#siapsymud

Samuel vc: oNLY I HAVE PERMISSION TO CALL HIM WHORY TORY, I CALLED DIBS, COPYRIGHTED IT.

Peter’s head was absolutely throbbing, he usually wasn’t a heavy drinker or really any kind of drinker at all. He preferred to stay away from alcohol as a whole in case an emergency ever came up, he’d have a clearer mind. But last night he’d been out with MJ and Harry and well- well, one night could never hurt anybody, right? He blinked his eyes open, seeing Harry next to him on the bed and reaching out to poke him. “Har--- Harry are you alive?” Against all the complaints from his body Peter sat up, pushing himself out of bed and rubbing at his eyes.

That’s when he first noticed something was off, when he bumped himself too hard with his hand and it hurt. Eyes squint as he scanned both of his hands closely, finding a ring on one of them. Weird, definitely weird, he didn’t own any rings and he didn’t recall going jewelry shopping at all last night. Trying not to think too much of it he got out of bed, wandering to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and get a glass of water. Maybe he could persuade Harry into ordering some McDonalds to be delivered or something once he woke up, he had absolutely no desire to cook or go anywhere.

Peter sat down at the table, sipping away at a glass of water while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. He picked up a paper on the table, reading Marriage Liscence at the top. Had May stopped by with papers? But then why would she bring hers along, Ben had been dead for a while and thhe doubted there was much she could need this for. But as he read the document he nearly fell out of his chair, rushing back to his bedroom and right back to his sleeping husband friend. “Harry- Harry wake up! HAROLD!”

Harry was not unaccustomed to drinking. A lot. It had started as a sort of absurd hope that if he did something “wrong” his father would pay attention--underaged drinking had seemed, at the time, like the right “pay attention to me” neon sign. But it hadn’t done any good. Over the years, and through many, many parties, Harry had come to like who he was when he was drunk: more confident, less apt to overthink. Sober, he start to remember how behind he was on all his college courses (he’d never been as smart as Peter, never quite so good at juggling it all) and that he hadn’t had a real relationship in years, that his one night stands were starting to lose their charm. But he had never, in his long career as a heavy partier, drank so much he didn’t remember a second of the night before. 

He knew he’d gone out with Peter and MJ, knew there’d been shots, dancing, and then everything went blank. 

[ sms ; ollie ] ; ....ollie? [ sms ; ollie ] ; bloody hell. um.  [ sms ; ollie ] ; that was ... that was supposed to go to suse.  [ sms ; ollie ] ; i’m not at liberty to reveal that information at this current time. yeah.

SHE WOULDN’T BE GOOD AT THIS,     at  her  job,    her  life,    if  she  weren’t  naturally  observant.    they  all  have  their  skills    -    their  unique  selling  points,    so  to  speak.    she’s  good  at  going  unnoticed,    shifting  up  to  sit  on  the  edge  of  her  colleague’s  desk  with  a  vibrant  little  smile.    ❝  penny  for  your  thoughts?  ❞    she  knows  distraction  when  she  sees  it,    stealing  his  pen  to  fiddle  with  it  aimlessly,    swirling  it  between  her  fingers  as  if  conducting  her  own  personal  symphony.