Everything is so fucking loud and bright. I'd rather die than this. Whatever this is.

Steve pulls back the blinds in my room and it fucking sucks. I get the sun in the morning, so it’s like seventy million flashlights being reflected off mirrors. That’re aimed at my window. “Tom, wake up.”

I slam my pillow over my head. “Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve,” I whine.

I hear footsteps. “It’s almost 10.”

“I don’t care.”

“Wake. Up.”

I sit up slowly. I can’t see anything because it’s too damn bright. The headache doesn’t help that much, either. “...what time is it?”

“Almost 10. I said.” He puts down a glass of water and some pills.

I flop back into the bed. “Nooooooooooo,” I moan. I throw the pillow back over my head.

He throws the pillow off me. “God, you look like shit,” he says, putting on one of those fucking dumb sleep masks over my eyes.“What'd you do last night?” A bottle tips, and then something stings on my head.

“...peroxide?”

Steve pulls the mask back so I can look at him. “When isn't it peroxide, you knobhead?” And then he snaps it back.

Oh, God, that hurts more than the headache.

“So what happened last night?” He dabs me with it.

“...went cruisin'.”

Steve sighs. That's his way of saying he's disappointed in me.

“...thanks, mate.”

“What'd he do?”

I swallow. “Don't remember.”

Steve gets up from the bed. “Do you want me t' schedule something for you tomorrow?”

“I'll get over it.”

He closes the curtains and sighs. “Fine.”

I take off the mask. “Thanks, Steve.”

“You look like shit.”

I smirk, and then it goes away.

Steve frowns and shakes his head. “Want a beer?”

“...not really.”

He stands at the foot of the bed for a while and then asks, “Who’s Murph?”

“No.”

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

My hands flop in my lap. “No. Why?”

“You mentioned someone named Murph?”

I inhale. I really don't want to have this conversation right now. “...he's a friend, why?” I say it quiet enough for him to barely hear it. I basically garbled it in my mouth.

Steve hops onto the bed and sits down across from me. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

“I...remember...at the Bugle – Bulge, this guy and I...we tried to – ”

“Skip the gory stuff. You tried to get it on, he was...gruff, and you got kicked out.”

For a second, I wanna tell him something. But I don't really have anything to say that matters. If that makes sense. “I think I punched him.”

“Good. And then?”

I rub my eyes. I keep them closed. “...don’t remember.”

“Okay, cool.” Steve’s glaring at me.

“What'd I do?”

He shrugs. “You called Alan. Picked you up and drove you back here.”

I sighed. Alan and his taxi. I gotta get him something nice.

“And you got to the front door sobbing.”

I sit up. “Didn’t know I was a sad drunk.”

“You’re not. You’re a horny one. You tried to tell me why you was cryin', but it was just this...garble. Like – ” Steve strings together a series of letter sounds while his mouth twisting into different shapes.

“Where'd you get ‘Murph’ from?” I ask.

“Oh, I was watching 'Interstellar'when you got in and you began screaming ‘MURPH’ at the telly.”

I lean back against my headboard. “Go me.”

“And then you start screaming about her hands?”

I sit up again. God, I'm moving too fast. I think I'm gonna be sick again. “Murph’s hands?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” I look down at my hand and brush my fingertips over it.

I can't think about this right now. My brain just isn’t there yet.

“Any of that ring a bell?” he asks.

I flop back in my bed. “No.”

“Hm,” Steve says, standing. “Well, for what it’s worth...it is actually 10 in the morning.”

I sigh. Adrian and Murph’ll be over at one to go to a museum. I’m kind of surprised we haven’t hit them all already. But then again, there’s, what, a million museums in London? “Goddddddddddddddd,” I moan. “There any Advil left?”

Steve points to the glass of water and pills on my bedside table. “Don’tever forget who’s got your back, mate.” He stands. He’s about to leave when he asks, “Wait, you have a friend named Murph?”

I wave away his question as I swallow the pill. “Unrelated.” I wipe my face and ask, “Wake me at half 12?”

Steve gives me a thumbs up. “Goin' out?”

I groan again and pull the duvet up over my head. “Never again. Get out.” I hear the door close and sigh.

And then I lean over the side of the bed and vomit.