The Less I Know The Better [complete]

8 ;; hangover

Pain, vibrating and pulsing through his his head, was the first thing that John registered that morning. His limbs ached, one of his eyes was swollen shut and throbbing, and his throat felt stripped raw and tender. His headache was so overwhelming that he let out a hoarse, agonised noise and clutched onto the person that was sleeping below him. Hurts.. he tried to will himself to sink back into sleep and forget about the pain for a few hours longer. But alas - bright, dazzling light was worming its way into his good eye, so piercing that he shied away from it as best he could, burying his head into a clothed chest. Mm.. Cynthia is warm.. he thought, letting his chapped lips pull up into a lazy smile; he felt it split when he did so, pain shooting through it as something wet welled on his bottom lip and rolled onto the chest.

He darted out his tongue to taste it. Blood? He thought in a hazy confusion. John gathered as much strength as he could manage. It felt like he was lifting 100-kilo weights that had been pressed down on his eye when he peeled the sticky lids open. The sunlight was so bright that he let out a noise that somewhat resembled a hiss and held up a hand to block out some of the light. Come on.. he told himself. Focus, eyes. C'mon, focus... after a few silent seconds of adjusting to the light, his vision began to clear away to reveal the scene in front of him.

A person was lying below him, sporting a plain white t-shirt with some weird dried green-brown stains on it; John realised that there wasn't any boobs on the person. It's not Cynthia? His good eye flew wide open and he instantly sat up, heart jerking with fear abruptly. There was a raven-coloured head of hair poking out from under the bedsheets, and he saw a glimpse of pale skin and an arched brow.

He gulped. Could it be..? Slowly he leaned forward, reaching out a hand to pull the bedsheets back. He saw his knuckles on one of his hands were cut and bloodstained and he reeled back in horror for a moment.

What the fuck happened last night?

Continuing with his mission, John wrapped his fingers around the edge of the blankets and pulled them back. What he saw made his heart skip a beat and all his breathing died in his throat.

The boy was fast asleep, snoring loudly with his plump lips parted. A pool of drool had gathered under his mouth, doe eyes shut out from the world. His dark lashes rested delicately on the top of his cheeks, and he looked sickly and paler than usual.

Paul! He... he was in fucking bed with PAUL. A hoarse screech ripped from his throat and he stumbled and tripped to the floor in his haste to get out of the bed.

"Gah! Ew-" He had landed back-first in a pile of half-dried vomit and he scrambled away, throat convulsing in a gag, feeling his stomach churn and something flying up his throat. He instantly sprinted to the bathroom and managed to make it to the toilet before he threw up all his stomach acid. There must have been nothing in his stomach, since he had obviously thrown it all up from the night before.

"Oh my god.." John groaned as he fell back against the tiled wall of the bathroom. His throat stung horribly from throwing up his stomach acid and he felt something sticky and warm roll down his top lip. With shaky limbs, he got to his feet and stumbled to the sink. He supported his weak body by leaning against the sides of the sink before staring into his reflection intensely. "Fuck!" He cried out.

He looked almost dead; his skin was ghostly pale and his eyes were sunken into their sockets, wild and bloodshot with dark rings around them. Even worse! One of his eyes looked like a plum, the eyelids coloured deep purple and swollen twice their size, closed up to protect the eyeball within. His hair was sticking straight up in all directions possible and was greasy and had curled more than usual. And that wasn't even the half of it.