⇾ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

𝚅𝙸𝙸𝙸

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 → 𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕

⊹ 𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟼-𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟽 ⊹

My eyes opened and my head felt like it was too heavy to lift up. I groaned in annoyance, closing my eyes again because it eased the pain just enough. What did I do last night? I couldn't remember a single thing that happened after I'd put Julian back to sleep.

"Two bloody bottles?" My eyes shot open and my eyes searched for the source of the familiar voice.

"Paul? When the fuck did you get here?" I demanded. He was dressed in his ridiculously colorful sweater vest over a white button-up. His trousers were black, but I could see cat hair on them from a mile away. That's what happens when you get a white cat, I suppose.

I moved underneath the blanket over me and realized something peculiar. "And why am I not wearing clothes?"

"What? Don't remember when you vomited, yelled at me about it being too hot, and then proceeded to close yourself in the room, telling me not to come in because you were stripping and falling asleep?"

My eyes widened. "No, I don't. I did that?"

"Damn right, ye did. You were a bit off the rails when I got here last night. Found two wholly empty bottles of wine...Christ, how do you even do that?"

"That's a good question...wait, why are you here?"

"Ye bloody called me, ramblin' about how much ye couldn't live without John. Told me ye weren't strong enough. I was a bit worried, y'know. Didn't sound like you were in the right headspace. And we both know what happens when you aren't in the right headspace."

"Good to know you have such high expectations for me, Paul. Thanks for that."

"That's what I'm here for, aren't I?" he smiled. "Anyways, get yer damned clothes on and come downstairs. I'm taking ye two to breakfast."

"Christ, I have a kid," I said. "Where is he?" My eyes widened fearfully one more time. "He didn't see me last night, did he?"

Paul shook his head. "Slept like a log." He grinned at his stupid reference.

"Okay, get out so I can make myself bloody decent." I rubbed my eyes with the palm of the hand that wasn't holding my blanket up to my chin.

"Hurry up, will you? It's been ruddy hard keepin' Julian entertained while you went off and slept off your damned wine."

I plopped back onto the bed again. "Still feeling' a little drunk," I admitted. "A bit of a shitty feeling."

"Well, I'm sure you've got a plethora of medication in your cabinets downstairs. You always do, because this is what happens when you get blackout drunk, and you seem to do it a lot, amirite?"