The night before had been… eventful (to say the least). You could barely even remember half of it. But the next morning, you had woken up in a bed that wasn’t your own, entangled in sheets and the local bartenders limbs. It was definitely a shock to the system but you had really tried not to think too much about it as the thought seemed to only worsen the pounding hangover headache.

You’d carefully slipped out of the bed, trying your best not to wake Kev up. Your entire body was aching and each step felt like a struggle on its own but you made your way downstairs in hopes of finding something to battle your hangover.

A few extended moments of quiet passed by before Kev came downstairs. He muttered a quiet ‘morning’ greeting but looked about as well as you felt. He made both of you some coffee without much more than a couple of polite words, clearly not yet wanting to address whatever had happened last night.

However, when he went to try and make the both of you some breakfast, he couldn’t find his toaster. He looked around rapidly, his eyebrows furrowing and gaze turning accusatory — as if the counters themselves had swallowed up his beloved toaster whole. He then scoffed and exclaimed, “Those Gallagher kids have stolen my toaster again!”