Hypernova : A Sequel to Supernova

Episode 7 - The Morning After

Nine's eyes cracked open, a sharp, pulsing ache pinning him down as the early light seeped through heavy, drawn curtains of deep blue velvet. He squinted, struggling to push past the fog of sleep and pain, taking in his surroundings piece by piece. Polished mahogany glinted beneath the chandelier's antique glow, casting shadows on walls draped in shades of gray and silver. This was not his house.

He sat up slowly, catching his breath as he took in the opulent bedroom. The walls were deep gray, accented by intricate moldings with an almost regal finish. There was an almost intimidating grandeur to the room, a stillness that felt rehearsed, as though not a single item had ever dared move from its designated place. Even the books stacked on the nearby shelf seemed to belong to another time, their spines heavy with wisdom from some distant past. It all felt... aristocratic, like stepping into someone's carefully preserved legacy.

A quiet, hollow dread crept up his spine. He pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to push back the fog clouding his memory. Dinner. Jorah. That look in his eyes as he'd asked to be... friends? "God," Nine muttered, voice rough as sandpaper, "What was I thinking?" Fractured memories of last night flickered like broken film strips, disjointed and slippery. He couldn't remember agreeing to stay over. Just how much had he even had to drink?

Now in a sitting position, he looked for his phone which he found on a nightstand. Just beside his phone was a manila envelope which he recognized from last night--the photos from the exhibit.

Nine winced. His head felt like it was being split open. Just beside the manila envelope, Nine's gaze shifted to something else, a small pill bottle.

Just what he needed, an aspirin. Nine reached for the bottle. Upon closer scrutiny however, he realized it was not an ordinary bottle of painkillers, it was a prescription for Logan Eren.

Nine's fingers wrapped around the small, amber-colored bottle. Remedrax—a name he didn't recognize but something about it rang familiar, like he'd read it in a journal or something. He turned the bottle over, examining the instructions printed in tiny, precise font.

Dosage: 50mg, twice daily with meals. Recommended for post-trauma recovery, targeting memory function and pain relief.

The weight of the half-empty bottle in his hand told its own story. Slowly, he rolled it in his palm, listening to the rattle of the remaining capsules, each sound pulling him deeper into thought. During the time they'd dated, Jorah had never taken any medication. A perfect picture of health, in the past, at most  he took vitamins or maybe an aspirin for a headache after a grueling shoot.

The dots slowly connected in Nine's mind, forming a picture he wasn't sure he wanted to see. This... this wasn't just a random prescription. It was new, something introduced to his life after everything had already fallen apart. After the accident.

A knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. Nine fumbled with the bottle, fingers slipping slightly before he managed to slide it back where he'd found it. Just as he drew back, Jorah stepped in, already half-dressed in a crisp button-down and navy pants. His expression was calm, as if everything here made sense, as if they hadn't been worlds apart just yesterday.

"You're awake?" Jorah's voice was easy, as if this were routine, like old times. "How do you feel?"

Nine glanced away, his fingers pressing into his temples, warding off the headache and the questions. He didn't want to be here, and he didn't want to remember the mess of last night. "Why did you bring me here?" he muttered, his tone brittle.

Jorah's expression cooled, his eyes sharpening as he crossed his arms. "You were drunk," he replied, calm yet curt. "I thought bringing you here would be the decent thing to do."