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Pounding.

That is all he felt now.

No laughter just a blurry haze of colour.

A throbbing in his head that seemed to flow along to the song playing.

He put his head in his hands.

Squeezed his eyes shut.

Still his head pounded.

He felt sick.

Not like before, a tipsy, drunken tingle.

No.

He jumped up from the sofa he sat on, blindly searching for a bathroom.

He opened door after door.

People patted him on the back as he dashed past them, chucking.

Ignoring them, he ran on.

A door.

He opened it.

Yelling, screaming burst from within; a pillow thrown at his head.

Apologising, he quickly shut the door.

He would've laughed if he hadn't been sick.

If he hadn't spewed the contents of his stomach onto someone else.

Down the front of their t-shirt in fact, spilling onto their shoes.

Expensive shoes.

He threw up again.

He spluttered and apologised again and again.

He glanced up.

Into a face so beautiful his stomach flipped and his heart fluttered.

Maybe it was the alcohol.

But those eyes just seemed so bright and perfect.

Even though it was the third time he saw them, he didn't understand how they could be so blue.

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