(no subject)
He opens his eyes and sees white. Porcelain to be exact. Why is everything sideways? Hmm. I’m lying on the floor. That’s strange.
He makes a mental note of each part of his body. Arms, OK. Legs, OK. Vision seems fine. A little blurry. Stomach feels a mess. Think, Think, Think.
He sits up and the room spins. This isn’t good. The bottle of vodka lying on its side evokes hazy memories. His thoughts come back in bits and pieces.
Last night was performance night. Everyone did well; resulting in much celebration. Alcohol was poured. Laughs abounded. And unmistakable glances were directed at him.
From his roommate.
He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. The images are like puzzle pieces in his mind, and he desperately tries to fit them together. Did he do something he’ll regret? Did someone else?
Confusion reigns. There’s a rubber band on the floor. Two of them. This is supposed to be significant.
He crawls to the door like a man in a desert, in search of an oasis. The visions are coming faster now. Did last night go horribly wrong? He isn’t sure he wants to know. Yet he’s compelled to search out the answer.
He passes a black bra on the floor. He certainly doesn’t remember that.
There’s a bare foot hanging off the bed. It belongs to his best friend. His other half. The person that makes him feel so alive. He truly hopes he didn’t fuck this up.
He reaches the edge of the bed. He’s afraid to look. Mustering courage, he ignores his rebellious stomach and inches his face upward, until it’s even with the mattress. Sleepy eyes open and stare at him. He watches as a slow smile spreads across that gorgeous face; the one he’s come to love so much.
“I was beginning to worry about you” the other man replies. “Come back to bed”.
He breathes a sigh of relief. He didn’t fuck this up. In fact, it’s just the opposite. The world has never felt more right.
“We need to give Jordin her bra back. I can’t believe you snuck into her room and stole it. She’s going to kill you, you know.”
Ah, that explains it.