Dinner at the barbeque, then back to his apartment for more alcohol, then to the most intense nightclub he’d ever stepped foot in, then lots of dancing, more drinking, and then… nothing. Minho couldn’t remember much detail, just that he’d gone out clubbing with friends, and thankfully made it back to his bed. He laid completely still, waiting for anything memorable to arise. After several minutes, he got impatient with himself. Blackouts were frustrating.

Minho threw the bedcovers off and slowly pushed himself up. His body felt numb. He didn’t even notice the weight of another person in his bed. He blindly reached towards the bedside table and luckily found a half-full water bottle. He chugged it, but no amount of lip smacking could rid the foul taste in his mouth. His tongue felt like a sponge and he’s sure his breath smelt of death and decay. With a grimace, Minho stood up and trudged towards his bedroom door. He nearly fell to his knees due to the surprising amount of obstacles littering the bedroom floor, but he eventually made it out. In his murderous muttering, he didn’t hear the shifting of sheets on his bed. The apartment was still dark, thank god. No one else seemed to be awake.

He reached the bathroom, and dreaded turning on the light, so he didn’t. He left the door ajar to allow some outside light in, and then took care of himself. Minho relieved himself, brushed his teeth, gargled mouthwash for good measure, and splashed cold water on his face. His head wasn’t pounding per se, but it felt unnaturally heavy and fuzzy. I’m not still drunk, am I? Minho scrutinized his silhouette in the mirror. His dark hair was sticking up in so many places it was comical—must be all that hair gel. He’d need a shower soon. It was grossly hot outside, thanks to the summer season, and the club from last night was packed. Minho was also an energetic partier, so you can bet he was on his feet all night. Even his arms felt grimy from old, dried sweat.

But if Minho knew anything, it was to never wash up with a hangover on an empty stomach. One time way back when, he’d lifted his arms to apply shampoo, and his vision went spotty. Bad idea.

Minho breathed deeply. He returned to his bedroom, softly shutting the door behind him. First things first, neutralize the mine field. Minho bent over to collect the clothes and shoes haphazardly thrown across the room. He found what felt like jeans, maybe a t-shirt, and three shoes. Wait a minute… His foot kicked a fourth shoe. That’s not right. Minho didn’t remember bringing anyone home last night, but that didn’t mean anything if he couldn’t remember jack shit.

The dark-haired crept towards his bed, ready to kick out whatever indecent sod stayed past their welcome. He had a very strict policy of kicking out hookups after the deed was done. Minho had a good heart, despite his tsundere personality, but meaningless things should never be dwelt on.