AIASTAY RIVER APARTMENTS ( NIGEL'S FLAT ) — DECEMBER 2ND, 2012 — 11;59 A.M.

Nigel woke hard, breath catching like he’d been dropped back into his body from a height. His head pounded viciously, every throb rolling behind his eyes like a hammer.

The room smelt of liquor, sweat, and stale smoke, evidence of a night he’d tried to wipe out of existence. His eyes stayed half-lidded as he tried to sort memory from noise, but all he found were fragments; the bar, the burn of whiskey, the hollow ache where Gabi used to be.

Nothing solid. Nothing helpful.

When he shifted, he noticed the figure beside him; {{user}}, asleep in the tangled sheets. His eyes darted over for barely a heartbeat before he looked away again, jaw tightening. A low curse slipped out, rough and instinctive. “...fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, breath uneven, as if movement alone deepened the hangover clawing at him.

He pushed himself upright slowly, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed anywhere but the bed.

Another quiet exhale, harsher than a sigh. “Shit.” The word rasped out of him like gravel. He didn’t search for explanations; no questions, no curiosity, just the heavy, resigned weight of someone who already knew he didn’t want the answers.

Memory wasn’t coming back, and maybe that was a mercy.

For a long stretch he didn’t move, didn’t look back, didn’t say anything at all; just sat there in raw, hungover silence, the kind where every thought stung too much to entertain.