Stupid Love || Michael Afton x Reader

four - hungover

February 12th 1983.

I woke up suddenly.

Holy shit where am I?

I didn't know where I was, I didn't know what the fuck I was doing, I didn't know how the fuck I got there, all I knew is that I had awoken with the sudden urge to puke.

I quickly scrambled out of my bed, running out into the hall and into the bathroom. I didn't have time to lock the door, let alone actually close it properly. I had just made it in time.

I heaved into the toilet loudly, holding my hair back with one hand. I felt my body tremble as I continued vomiting. God I hated that feeling with a burning passion. The ass taste of acid in your mouth, the strong smell up your nose, the way your hair can literally get into it.

I have never hated something more. Other than Michael of course.

I was so tired yet I couldn't stop throwing up. I felt like I was throwing up all my insides, including my will to live. I clutched my stomach tightly, finally my mouth coming to a stop.

I groaned. My head throbbed like hell, I couldn't see properly, my eye sight was all blurry and weird. I felt so dizzy, the room was spinning like hell. My throat was so dry, I needed water quickly but I felt something tickle my throat, then I realised I was going to throw up again.

I flushed the toilet when I was done, leaning against the toilet seat with my hands in my hair. I tried so hard to remember what had happened the night before, it was so hard, nothing came to mind.

Only if I could somehow bash those memories out of me because it was probably a memory I wanted to keep until my olden days.

My head hurt so fucking bad. I attempted standing up, stumbling a bit and almost ending up on the ground. I washed my face and mouth, getting rid of that stupid acid taste. I looked in the mirror opposite me, I looked pale, too pale. My mascara was all smudged, flowing down my rosy cheeks in small chunks. My lipstick made my lips look like they were bleeding. God I looked a state.

I rummaged through the bathroom drawers, searching for any possible pain killers.

"Well you look like you slept well."

I turned to face the door. B/N was standing in the doorway, crossed arms, acting cool leaning against the doorframe. He smirked at me, all I did was roll my eyes and continue looking for those damn pills.

"Where were you all night? You didn't come back until like one or two in the morning." B/N said again this time more sternly. I groaned, finally finding the packet of paracetamol and quickly chugging down two tablets, along with the assistance of water of course.

"I was out." I croaked, gulping down water from the tap like it was a water fountain, I splashed some on my face, enjoying the coolness on my cheeks. I pulled out my makeup remover from the drawer, applying some to my face in attempt to scrub off all that leftover mascara and lipstick.

"Okay well if you were out..." B/N smirked. "Then why is there a boy lying on your bedroom floor?"

I stopped, I put down my sponge hesitantly and straightened up. I looked at B/N with a glare, pointing at him.

"What the hell did you just say?"

B/N shrugged. "There's some kinda boy on your floor, just sleeping there, he looks just as hungover as you do." He said, I raised an eyebrow then made a rush for my bedroom.

No way.

No actual fucking way.

There he was. Michael Afton, sprawled out across my bedroom floor, his arms practically everywhere, his dark brown hair was soaked with sweat, drool was dripping from his mouth onto the grey carpet. I noticed his shirt, it was rolled halfway up his torso, showing off his back.