⇒ Rory: Awaken
Your name is Rory Lalonde and you have no idea where the fuck you are, but your entire body has a slight tingly and sore feeling. You woke up in a foreign bed to the morning sunlight streaming through someone else's window. You attempted sitting up to take a look at your surroundings, but a sharp and sudden pain from your head caused you to lay back down and accept your fate. Gaining your composure, you narrowed down the possibilities to the most likely fact that you must have been drunk the night prior and had gone back to someone's room and got laid. The other option was that you were no longer in your own body and the soreness was a mere side effect. But this, of course, is highly unlikely.
But the getting laid part explained a lot. Like why your head hurt, why your ass was sore as fuck, why you weren't back in your dorm room where you should have been, and also why you were completely naked. Unfortunately for you, though, the spot next to you in bed was completely empty save for the crumpled black sheets and orange comforter that signalled a previous resident.
When a crash sounded from outside the sanctuary of the only room in this place you could remember, you sat straight up in bed despite the protests from your pounding head. Your lover from last night (or even possibly this morning) must have been there. Now would probably be the best time to show whomever you had slept with this time that you were awake, so you forcefully and reluctantly got out of the warm, cozy bed. the hardwood floor of the room was cold against your bare feet, but you tried to ignore it. You stretched, yawned, and looked around the room for any signs of the clothes you had disregarded last night in a moment of passion. They were not difficult to find, as they were lying neatly folded at the foot of the bed as if your host had taken the time to fold them for you. Which, of course, you knew they had. Taking a better look around, you came to realize that this person kept their room organized and practically immaculate, much unlike the dorm room you shared with your equally messy counterpart.
You took your time getting changed, starting with your hot pink briefs. After that came your black skinny jeans, and lastly your white sweater. How anyone decided that they would have sex with you when you were wearing this, you will never know. Before you walked out the door of non-awkward safety to the realm of morning-after uncomfortableness, you checked your hair in a nearby mirror. Damn, your usually perfect blond hair was a complete mess, random strands sticking up everywhere instead of falling neatly in the wavy way your hair liked to do. You also had many bruised and purple hickies littering across your neck, but it was nothing that a scarf couldn't hide. The sex must have been amazing if it made you look this unkempt. Too bad you couldn't remember anything but splotches of scenes. Tall, lean but muscular body, also a blond, a nice tan, freckles sprinkled everywhere on him. It was exactly how you liked your men.
You attempted to fix your hair into a somewhat-decent manner that was acceptable for your vain standards, but it was to no avail. Your hair refused to cooperate. It was a damn shame that you would have to meet your lover like this, but you tried to not let it bother you too much. What did bother you, though, was your internal and blatant use of the word "lover". Lover was far too emotionally attached. You both just had sex. It was no big deal, and it was far from any sort of relationship. But what would you call the man you had spent a glorious and passionate night with? You couldn't even remember his fucking name like the douchebag you were. You sighed in exasperation and took one last look in the mirror before you went out to face the music, but something caught your eye. In the bottom corner of the mirror, there was a cheesy photo booth strip that couples liked to do on dates. It was held there with a little piece of scotch tape, and you decided to carefully peel it off in order to get a better look.
The first one in the photo set had to be your unnamed and mysterious one-night-stand. He was exactly like the blips of memory you had of him. The other one, on the other hand, you had no idea. He had dark hair and a Hawaiian/Pacific Islander look to him. They looked far too different to be biologically related, but they were close enough to be comfortable smiling so widely. Oh, and they were kissing in that last little photo, how sweet. Maybe your mysterious man was two-timing this guy for you, but why you had no clue. You never met this man before last night. You tuck the photo strip into your back pocket and walk out of the room to meet your "lover" or whatever you were supposed to call him.