#exsolutoque:nando

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.”