Who: Jack and Evie Where: Jack's Room When: Mid-Morning
Jack didn't immediately remember stumbling out of bed, or...no...the couch. He'd been on the couch. Why had he...oh...Evie. Right. The memories slowly drifted back to him, stumbling across the room in the dark, half dragging his blanket behind him until it vanished on the floor somewhere, then disappearing into the bathroom. His hand had partially closed the door then swiped for the light, but missed, and he knew his stomach wouldn't have lasted long enough for a second attempt. Thankfully, the tiny, faint nightlight near the sink illuminated things enough that he could see the outline of the toilet. He practically dove in and completely voided the previously delicious contents of his stomach. Fuck, he was never letting Daphne cook again.
Hadn't he wandered back afterward? Apparently not.
He'd been awake for a little while, but even though his eyes were open he didn't feel as if he were really seeing anything. There were strange little dots, squiggly lines floating in his vision, obscuring whatever lay beyond. He was freezing to the point of shivering, but somehow the cold floor against his damp cheek felt nice. He could feel it against his arm, his leg, his shoulder too, and for a moment he wondered if he'd gotten undressed at some point. The movement of his eye caught a glimpse of fleshtones, his arm, and then a strip of white above it. A shirt. Not naked. Was he wet?
Beyond the mass that he was still pretty sure was his arm, and further down a darker blob that was probably his legs, he saw light coming in from the doorway. How long had he been there? He tried to lift his head, but his body ached angrily en masse, and didn't seem willing to follow his directions. He felt himself move, but it was so slight that he doubted anyone who might have been watching would have noticed. He tried to call out, but air only puffed out of his throat wordlessly. His mouth was so dry it felt like it cracked at the attempt, and even swallowing only resulted in the taste of stale bile to fill his throat.
The sink was nearby. He couldn't see it but knew full well that it was there. The toilet was closer, and it didn't even disgust him at that moment that he'd considered it. In fact, it made him laugh, a sound that came out choked and harsh, and didn't carry as well as it normally would have. Mentally, he willed the sink closer, though he actually did find himself able to slide his arm forward. Well...slide was an overstatement. He'd tilted a little on his side, and his arm had simply dropped from its position against his hip and landed on the ground. The sensation of his knuckles hitting the floor should have hurt a little, but he felt so numb that he heard the sound more than felt it. So much for the sink or the toilet.