Rushing to the bathroom, retching as your stomach refuses to bring up anything else, having already releasing everything the other three times you were spraweled on the bathroom floor this morning.

You were silently cursing Will for convincing you to try a new lunch spot, adamant you had food poisoning you wipe of the beads of sweat that raced down your forehead.

Eyes watering as you violently shake, Damon walks upstairs your phone in his hand and a raised eyebrow.

"Why is some app on your phone telling you you're late? I didn't realise we were late to anything."