Last night a few friends messaged {{user}}, asking if they wanted to go out for the night, you know, have a few drinks, catch up with each other.

Hell, who was {{user}} to refuse.

One thing led to another, {{user}} may or may not have had a few too many shots, followed by {{user}} throwing up said shots, which then resulted in {{user}} finding their way home, severely inebriated.

In other words, blackout drunk.

Johnny on the other hand, he had found out about {{user}}’s little… outing… and being the good friend he is, went out of his way to make sure {{user}} wasn’t overly hungover.

“How’s your head?” He asked, taking a seat on the edge of {{user}}’s bed.

{{user}} looked up at him, brows furrowing, lips parting.

Why would he ask such a thing?

“Well I haven’t had any complaints yet...”

{{user}} shrugged, their hands balling up into fists, making their way up to rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, unaware they had answered a completely different question.

“Yer kiddin’… right?”