Steve is no stranger to a hangover. He had plenty in high school following parties full of people he barely knew. He recalls those mornings with disdain, full of resisting the urge to vomit while he ushered people out of his parents’ too big house to clean up.

Steve hates hangovers even more now. It feels more pathetic somehow to have one following a night in which there had been no party.

He had woken up an hour ago, pounded a water bottle alongside an aspirin, and tried his best to quell his nausea. Now Steve has returned to his spot upstairs in his room, feeling both too hot and too cold at the same time.

He hears the door creak open and he groans. Steve gestures vaguely toward the door. “Too much light, dude,” he mutters. “Spare me, wouldja?”