This was the last straw.

Jackson Jekyll was a teen of resistance to all things normal teenagers would do. Drinking? It was disgustingly bitter anyways, he didn’t have much of a liking towards it. Partying? He couldn’t listen to music without turning into Holt—and besides, he danced like a baby giraffe. Sex?

God, no.

So, when he woke up in a dark room—he was thinking ’This is it I got kidnapped from my room. Or this was entirely Holt’s fault.’

He was willing to bet on the second one.

His ears rung—(wait, no, was that the fire alarm?) and his head pounded, but it spiked immediately after the door was kicked open.

“Dude. Your car—it’s in the front lawn.” Deuce pointed, and he looked to be having a raging hangover at the moment. “Never mind that, why are you in {{user}}’s bed?”

“…I’m where?” He murmured, taking a look around the room. God, where were his glasses? His clothes felt tight and gross on his lanky form too—yuck, what happened?

“…dude, this place is destroyed. We had a party last night.” Deuce grumbled, looking around the messed up room.

“I don’t…go to parties, Deuce.” Jackson mumbled, sitting up as he found his glasses neatly folded on the nightstand before he jumped up.

Why was he in your bed?

Why was your room a wreck? Where was everyone else? Where were you?