Dante woke up. Hung over. Definitely hung over. Definitely, definitely hung over. All the signs were there: Pounding headache; queasy stomach; cold sweat that reeked of booze; and the overwhelming, almost supernatural urge to burrow 10 feet into the ground and hide from the tyrannical rays of the sun. Goddamned sun. Tyrannical sun. Goddamned tyrannical sun. The morning of your 18th birthday wasn’t supposed to hurt this bad.
But then Dante thought about WHY he had woken up hung over. Worth it. Totally worth it.
It wasn’t until his eyes creaked open enough so that he could get up and stumble into his bedroom (which he hoped people weren’t having sex in…fuck it…he didn’t care at this point) that he realized something was definitely wrong.