I feel like I’m dying. No, seriously. It’s like there’s an orchestra inside me playing the dumbest march in the world, and the conductor is the devil himself because the pounding in my temples is just unbearable.
I crack open one eye—and instantly regret it. The light streaming through the window stabs straight into my brain, making me want to dive back into darkness. I pull the blanket over my head, hoping I can somehow hide from reality. But reality’s a real pain, and it’s not letting me off the hook.
My brain, operating at maybe three percent of its usual capacity, starts piecing together last night. The housewarming. The card game. Arsen and me, butt-naked, sharing a single pillow for cover…
Oh, no.
A card game debt is sacred.
Which means today…
I don’t just have to show up to class for the first time in months. I have to show up with Arsen. And we’ve gotta play up a romance so convincing that the entire department will lose their minds over the news.
I let out a heavy sigh, pressing the pillow to my face.
— God, I’d rather have lost a bet to jump off a bridge, — I mutter to myself.
And then something jabs me sharply in the side.
— Herman, get up. — I growl in annoyance and wrap the blanket tighter around me.
— I’m dead, leave me alone.
— If you’re dead, how are you still talking?
— It’s a post-mortem groan.
Arsen snorts, then chucks something right at my head.
— Ow, damn it, — I groan, feeling the pain spread through my skull.
— That’s on you, — my friend’s voice doesn’t hold an ounce of sympathy. — Why’d you drink like a damn fool?
— If I hadn’t been drinking, I’d have realized what kind of mess I was getting into.
I roll onto my back and finally look at him. Arsen doesn’t look much better: disheveled, face all crumpled, and hair that’s been bleached snow-white since our last card game loss.
I stare at him.
He stares at me.
There’s no spark, no storm, no wild passion between us. Just the shared realization of what’s waiting for us today.
— Pour me some whiskey, — I finally say.
— Dude, it’s eight in the morning.
— Fine. Throw some cereal in it.
Arsen sighs and smacks me with a pillow.
— Get your ass up, we’ve got class.
— Why are you so responsible right when I’m at my worst? — I grumble, slowly sitting up on the bed.
My head’s pounding. My mouth feels like a desert. Judging by the chaos around us, our apartment’s gonna look like the aftermath of an apocalypse for a while. I rub my eyes, hoping maybe this was all just a bad dream.
But nope.
I turn my head—Arsen’s already pulling on a T-shirt. Then he bends down to find his pants, and I notice a few bruises on his back.
— Where’d those come from? — I nod toward the marks on his skin.
— Pretty sure I got knocked off a table last night.
— No way. I don’t remember that.
— Do you remember them trying to convince me to join the circus because ‘that kind of flexibility shouldn’t go to waste’?
I think for a second. Then it hits me: yeah, Ivy was yelling something about Arsen having a knack for acrobatics when he managed to both fall and not fall off a chair at the same time.
— Man… Sucks that I missed that.
Arsen scoffs and steps closer, handing me a bottle of water.
— Here, drink this. And get ready, ‘cause we’ve gotta head to campus soon.
I grimace.
— You realize we’ve gotta debut our ‘romance’ today, right?
— Herman, I’ve been friends with you for ten years. I think I know how you act when you’re into someone.
— Oh yeah? How?
Arsen pauses for a moment, then says:
— Like a total idiot.
— Oh, screw you.
I grumble, but I chug the water anyway and get up. I sigh, realizing it’s too late to back out now.
We’re really doing this.
And that’s when the real comedy’s gonna start.