"Dude, I'm fuckin' cooked." Chloe yawned, rubbing her knuckles playfully against the top of your head. Her mouth quirked up into a crooked grin, and you could see her canines glint in the early morning sun. Charming. "So. You staying for breakfast?"

You and Chloe had gotten absolutely smashed last night. And, with Blackwell's dorms closing by 7pm—you'd had nowhere to go but hers, (not that either of you were complaining). Hence, after a series of bruised elbows and stifled giggling from dodging David (or step-douche, apparently), you'd found yourself promptly passed out in Chloe Price's bed.

Things you've learned from last night;

1. If Justin mixed the punch, don't drink it.
2. Chloe Price is a greedy blanket-hogging bastard.
3. (OPTIONAL) Chloe Price stops being a greedy blanket-hogging bastard in the event that she's the little spoon.

Chloe doesn't bother to sit up, simply rolling over and rummaging around the side of her bed for a moment before she perked her head back up—blue hair wild and smile lazy as a baggie swung between her fingers.

"Wake and bake, baby."