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Colby's head pounded as he opened his eyes. He immediately regretted his decision when he was hit with a blast of bright light directly into his eyes because he had forgotten to close his shades in his drunken state the previous night. He had forgotten to do a lot of things because of his altered mindset, including actually changing when they got back to their rooms. The faint smell of coffee filled his nostrils, mixing with the leftover taste of vodka on his breath. He rolled over onto his side and looked to his nightstand where his clock read 12:43. He was used to sleeping in after playing video games or editing all night but he usually woke up well before noon anyways. Shit, he thought, blinking again at how bright his room was midday. The sun illuminated small specks of dust and the light fragmented off of cups to form little rainbow spots across his room. He had never really took the time to look at how the warm rays of sunlight filled his room with a pillowing glow. You never noticed these things unless you were hungover to the point of no return.

As he swallowed he wished that he had brushed his teeth when they had gotten home the night before; the grotesque taste of acid and food on his breath made him have a newfound need to vomit. He sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows, and noticed a cup and two pills at the end of his bed and set up to inspect them. He groaned at the feeling of his bones seemingly scraping against each other as he pushed himself up. He was never really good with hangovers, and always tried not to get too drunk at parties because of it. But with all that had happened the night before he had forgotten his inability to adjust to being sober in the morning. The drink on his dresser turned out to be lukewarm coffee, accompanied by some Advil, and a note from Sam on a bright pink post-it.

"Hope you had fun last night! There are some coffee and painkillers for your hangover. Take it easy today." the note read in Sam's scrawling handwriting. Colby, in all honesty, could not remember most of the previous night due to his tendency of being a blackout after a few drinks. His head pounded harder at the effort of trying to remember anything, the alcohol acting like a wall between him and his memories. It was all too possible there weren't any memories worth remembering but it still frustrated him not being able to claim a few hours of his life as his own. He vaguely remembered Brennan getting punched in the nose for kissing someone's girlfriend and leaving the room with blood streaming down his chin because he had been the one to wash it off with a damp cloth. He remembered the burning in his throat during the shot contest and the sounds of the glass slamming back against the table as each shot was downed because of the waving sounds of distorting reality that hit him the same time the alcohol did. He remembered being stuffed into a small half-bathroom because of the slightly heated touching that followed.

He remembered Sam.

He remembered how last night he had honest to God kissed his best friend. He remembered the feeling of Sam's lips on his, his tongue moving and exploring around in Colby's mouth, and the way that he tasted just like Colby had imagined. He remembered being proud upon feeling the semi in Sam's pants, the feeling of giddiness exciting him. He remembered Sam's hand drifting to his waist and slipping up his shirt and how much he wanted to just keep going but jumping away in spite of himself. He remembered the slight look of hurt mixed in with the confusion on Sam's face when he walked to the door and for the rest of the night as they avoided each other like the plague. And then he remembered everything they did together, years of cuddling during movies, pranking each other, years of just being friends. They had been best friends since freshman year, and Colby may have ruined it. What if Sam hated him now, for going along with the contest? What if he forgot about the kiss entirely? He needed to talk to him about it and to make things right again.

Colby crawled out of his bed, not bothering to change out of the alcohol reeked clothes he had slept in the last night. He looked like shit, an awful case of bedhead made his hair stick in six different directions, his eyes were puffy and his eyebags were impressively dark, like the picture you would see in the before of an olay ad. His shirt had rid up against his cuts and there were small patches of dried blood where they had split. His head tilted from the sudden movement of standing and his eyesight fuzzed over into small black squares for a quick second. He grabbed at the where the wall should be and made his way downstairs, making sure to carefully watch the floor as he moved.

Solby - StitchesWhere stories live. Discover now