He didn't even bother slitting his eyes open, noting the light trickle into the porcelain basin in the back of his pulsing skull. He was scared to look, really. It'd been a rough night and God knows he could do without seeing the face of some jackass he knew from school.

There was the muted shuffle of socks into shoes, the light click of his door as the mystery man left. Kenny pulled himself from his half-hearted attempt at sleep and rolled over in his bed, eyes focusing on the fading white of the wall opposite. He blinked slowly – once, twice – trying to recall some event from last night. It was all a slurred muck, not even a taste in his mouth to remind him what he'd been drinking.

Getting out of the bed seemed to be the wisest thing to do. But when had Kenny ever been wise?

He flopped on his back, cocooned himself farther into the thin blanket, his toes peeking out the end.

He fell asleep tracing patterns along the stains in his ceiling with his eyes.


Hello, FF.