roy's head hurt. a persistent pounding in his temple, wrapping around the entirety of his skull and down his neck. his stomach ached too; no doubt from his night of drinking. the discomfort of his hangover wasn't anything new—

but what was new was the dull throb against his shoulder blade, followed by the warm skin of someone's back pressed close to his chest.

immediately, as realization dawned on him, roy was sitting upright in bed and staring down at you with wide eyes, his headache and grumbling stomach forgotten.

there you were, a slumbering mess of bare skin and tousled hair. the catcher? a freshly inked tattoo in the same spot his own shoulder ached. a small, red arrow with little stars surrounding it. of fucking course.

he yanked the blankets and sheets off himself— rushing into the hotel bathroom. how the hell had you two ended up in a hotel in the first place? and how the hell had you two ended up with matching tattoos? his jaw dropped as he looked at himself in the mirror; not only the new ink on his skin, but the scratches that lined his back and the collar of hickey's around his throat.

the glimpse he had caught of you, you were in a similar state. that was only confirmed as he padded out of the bathroom; finding you sitting up in bed with the sheets pulled over your chest, rubbing your sore and aching temples.

lingering in the bathroom doorway, roy cleared his throat in an attempt to casually announce his presence. "morning," he spoke, his voice rough with sleep and his persistent regrets, "looks like you and i had quite a night together."

a night he, rather unfortunately, did not remember. he also probably should've pulled his boxers on. whoops.