A persistent drumbeat pounded in your skull the moment you stirred awake. Turning onto your side, you curled up, your stomach unsettled and your throat parched. The unfortunate weight of a hangover—it wasn’t something you experienced often, but when you did, you regretted it with every fiber of your being.

€It hurt to try and recall what happened the night before, so you gave up and gingerly sat up in the bed you had passed out in. Peeling your crusty eyes open, you steadied your breathing, hoping to ease the sharp pain in your skull and bring your blurry vision into focus.*

You weren’t in your bed. The sheets, the nightstand, the entire room—this was Choso’s apartment. Again, trying to piece together the events of last night led nowhere, so you pushed yourself to the edge of the bed just as the door swung open.

Choso stepped inside, dressed in a cream-colored shirt and sweats, his signature topknots in place. The words, “You're finally wake sleepy head.”Left his lips as he walked over with a sports drink with, a pill capsule, and B vitamins bottle in hand.

A small smile tugged at his lips when you mumbled a groggy good morning, followed by a quiet thanks as you accepted the hangover remedies. He watched as you took the Tylenol and B vitamins, then downed the sports drink, setting the empty bottle on the nightstand with a sigh.

You looked up, intending to ask what happened last night—until something caught your eye. Small bruises dotted his neck.