Star's Theory

July 3

I rub my eyes groggily, waking up to the scent of old fries. It's not until a few minutes until I've transitioned from asleep to sorta-awake that I realize Mason's sprawled on the bed next to me, one arm falling off the tiny bed and the other draped across my stomach.

"AH!" I shriek, jumping out of bed and accidentally pushing Mason onto the floor in the process.

"Oy!" he accuses, groaning on the floor, "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Sorry!" I say immediately, flipping through piles of trash to find my phone, "But, you were supposed to sleep on the floor anyways, remember?" I don't really remember why myself.

"No," he's already up and fully functioning, "No one won that contest. These super-duper-extra-mega-ginormous-large fries are still here."

Oh right, the fry-eating contest. Where we totally drunk when we thought of that?

"How did you remember the super-duper-whatever we called it?" I ask instead, staring blankly at the mountain of fries that remains in our room.

He shrugs, "I have good memory."

"Right..." I say, looking at my phone, "The hell? It's already July 3rd?"

"Bloody hell," he repeats, his eyes wide, "Did we really sleep through the entire day yesterday?"

"Apparently so," I guess, a bit bewildered, "Well, I'm taking a shower; I feel absolutely gross."

"You are," Mason agrees wholeheartedly and I glare at him. "What? I had to sleep next to you the entire night!"

"There was always the floor!" I sing, closing the bathroom door behind me, although it doesn't muffle his laugh.

A hot shower and nearly an entire travel-sized bottle of shampoo later, I feel adequately clean and significantly more awake, so I wrap a towel around my waist, humming a song I don't know the name to. 

As soon as I step out of the shower, someone knocks on the door and before I can decide if it's weird to open the door shirtless, I've already reached for the knob. Suddenly, Mason practically comes barrelling into me, his own shirt and pants missing as well, and throws open the door. I crash into the wall, Mason falling on top of me in a messy pile.

"Room service!" a cheerful lady pipes, but when she sees me and Mason, she turns around and shuts the door immediately with a high pitched, "Sorry!"

"What was that for?" I demand glaring at Mason, heat rising up my cheeks even though what the lady was implying is obviously incorrect.

"Sorry, mate. I thought you were still in the shower!" he defends, not moving.

"And where did your clothes go?" I accuse, gesturing to his striped boxers.

His cheeks deepen in color, "I was just changing, you idiot, since you were taking so flipping long in the shower."

"Like you're such a great roommate," I retort, fully aware that our legs are still awkwardly entangled together and my back is pressed against the door, "Ordering three extra large fries? Remind me again how we're going to finish this?"

"Erm," he pauses and flashes a grin, "Wait for room service to clean it up?"

"God," I rub my forehead, "Room service is probably to scared to come in here again."

He laughs obnoxiously, in the head-tilted-back way he always does, and I roll my eyes, trying to resist the smile forming. But he finally seems to notice that we're both still stretched out on the ground and that I'm literally incapable of moving with him on top of me, so he stands up quickly and walks back into our room.

"Alrighty then, now that we've gotten the whole inevitable seeing-your-roommate-half-naked situation out of the way, what's on the agenda for today?" Mason asks brightly, pulling on a pair of tan khaki shorts.

"Pretty sure we could've avoided that for one week," I mumble, slipping into a plain white tee, "But anything that doesn't have to do with alcohol sounds good to me."

"Anything?" he smirks, pulling on his own shirt.

When he doesn't elaborate, I just look at him blankly, "Anything normal for cruises?"

"Well, mate, I have a fabulous idea," he grins wickedly and I have the strange feeling that I should be scared.