Disclaimer: We don't own pretty boys. . .
WARNING: the following contains short chapters, confusing points of view, and lots of random shit. Rated T for mild swearing, sexual references and minor nudity.
Takes place sometime during season two, but there are no specific episode references.
Chapter One: Really Bad Rum
Consciousness returned slowly, bringing with it a throbbing pain. With great difficulty he pried his eyes open and blinked in the sudden brightness. Light was streaming in from a nearby window, a clear indication that it was at least mid-morning.
Taking stock of his situation he surveyed the room around him. A bathroom. He was lying on the floor of a bathroom. Okay. . .
Slowly he sat up and did a mental inventory. Other than the sharp pounding in his head he seemed to be intact. It was one killer headache though. Judging by his position on an unfamiliar bathroom floor, he was going to put his money on a hangover.
Funny though, his mouth did not seem to have the thick cottony feeling it usually did when he had been drinking. But a hangover most definitely did explain the unsettling fact that he had no idea where he was.
Deciding that he had spent quite enough time on the cold linoleum, he pulled himself slowly to his feet. He shivered slightly and realized that he was only half dressed. He spotted a shirt in a crumpled heap next to the bathroom door, which stood ajar.
Looking through the partially open door he guessed he was in a motel room. He could just see the head of a single unmade queen bed. He reached down to retrieve his shirt, hoping that he had not brought some girl back here with him last night. It was awkward not being able to remember your partner's name the next morning. Imagine trying to explain he did not even remember the act.
He sighed, not much he could do about it now. It must have been some seriously strong booze that he had been into last night. Holding his shirt in one hand, he pushed open the door, and promptly froze in place.
This was so not happening.
He forced his eyes shut and opened them again, as though trying to make the scene before him disappear. Unfortunately, he had no such luck. Upon opening his eyes he found himself still staring at the same horrifying thing.
"There is not enough alcohol in the world," he muttered aloud to himself.
In front of him on the unmade bed, a person – a mostly naked person – lay sprawled across the sheets in a deep sleep. A pile of clothes lying discarded on the floor near the bed, explained why the person wore nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.
He blinked again. The person stubbornly remained.
"That is so not a dude, that is so not a dude," he murmured desperately, all the while knowing, that despite the nearly shoulder length hair, that so was a dude in his bed.
A rather tall dude. In fact, the guy had to be at least six feet, maybe a bit more. His longish hair was a light brown, and seemed to have been wet when the man had fallen asleep – or more likely passed out – if its wild condition was anything to judge by.
What was even more clear was that he did not in any way recognize this man. Not even the slightest hint of familiarity. Those really must have been some strong drinks last night.
He was not sure exactly how long he stood rooted to the floor staring at the man before him, unable to figure out what he should do. All he knew was that it had clearly been too long. The man on the bed stirred with a low groan, and clutched at his head.
It was then he remembered that his own head had been pounding when he had woken up, just a short time ago. Somehow, the pain had ebbed significantly and it was now nothing more than a minor ache. This had to be the strangest hangover in history. Or at the very least the strangest he had ever had.
In fact, he was not even positive he was having it. After all, the scene before him was so ridiculously unreal, it clearly had to be some strange booze-induced nightmare. Right?
Unfortunately, he did not seem to be waking up anytime soon. Whereas the guy in front of him was now looking around, appearing as confused as he, himself, had been upon waking in the strange bathroom.
It was looking more and more likely that they had both been into the same questionable alcohol the previous night. Damn.
The man moaned again, still holding his head, and finally looked towards the bathroom. He froze, having clearly noticed his 'room mate'.
They stared at each other for a long moment, until the man on the bed seemed to realize his current state of undress. "What the—" he yelped as he frantically grabbed the sheet from the bed and pulled it over himself.
His voice did not spark any memory either. It was official , he had no idea who this strange guy was, and absolutely no idea how said strange guy had ended up in his bed.
Now half-draped in a sheet the man looked back up at him, confusion written clearly across his face. Maybe this man did not remember him either? He wondered, but that thought was soon followed by another. How could anyone forget him?
Finally as he decided this had officially moved from weird into creepy and bizarre he finally spoke, "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
At nearly the same moment, the other man, still looking rather dazed, had voiced his own question. "Who am I?"
~tbc~
A/N: Let us know if it's too confusing. . .