Bedragare

"I've figured it out, Gabe," Mike said excitedly. Gabe forced open an eyelid, then quickly snapped it shut as a merciless ray of sunlight invaded his cornea, catalyzing the slow ache in his cerebellum into a stabbing throb. There was little doubt now: he was hungover. "Figured what out?" He croaked. "How to wake it up!" Mike practically shouted, which did nothing to sooth the vicious migraine in Gabe's head. "Shouldn't you be upstairs with Cait?" He mumbled, wondering why he wasn't smelling coffee brewing. That was standard procedure after a Friday night, and Mike knew that. Mike ignored his friend's question. "It's all here! Look, look, loo