Brian let out a groan, flopping over in bed only to come face to face with, who in Brian's mind was, a stranger. Brian rubbed his eyes, squinting through the hangover, at the man who at that very moment shared his bed. "Who the fuck are you?" he said pointedly. The other man only had just opened his mouth to speak when Brian cut him off. "You know what... it doesn't matter. You need to go." He could see the man beginning to protest. "I said... it's time for you to get out of here."
Brian reached over the side of the bed, grabbing the other man's clothing, which was easily distinguished from his own, and tossed them over before climbing from his bed, slipping on a pair of underwear.
"We should definitely do that again sometime." the other man said as he finished dressing. Brian ushered him to the door. "You can always call...." Brian was already practically pushing him out. "You will... call..."
"Whatever," Brian slid the door closed in the man's face. "Yeah right," he said heading back into the loft, heading for the shower.
It was still early. Maybe not early enough to recover from this hangover in time for his meetings. But that was just going to have to be the price to pay for spending the night at Babylon. For spending the remainder of the early morning hours with... what's his name.
Brian let the shower run, stepping in, allowing the water to fall over his body. His head cocked back with a refreshed and rejuvenated sigh as the droplets soaked his skin, his hair. The day was only beginning. Another long, excruciating day. But he could pull it off. He could hanker down just as he always did. He was Brian Kinney after all.
Michael rolled over in bed, blinded almost immediately by the bright sunlight shining through the window. His eyes bolted open as his gaze shot to the alarm clock which sat on his dresser. 10am. "Holy shit," Michael cursed sitting erect, swinging his feet off the edge of the bed, fumbling for a pair of pants, any pair of pants to just throw on.
He jumped out of bed, hopping around the room, out towards the kitchen, shirt draped over his shoulders, tie hanging undone around his neck, pants still unbuckled. "Good morning sleepy head," Emmett beamed.
"It's ten o'clock" Michael said bustling about the kitchen, pouring a quick cup of coffee, coming very close to scalding his hand. "The alarm clock... no shower... late for work..." Michael spoke in fragments, not even partial sentences finding a way to fit together as his fought with his tie.
Emmett walked calmly over to him, taking a gentle hold of Michael's hands, causing the running around to come to a sudden halt. "You can march yourself right back in there and take those clothes off." Michael gave Emmett a shocked, speechless look. "And put on something more comfortable." Emmett continued.
"Em..." Michael said. "I missed stocking. This weekend is like... the biggest sale weekend in the history of the Big Q and...."
"You are worrying over nothing," Emmett sang. "Because I... called you in sick."
"You... what?!" Michael didn't know how to react. "Did you tell them that you were my long lost brother... or a cousin visiting from Chelsea or..."
"Don't worry, honey, I didn't out you to the boss." Emmett assured him. "I am just an oh so concerned friend who saw how horrible you were feeling ever since the accident."
Michael's eyes widened. He didn't like the sound of this. He really didn't like the sound of this. He shut his eyes. "What accident."
"The horrible soccer ball tragedy." Emmett faked tears. "You overestimated yourself, reliving your youth.... Who would have ever thought that you would go up against the boy wonder with the soccer scholarship.... throw your back out."
"You told them I wasn't coming to work because of Brian?" Michael's mouth gaped.
"It's the truth... only exaggerated... an tiny little bit." Emmett smiled.
"Oh that's great." Michael sighed. He knew that Emmett meant well, but had a strange way of going about this stuff. "Em... I appreciate it, I do but... how am I going to explain my miraculous recovery when I go back to work tomorrow?"
"Uh... well... you can take a few days off." Emmett said. "Relax, recover..."
Michael shook his head. "No, for that I need proof of injury." He sat down at the table. "How can I get proof of injury with no injury?"
Emmett sat across from him, elbows resting on the tabletop and head in his hands, thinking for a long while before his eyes brightened. It was almost as if there was an actual lightbulb going on above his head. "Well I know someone who knows someone who's cousin knows someone..." Michael's jaw hung low. "Trust me sweetie," Emmett said. "I have an idea."