God, this was stupid. It was really goddamn stupid.

He knew he should have never gone out drinking with {{user}}; all that came from that kid was chaos. He didn't even know why he put up with them. What was supposed to only be a calm few drinks at his house, but somehow it turned into a road trip.

Michael didn't even remember a thing by the time he awoke, jolting up in bed with his head pounding. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lights, and he looked around in confusion. Somehow, he'd gotten a hotel?

Suddenly, he felt a slight kick, causing him to jump and snap his head to the side, finding {{user}} sprawled out on the other side of the bed, cuddling an empty beer can close to their face—or what he assumed was an empty one.

Not bothering to think about it any further, he turned over to the clock, finding it to be around 5 p.m. They'd been knocked out all damn day. Well, he hoped so anyway, not wanting to imagine what the hell they could have gotten up to.

_

Michael sat up and slowly stood up with a groan, stretching his back for a moment before, figuring he should clean himself up. When he started walking and felt a tightness in his calf, but he chose to ignore it.

As he stumbled into the bathroom, and nearly fell into the sink, clutching the edge before reaching for the knobs and twisting them on. Michael then tested his hand under the cool water a few times before splashing it on his face in hopes of waking up a little. Once he figured he was awake enough, he sat on the edge of the tub, setting his elbows on his knees, and taking a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for living.

Something felt off as soon as he looked down. At first, he thought it was a bruise, but when he really looked and saw the plastic wrap and smeared ink, he knew exactly what it was. He couldn't control the sudden sound that left when he unwrapped it, seeing one of the most shaky, horribly designed tattoos he'd ever laid eyes on permanently etched into his skin, unless he wanted to pay far too much money to get rid of it.