Fuck, his head hurt. That was the first thought on Jack’s mind as he made a face before even opening his eyes, scrunching his forehead up as if somehow it would make the pain go away. His second thought was that his arms were somehow occupied, wound around a dead weight. Did he go home with someone? His memories of New Years beyond the secret reveal were hazy, it was all a blur of alcohol and laughter (at the expense of others, naturally) and none of it was clear in his still maybe a little tipsy mind. Opening his eyes, he squinted, the slight crack of sunlight coming through the curtains already a little too much for him to handle. This was not shaping up to be a good day.
Next course of action, naturally - figure out who he needed to tell the chlamydia situation to. The girl in his arms had her face obscured, a mess of brown hair all over the pillow, and as Jack sat up he leaned over to gently push it back, doing his best not to disturb her sleep - maybe he’d get out without even talking, say something later on, maybe he’d outdone himself and managed to use a condom. Except as her hair moved, her face became familiar in his mind, and he silently cursed himself for the way he’d managed to somehow, while drunk, fuck up this much. His ex. Great. Fucking great.
How had he even ended up with Ophelia? Had people seen them together? That sounded like questions he needed to ask his future self rather than his current self, since his current thought was how the fuck did he get out of there as quickly as possible. And his other arm was currently crushed underneath her. As he tried to pull it out, he could feel her start to stir, and he resigned himself to the situation and laid back down, exhaling. “Surprise, bitch.”
