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Oh wow, this wasn’t fun in the slightest.
Chris clutched at his head miserable, spitting pitifully below him. It was far too early in the morning for this. The bathroom lights were piercing his eyes with its brightness, and his head was fucking spinning.
And by his luck, Chef was just standing there.
Or, to better word it, was stood leant against the bathroom door frame, arms crossed, displaying a look that could only be deciphered as, ‘I told you so.’
“Rough night?”
Chris only managed to nod as he groaned lightly, leaning back against the bathroom wall. Sighing as he leant against it. He’d spent the better half of an hour in here, suffering from the self-inflected aftermath of a hangover. Chef most definitely having heard the retching from down the hall.
“I swear I’m never touching another drink again.”
Chef only sniggered, rolling his eyes as he walked away from the door to go and retrieve something. Blurting out as Chris heard the kitchen tap turn on. “And that’s exactly what you said last time. Getting wasted seems to be your specialty.”
Well, he couldn’t argue with that. He was rather good at it.
Maybe drinking challenges should come with a trophy, because throwing up in their apartment bathroom at seven in the morning wasn’t exactly the prize he wanted.
As Chef returned, he handed Chris a cool glass of water. Which felt like an absolute godsend right about now, which he managed to flash a week smile for. “ See? This is why you’re my favorite . I feel like death, I’m dying.”
Not playing into the theatrics, “You’re hungover”. Chef corrected. “I’m guessing you want me to cancel our plans today?”
“ Please.”
It was a little funny, he couldn’t help but snicker at his partners misfortune.
“You really gotta learn how to pace yourself next time, drinking doesn’t always need to be a race, you know.”
Chris only shot him a wry grin, “But where’s the fun in that?”
“Fun doesn’t have to come with a hangover and a night on that disgusting mat.” Pointing to the ridiculously expensive memory foam bathroom mat that the latter insisted they needed.
“Wow, what would I do without you? You’re like a dad. In a life-coach or personal trainer way.” At this point Chef couldn’t tell if he was still drunk, or his partner just was like this always.
“Someone has to be there to keep you and your ego in check.”
As Chris sipped at his water, he let himself sigh in visible relief. “Chef, I love you. You’re the best partner ever. Remember that.”
“I will, and don’t go getting too sentimental on me, fucking softy. Next time you get wasted, just remember right now.”
“How lovely you are?” The other blinked innocently, as innocent as a lying little bastard you could be.
“I was going to say how you’ve thrown up eight times and It’s 7 am.”
“Okay, Yeah, fair point.”
Breathing out in realization that Chris wasn’t going to leave form his pathetic spot on the floor on his own, he reached out a firm hand, gripping onto Chris’s arm and pulling him up like a ragdoll.
He swayed unsteadily, a wave of dizziness mixed with a bit of whiplash overtaking him with how effortlessly and fast Chef had pulled him up.
“Careful, you’re swaying so much I thought you were trying to show me your dance moves for a second, and nobody wants to see that.”
“If it was a competition I’d win. My dance moves are awesome. You’re just lucky I forgot them back at the bar.”
“Did you have any to begin with?”
“Mean, you’re so mean to me.” He mocked, sarcastically, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Yeah, yeah. I won’t be so caring next time. Lesson learned, hopefully?”
“Mm..” He hummed, eyes drooping a little. “For today, probably.”
Of course, he grinned, patting the other on the back. “Cmon, let’s get you some breakfast, bastard .”