"Got a bloody hangover," Sam responded with a drained voice and tone, the same ones he'd woken up to every single morning since they were ten, "And need a fuckin' fag."
Of course he was going to add that he needed a cigarette. And of course he wasn't going to mention the night before. He wasn't even entirely sure how it all came to be, to be honest. He remembered very well that it most definitely did occur, but the events leading up to it was a blur to him. Assuming it was mostly his doing, as Sal was very straight and Sam was very not. So obviously it was the logical choice to not bring up the night and smoke a fucking cigarette. Yes.
Sam slowly sat up, and once realizing he was still naked, grabbed the closest pair of underwear he could find (his or not), and slid them on. He then stood up, grabbed the closest cigarette, and lit it. Fearing an awkward silence, Sam decided to speak, "M'fuckin' starvin'."