⇒ Dirk: Self Loathe

How in the world could you be so stupid? Did you seriously get so depressed that you had to go and get drunk at that bar? And if the splitting headache wasn't bad enough to wake up to, you were instantly pounded with the fact that you had brought someone into your apartment at some point during one of your rare drunken adventures. You brought someone home. You repeated that to your stupid head: YOU BROUGHT SOMEONE HOME TO YOUR APARTMENT! While to many people this may seem like no big deal, to you it was utter insanity. Your apartment was your private space. You kept it neat and in order and everything had its own place, but when someone else waltzed into your apartment like they owned the place, things got messy and undesirably out of hand. Take your (unfortunately recent) ex, Jake, as an example. As much as you think you loved him, whenever he was staying your apartment it would seem as though he thought what was yours was also his. He would put on your clothes the morning after sex, he would cook food for himself in your kitchen, and for the love of all things holy, decent, and clean, he would never use a coaster on your coffee table. All of it drove you crazy but you never wanted to tell him. After all, he might have left you alone. And there was no way you wanted that.

Of course with your luck it happened anyways. Yesterday you decided to lash out at him for joking about sleeping with another one of your friends. You don't even know why it bothered you so much, but something inside you building up from all the missed calls, feet on tables, and lonely nights snapped. You lost your cool, and that was something you very rarely did. You opened the floodgates in one moment and in the next, Jake was gone. Once you realized what you had done, you pretty much sat alone in your apartment and resigned to watching Titanic about five times while eating countless amounts of instant ramen soup. You didn't even have the motivation to work on your robots. Or your computer programming. Or much of anything else. You didn't even take the time out of your movie marathon to take a shower. Thank god that you eventually told yourself that you should get off your lazy, heartbroken ass and go do something. Even if it wasn't productive, getting out of your small apartment would be good for you, right? Your friend Roxy had begged you to go out drinking with her anyways, so why couldn't you let loose for once in your hard-ass life and actually have fun? Oh that's right, because you were depressed as fuck and Roxy had to come to your apartment and literally drag you off the couch. The girl was stronger than you thought.

But maybe it was for the best. Wallowing in your own self pity couldn't have been any good for you. She forced you to take a shower and get dressed in something nice. She forced you to eat a substantial meal (regardless of how many times you told her that ramen was perfectly substantial). She forced you to make your hair look nice in the spikey style that you loved to wear every day. You hated when people forced you to do anything, but you knew that she was only doing it because she actually cared about you. She was your best friend, after all, and it must have killed her to see you so depressed over a stupid douche you had been dating since you were a freshman in college. And as much as the break up hurt, you knew it was all your fault. He was gone there was not much more you could do.

When Roxy was done fussing over you like she was your mother, you took a good look in the mirror. You actually looked presentable to go out in public, and compared to earlier that morning, it was a nice and surprising change. She dragged you out to some nice bar downtown, one that she really liked to visit apparently. Skaia's or something. Though you didn't drink much, you thought that today you could make an exception. So you drank. A lot. You mixed drinks like you learned you shouldn't do when you were twenty-one, you slammed down shots one after the other, and to be honest, you felt good. Better than you had been all day, in fact. And it might have been the alcohol clouding your judgement, but that blonde at the other side of the bar looked pretty hot. No, he was hot without the alcohol. You started up a drunken conversation with him. His name started with an R, but by now you couldn't remember it fully. And as the turn of events played out, you took him back to your apartment. The sex was the best you've had in a while, he was definitely better than Jake ever was. And even though he was nothing at all like Jake, you actually found yourself intrigued by him. Blame it on the alcohol or whatever, but you couldn't deny that he was your lover for one night.

And now you're here. You were in the kitchen cooking breakfast for the man you had accidentally taken back to your apartment (You couldn't leave him hungry. What kind of person would you be?), fixing up some scrambled eggs and bacon in only your underwear. And your trusty shades, of course. They were useful for hiding your emotions and for covering the bloodshot eyes that you found when you looked in the mirror this morning. You honestly didn't care if he found you in your boxers, it was your home and he saw you naked last night anyways. The mysterious stranger can deal with it. You were almost done with breakfast when he stumbled out of your room and down the hall to the kitchen. He wasn't the lightest on his feet and you could hear him coming as soon as he left your room, but you humored him and acted surprised that he was awake. Fuck, he was hotter than you remember. "Oh. You're up," you said to him in fake shock, "Good morning. I'm just making us some breakfast. you like eggs and bacon?"

⇒ Rory: Meet Dirk

You make your way from the bedroom to where you think the kitchen may be, taking your time and a few deep breaths before you spot him. He was standing in front of a stove, cooking what you think was scrambled eggs from your point of view. That was actually kind of nice of him to cook you breakfast, none of your other one-night-stands had done that before. You cleared your throat to make your presence known and he turned around slowly in your direction. He was wearing only a pair of adorable broken heart boxers and a pair of really ridiculous triangle shades.

"Oh. You're up," he said without any change in expression, "Good morning. I'm just making us some breakfast. you like eggs and bacon?" You loved eggs and bacon. Who doesn't? And even though you weren't too fond of scrambled eggs, there was no way you were going to be rude when he was kind enough to actually cook for you. "Yeah, I do." Wow Rory, could you possibly make yourself look any more awkward and stupid? "Um, you wouldn't happen to have any headache meds to go with that would you?" He gave you a little smirk and turned back to the stove, raking a hand through his disheveled and slightly wavy hair. "Anything else hurting besides your head?" he asked, an almost unnoticeable southern twang peeking out in his voice. Of course, your ass was a bit sore from the obvious activities that took place last night, plus a few bruises here and there, but there was no way in hell that you were going to make this situation any more awkward than it already was. You just gave a small smile and shook your head with an "No, I'm fine" escaping your lips before you took a seat at the table.

He let out a little snort of a laugh and served breakfast onto a couple of mismatched plastic plates. For scrambled eggs, it looked pretty amazing. You wanted to devour it all, but your mother had taught you better and raised you on manners, so you waited for your host instead. You weren't raised in the jungle. After getting a couple of Solo cup glasses of orange juice, he sat down in the chair next to you at the table. He handed you your juice and motioned for you to start eating, which you gladly complied with. You said a quiet thank you before diving into your breakfast, your stomach very greatful since you hadn't eaten much the day before.

Breakfast between the two of you was eaten mostly in silence. You were waiting for him to ask you anything, give you any clue as to what happened the previous night or to even what his name was, but he sat just as silent as you were. It looked as though you would have to ask for yourself. "So," you said after you had finished the bite of food in your mouth, "My memory's just a teeny tiny bit on the fuzzy side. What exactly happened last night?" His stoic expression didn't seem to change as he answered you, but with those idiotic shades it was hard to tell. "Simple," he stated flatly, "We got drunk, met at a bar, and had sex." Well duh, you thought to yourself, that was obvious. You kind of woke up naked that morning. "Well yeah, but I don't remember a damn thing." He looked over to you and gave you a little knowing smirk. It almost made you squirm. "Don't worry, I forgot your name too."

Oh. OH. Well at least you weren't the only one. Actually, it kind of made you feel less nervous. He was in the same boat as you were. "Rory," you said with a genuine smile spreading across your face. "Dirk," he replied to you as he took your hand and shook it. "Do you want to actually go do something today? I don't have anything planned."

"Me neither."

You may actually like where this is going.