Glass Over Diamond Blue Eyes

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When Michael wakes up in his bed, he doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know he’s fucked.

Maybe it’s the fact that his head feels like someone bashed it against a wall a couple of times. Or the fact that his mouth feels like the desert. Or the fact that it tastes like sewage water. Or the fact that he’s already irritable with nobody having said anything.

Also the fact that he can still remember how he felt last night when he saw Luke.

But that’s not something Michael’s going to think about. Not when he feels like he got hit by a train. Nope, the first thing he’s going to think about is where they keep the Aspirin in the house.

For once, Michael’s up before everyone else. He walks into the kitchen, grimacing at the way the sun gets in his eyes. This is why Michael doesn’t drink like he did last night. He should have had less. Way less. The problem with alcohol is that it dampens your inhibitions enough to make you think that you can handle more. And if Michael was normal, maybe he could handle more. He’s not exactly a lightweight. Luke probably is.

Michael rummages through the drawers. Absolutely nothing there. Minimal cutlery there. Dishes in the cabinet, towels and a single cup measure.

Absolutely no painkillers.

“Looking for this?” Calum says, a bottle of some generic medicine balanced between his fingers. He’s got a pair of black sunglasses on and looks like he might just turn to the wall and lean his forehead against it and then slowly bang his head against it over and over again.

Michael groans. “Please.”

Calum lobs it at him; Michael catches it, fumbling around before it settles in his hand. Michael takes a couple out and downs them without water.

“I’m never doing this again,” Calum says, even though Michael’s pretty sure Calum says this every time he’s hungover.

“Oi, boys, hand it over,” Ashton says, looking as smashed as the other two as he walks into the kitchen. He pries the painkiller bottle from Michael’s hand and takes them. “Oh, fuck.” He winces.

“Remind me why we went out last night,” Michael mutters.

“Because it was raining and we were bored out of our minds,” Calum supplies. “At least it’s stopped raining.”

“Yeah, and now it’s sunny enough to give us hell,” Ashton says. “Somebody please take that knife over there and put me out of my misery.”

“If only it was that easy,” Calum says. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to go research the best way to cure a hangover.”

“Coffee,” Ashton says, and then lets out a pained groan.

As Calum retreats into the back of the house, Luke emerges, seemingly oblivious to the pain and horror around him.

“Well, looky here,” Ashton says. “Somebody’s looking healthy and happy.”

Luke raises his eyebrows mildly as he opens the fridge for breakfast. He lets his bandmates scowl.

“Fuck this shit,” Michael says under his breath. “I’m going to go sleep it off.”

“That won’t help,” Ashton reminds him.

“Fuck you, Irwin.”

“I’m making coffee,” Luke offers, slightly concerned.

“And fuck you, too, Hemmings. Don’t drink.”

“I don’t--”

“Everyone shut up!” Calum yells from somewhere in the house. “My head is going to explode!”

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