7:13 am

"Ohhhhhh myyyyyyyy goooooooooooood, Jesus fuckin' Christ on a cracker, why does light hurt?!"

"That'd be the hangover, punishing you for being an idiot."

"Nessie. Please. No talking until I'm dead."

"You're not dying, Morgan."

"Fuckity fuck-- I really, really, really beg to differ, Lock, there is a literal ice pick being jammed into my brain every time you open your mouth--"

"...Are you broken? You're staring at me. Is there something on my face?"

"It's your face."

"Mmhm."

"I can see your mouth-- I mean, your face-- I mean! I... I... Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming, right? Like, this isn't my reality, this is some malfunction Matrix shit, this can't be what my life has become. Nuh-uh. I refuse. I'm not, like, that unlucky that the first time I'm seeing you face-to-face I smell like the inside of a port-a-potty and am possibly covered in someone else's vomit and I'm stammering like it's my fuckin' job-- Lock, tell me this is a nightmare caused by the booze, please, I'm begging ya here, buddy."

"It's your vomit, if that makes you feel any better."

"Why the fuck would that make me feel better?! Oh my god, oh my god, I gotta... what floor is this, where's the window--"

"Morgan, Christ, it's not that terrible."

"Says you! You're all fresh as a fucking daisy and handsome and not hungover, and you don't have vomit all over your shirt -- hell, I need a shower, this is so gross -- Lock, fuck, what am I even doing here? Did I call you to pick me up? Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm so sorry--"

"Hey, no, shut the fuck up."

"...shutting up."

"You did call me. Drunk out of your mind, apparently. Said you were alone, and knowing your track record for drinking alone, I decided -- without you asking me anything -- to come by and bring you back to my apartment. This isn't on you, Morgan, I did this because I wanted to."

"Why."

"Why what?"

"Why... Like. Why would you wanna babysit me? I vomited on myself! And judging by the fact that my flannel is gone, it happened more than once! I am a hot mess without the hot!"

"Answer me this: Would you have done it if the situation were reversed? Would you have gone looking for me if you were worried about me?"

"What? Is that even a question? You're like, my best friend, Lock, 'course I'd help you! And I know what you're doing, you're gonna get all mushy on me and say somethin' like, 'That's why, Morgan" and there's a real good chance that I'll cry if you actually say that so maybe hold off on it until I'm a little more sober, but... You coulda dropped me off at my house. I had -- have -- my ID on me, 'snot like you couldn't check my address."

"Yeah, alright, maybe I could have if I felt inclined to violate your privacy. And admittedly, coercing you to sleep it off at my place isn't any less uncalled for or, frankly, creepy--"

"Okay, what? You are the least creepy guy I know, Lock, who said you were creepy, I'll punch out their teeth--"

"--nevertheless, Morgan. You didn't want to go home, you said as much last night. So I wasn't going to make you. It's as simple as that."

"..."

"....I have to leave for work soon, got called in early. Unless you have somewhere to be, feel free to stay here until I get back. Go take a shower and throw your clothes in the wash downstairs."

"How are you even real?"

"Who says I am? We may actually be living in the Matrix for all I know or care."

"God, shit, don't make me laugh, it's like a jackhammer's fucking my brain."

"Descriptive. Are you staying or not?"

"It's kinda hard to pass on an offer like that..."

"Then don't. I should be back around five, aright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, alright, sure, why the hell not? Maybe I'll actually wake up at some point in the meantime and pine over this ridiculous fever dream. Hangover dream. Drunk dream. Ugh I don't even know."

"Get some more sleep, Morgan. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Lock. Don't get mugged on the way to work."

"I'll try my best."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...what the actual fuck just happened." 

this story is the cliche of all cliches and I don't even care, I love these losers too much