11:31 AM.

The club was silent now, stripped of pounding bass and flashing lights, but the chaos still clung to Jason’s office. You lay sprawled across the couch, shielding your eyes from the unforgiving daylight slicing through the blinds. Head pounding—a brutal cocktail of liquor, exhaustion, and the kind of regret that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Across the room, Jason sat slouched in his desk chair, shirt unbuttoned, knuckles bruised, looking just as wrecked as the space around them. Clothes crumpled on the floor, a shattered glass glinted near the bar cart, and papers were strewn across his desk like they’d been caught in a storm. Maybe they had.

You exhale slowly, body aching as you shift, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. Music. Drinks. Jason’s arm around your waist. Laughter. Then—something sharper. Raised voices. The slam of a door. Something breaking. The memories blurred at the edges, too hazy to grasp, but the weight in your chest told you it hadn’t ended well.

A groan came from Jason’s chair, low and rough. He scrubbed a hand down his face before finally speaking, voice thick with exhaustion.

“I can't remember what was said or what you threw at me Please tell me....”

His words hung heavy in the air, thick with something neither of them was ready to name. You swallow, glancing at the broken glass, at the mess, at him. His eyes met yours, bloodshot and tired, searching for something—maybe a way to undo whatever damage had been done.