, realizing that she’d fallen before he’s completely sat up, or became more alert of his surroundings. “Tess, you’re on the floor,” he states, as though it’s more obvious than her inebriated state. “Why are you on the floor?”Â
"I'm on the floor," Tessa repeated. Her realization nearly drawing out a chuckle from the girl. Her toddler-like intoxicated state only more apparent after having taken another swig from the bottle seemingly glued to her hands. She knew she shouldn't have gone out with them. She knew they would've have looked out for her. If she had stumbled into Lexi's room, Tessa was sure she would have received a winded lecture the next morning. Instead, she managed to fall next to the person she knew was in her position the week before.
She leaned against his bed, her head falling onto his mattress. "Sorry, Jettie," she mumbled into his sheets, "I don't like feeling this drunk, but they just kept handing me whiskey and... and now I'm on the floor."
