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TRISTIAN DUNN'S HOUSE WAS A WRECK. Empty beer cans, glitter, and Polaroids were strewn across the hardwood floor from yesterday's party, left unattended until the owner of the place and his guests recovered from their hangovers. The sliver of sunlight permeating the dingy living room illuminated four bodies – two of which were passed out on opposite sides of the couch, and the other two in the reclining chair, their limbs so tightly bound that it was like their anatomies were fused together. It was spring break and the four college juniors had no responsibilities, indulging in their week of freedom after a hectic first half of a semester. The news that Hawkins was once again in peril hadn't penetrated their little bubble on the outskirts of Fort Wayne yet.
Kevin, who had been smart enough to drink water before falling asleep last night, was the first to wake from his slumber. He reached for the glass of water he'd left for the morning and downed it in one go before pushing himself upright, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He took the time to make sure his friends had water for when they awoke as he'd been the most sober out of them last night, always the responsible member of their friend group. As irritating as his headache was, it had to be mild compared to whatever his friends would face after falling asleep before they could drink water.
With nothing to do until his friends woke up, Kevin took it upon himself to clean the living room floor, gathering the Polaroids into a pile and sweeping the litter into the trash. He supposed it was intrinsic for him as the oldest of their group, as the older sibling, to put everyone else's needs above his own no matter how much they insisted he remember to take care of himself. He was always the one to offer help with a difficult assignment, to volunteer to be the designated driver, to look out for his friends even when he allowed himself to drink. Because like his sister it was easier to run from his problems than face them, problems his friends didn't know the full extent of.
"Morning – ow!" Tristian was the second to wake, grasping at his forehead as his hangover hit him in full force. "Dude, how many beers did you let me drink last night?"
"Four, maybe five," Kevin recounted, depositing the last of the debris into the garbage. "Drink up, you'll need it."
"How the fuck is more alcohol gonna – oh, you mean water," Tristian realized once his eyes fell on the glass Kevin had left for him. He swallowed it hungrily, but his headache barely subsided. "That didn't do shit, but thanks," he followed up, shooting Kevin a grateful smile.
"Hey, I tried to give you water before you fell asleep last night," Kevin shrugged his shoulders, plonking himself on the couch next to Tristian. Neither Carter nor Elijah had stirred thus far. "And when you wouldn't wake up I figured I didn't want to choke you."
"Fair point," Tristian acknowledged, massaging his head as though it would alleviate its throbbing. "Next time we go out I'll be the designated driver. You don't look hungover enough."
