“Hey you called this number at like 3AM and we talked about some pretty heavy shit do you remember any of that?”
Castiel knocks his head on something offensively painful as he shifts on whatever he’s sprawled on. He clutches his hair and peeks to see his college books stacked above his head on the other side of the couch, poking into his skull. Expensive books that bite. How inconsiderate.
‘What the fu-’ he mumbles, slurred and angry at everything. His limbs are so stiff he daren’t stretch them for fear of shrieking and waking up the whole dorm.
Looking at the floor, there are two bottles: one tiny morsel of Grey Goose and a large bottle of Jack, both empty and rolling away noisily as he tries to sit up, knocking them with his feet. A blanket falls off of his lap and he smiles sleepily, realising one of his friends must have put him here to sleep. There are no vomit stains on his sweater, for which he is thankful. His breath smells surprisingly good.
Blinking in the sunlight that streams through the small window, he tries to remember the previous night. He rubs at his eyes, flashes of people’s faces and lights and music and laughter all culminating behind his eyes. And a voice. A deep, cheerful voice.
That, he cannot place.