#exsolutoque

Continued from here.

     he hasn’t seen bishop since their illicit night together. it’s not that he’s      been avoiding the other ( not residing on earth makes it fairly easy      not to run into people ) but likewise, he hasn’t actively sought him out.      part of him almost hopes that the other was too drunk to remember      him. it’s always better like that. ❝ hi, bishop. ❞

Hernando groans and rubs at his head, very much aware of both his banging headache and the feeling of cold metal rubbing against his forehead. Wait. Cold metal? Hernando sits up suddenly, looking at the cheap wedding ring on his finger. Head swimming from both hangover and confusion, he looks around the room only to see the bare ass of another. Brows furrow in confusion - who the hell is that guy? - before he looks down at his own body. He’s wearing nothing but a t-shirt. Nothing. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Stiles falls out of bed the moment he wakes up. In sleep he had already been leaning half off the bed, head hanging down, while the rest of his body was still on the bed. He flails and cursesas he hits the ground, hissing when that makes a blinding headache come alive suddenly. “Oh fuck.” He hisses, holding his head in his hands. But just there, as he had raised his hands, something had shone at him in the light. He frowns, carefully lowering his hand, and then just hisses again. “This has to be a fucking joke.” 

my name is andrew. my mum wanted to name me antoine but couldn't spell it.

                            “Look, I know maybe staying up all night to do this wasn’t the best idea, but it’s turned out great.” A large painting was set out in front of him, he had stayed up for hours finishing it, correcting and doing every little detail of the image. He had truly put his full effort into it, a passion project if you’d call it that surely.