Note: This chapter contains some hangover sickness. If you're not cool with that, move on to chapter 2. That one has the sexual romances. hur hur.

Bernard rolled over onto his side and groaned. The sun was shining brightly through the windows of his shop and already annoying him. He attempted to block it out by raising his arms over his eyes but it was no use. He was awake. His entire body hurt and he was alive. It was time to start another awful day.

Still groaning, he lifted himself off of his red leather couch. He must have gotten up a bit too fast because his vision blurred and he toppled to the floor.

"Aaaaaahh raaaaaaaah," he shouted, writhing around in agony. His head felt like he'd been hit repeatedly by a tire iron.

He knew he had probably drunk too much last night with the way he was feeling at the moment. Two bottles of wine shouldn't have been a problem but that shot or two or three of whiskey was probably a mistake. It wasn't good to mix alcohols sometimes, he knew this, but he could never turn down free booze, though he couldn't quite remember again why it was free or who had bought it for him. Was it actually free? Did he just take it?

Either way, he was awake now and he either really had to take a piss or vomit, but probably both. He regained his composure and slowly made his way over to the toilet. He figured he could probably keep back his vomit long enough to empty his bladder and either way pissing himself while throwing up would probably be more irritating to clean up than vomiting as he peed. He unzipped his trousers, pulled out his dick, and began relieving himself. He had to steady himself against a wall with his spare had, as the room was spinning.

He was about midway through when his stomach could no longer keep its contents down.

"Oh, oh Christ," he choked, cutting off his stream and dropping to his knees. His abdomen contracted as he spewed the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He heard the faint sound of the shop door opening behind him, and hoped it wasn't some overly eager customer. Actually, maybe a customer would be a good thing. They'd see him like this and stop coming here all together.

"Oh my," he heard a familiar female voice mutter.

Fran. Oh god, what was she doing here so early?

"Bernard, are you- are you alright?" she asked.

Bernard spit and growled, "Does it look like I'm alright? Christ!" His rage was cut off by another slew of puke escaping his throat.

Fran sighed and made her way over to Bernard's desk, "You forgot your coat last night and I figured you might want it back. It's been a bit frigid out there."

Bernard gasped, feeling his stomach hopefully finally emptied, and coughed, "I still need to piss, don't watch." He made his way to his feet again and finished emptying his bladder as Fran sat down in his chair.

"Okay," Bernard choked, zipping up his pants and flushing the disaster before him, "Okay, what did you want?"

"Your coat, you left it behind," Fran repeated, "Here it is."

"Ah," Bernard grunted, holding himself up with two hands on the desk, "Thank you."

Fran looked at him, puzzled, "Thank you? From Bernard Black?"

"I'm- I'm not feeling too well right now, Fran," Bernard sighed, "I need- need to sit down."

Fran got up and helped Bernard to his chair, where he instantly put his head down on the desk.

"It's no wonder you're feeling like this. You insisted on all of those drinks at the pub last night," Fran explained, "All of that tequila. You know how that treats you."

"What? I thought I only had whiskey at the pub," Bernard groaned.

"You insisted on tequila. All with Manny taking a trip to Mexico and all," Fran recalled.

"Oh yeah, I forgot that bearded bastard was leaving last night," Bernard muttered, "Didn't even say goodbye when he left this morning. Didn't even check to see if I was breathing…"

"He probably knew better than to disturb your slumber," Fran sighed, "You are so miserable when you're sleeping."

Fran lit a cigarette and patted her miserable friend on the head, "Here, Bernard. Have a fag. It'll make you feel better."

Bernard lifted his head and let Fran stick it in his mouth, "Thanks."

"Who knows, might be fun with Manny being gone for a bit," Fran mused, "I mean, you and I haven't hung out just the two of us since before he got here."

Bernard took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose, "Ah, that's true. It's been awhile."

He looked over at Fran, who was lighting her own cigarette, and couldn't help but feel a little twinge in his heart. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought though. Maybe he was just really hung over or maybe even a little drunk still, but he couldn't help but admire his oldest friend. She did look rather stunning, for whatever reason. In fact, she kind of always did to him; he just didn't have the balls to tell her.

Bernard met Fran when they were in high school actually. They used to smoke behind the building and occasionally ate lunch together. Bernard was always a bit awkward and antisocial with an affinity for black clothing and books and Fran never seemed to realize quite how awkward she was, she was far more outgoing than her Irish friend, yet they clicked rather well. They drifted after graduation though as they resumed their own lives.

Fran had run into Bernard years later at a pub. Bernard could still remember their first conversation. He was sitting alone at a table near the pub kitchen, feeling pretty down about himself. He was no longer engaged and rather grief-stricken. In fact, this was maybe the third night in awhile that he had actually gone out of his flat.

He was well into his third whiskey sour when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Bernard?" a voice asked.

He remembered jumping and awkwardly turning around, wondering who wanted to bother him now. He, however, sighed in relief when he realized that it was just an old friend.

"Bernard Black," Fran smiled.

"Fran," Bernard spoke, "Fran, hey hey…um, how are you doing?"

"Fine, just out and about really with some friends," she responded, "How about you?"

"Er, just here. Just me," Bernard replied sheepishly, taking a big swig from his glass.

He remembered Fran deciding to sit and catch up with him that night and for the first time in months, he felt warm inside. It was nice to have someone to talk to who didn't also want a book from him. They figured out that Fran was opening a shop near his actually, and from that day on the two of them met almost daily for lunch and wine.

"Bernard, are you okay?" Fran asked, making Bernard snap out of his memories and back to the current. His head began to throb again.

"Owwww, my fucking head," he growled, grasping his messy hair and tugging at it.

"You should have some water and lie down a bit," Fran recommended.

"Shop's gotta run, Fran." Bernard grumbled, "I don't have time for that."

"Your closed sign has been up all day and it's past one," Fran said, "I think people think you've taken a holiday for the day."

"Christ!" Bernard groaned.

"I think you'll be alright being closed for a day," Fran said, patting him on the shoulder, "Come on, go get some sleep. I'll be back around tonight if you want to do something."

She pushed a glass of water near him that she must have grabbed from the kitchen while he daydreamed. He downed the glass and she helped him over to his couch.

"Feel better, Bernard," Fran called as she closed the shop door behind her.

Bernard mumbled and drifted off to sleep.