He woke up with the slight buzz from last night's alcohol still thrumming in his veins. Baby blue eyes, framed with thick eyelashes, blinking lazyly as he slowly came back to the world of the waken. Everytime he blinked, blurry memories of last night would flash behind his eyelids. The colorful —almost blinding— lights of the disco, the dancing, the drinking, the laughing. It was a routine by now, working all week at the paint store to earn 30 bucks to spend at the 2001 Oddyssey where he was the dance king.

With sluggish and, slightly uncoordinated, movements he pushed himself to his elbows. He was still slow, brain and body half-asleep, while he spared a glance to the mirror —being met by the sight of his jet black hair all messed up, he had bed hair. With a slight huff, he sat himself up on his bed, staying like that for a few seconds —staring into nothing— before shoving the thin beige blanket covering his lap away. He was only covered by his bikini-cut black boxers, the golden chains hanging from his neck as if crowning him after such a night.

With a clumsy hand —that knocked a few unimportant things over— he pushed himself to his feet using his bedside table. Now standing in front of the mirror, a bit more awake, his tired —still half-lidded— blue eyes looked at the poster of Al Pacino, he recalled a drunk girl confusing him with him and as he narrowed his eyes at it through the reflection he found himself slowly seeing the resemblance.

He walked out soon after, steps sluggish, as he lazyly made his way down to the kitchen where he knew you were. ~his parents were out, so you'd slept over after the disco night~. He walked over to you, catching you with his back to him while making coffee. His arms were drawn to your waist, hugging you from behind lackadaisically, as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"d'you think I look like Al Pacino?" he asked you out of the blue after a beat, his voice raspier than usual due to sleep —a slothful drawl to his words.