...no one.

The bed was empty, but it was clear from the dent in the pillow and the disheveled nature of the sheets that someone had been there. Fuck. Did I sleep in the same bed as Randall...Naked? As you pondered this, you rubbed at your aching head, recalling once more the events from last nights dream. It had just been a dream, hadn't it? You'd were fucking Miss. Card after all, the real Miss. Card, not Randall. Randall wouldn't have dressed up in sexy lingerie just for you, nor would he have sucked you off. No way! No, it was definitely a dream. It had to have been, you assured yourself, trying to get things straight in your head - a task not made any easier by the pounding that was currently going on inside.

Though you were of course still somewhat concerned by the fact that you were lying in your best friend's bed, stark naked, with little or no memory of the night before, you could only reason that perhaps Randall had put you to sleep next to him just to make sure you were definitely okay (what with you being so out of it). Yeah, that's probably it, you told yourself, figuring that right now that was as good a explanation as any. I probably kicked my boxers off in my sleep or something as well... At least I hope I did. While not exactly airtight, you did at least have other things to occupy your mind right now. The queasy feeling in your stomach, the lingering taste of **** in your mouth, and your **** need to pee currently being the most pressing.

Heeding natures call and pushing the covers off the bed, you stumbled onto your feet and located your boxers on the floor below. Quickly grabbing them and slipping them on, you then hobbled off towards the bathroom, making a beeline directly for the toilet. Just as you were getting yourself ready to pee though, something else made its way out first and you soon found yourself doubled over, hurling your guts out into the bowl. "Ugh. Now I know how Randall must have felt," you groaned after emptying your stomach, recalling how he'd been in the exact same position in this exact same bathroom one week earlier. Unlike Randall however, you hadn't had a hangover in weeks, not since the two of you had stayed up late drinking and playing XBox, and that had been nothing like this! This one was a total killer and your memory of last nights activities were extremely fuzzy at best (missing large chunks at worst). You remember of course being dumped by Allison and seeking solace in a bottle of whiskey with Bryce, as well as being caught by Coach Mullins and Randall, but after that everything became a bit of a blur. I hope I didn't do anything too dumb, you thought to yourself, feeling a little better now. Though only a little.

Wandering back into the bedroom after having both relieved and cleaned yourself up a bit (as well as attempted to get rid of the vomit and whiskey taste) you took a moment or two to again examine your surroundings. It was certainly a lot tidier than the last time you'd been in here, minus the odd item of your discarded clothing lying on the floor. Randall was obviously getting a lot better at cleaning up after himself.

Grabbing your shirt and jeans, you slipped them on and noticed something else lying there, something that most definitely didn't belong to you. Assuming it must be Randall, you picked up what appeared to be a long, silky black robe and were suddenly hit by an almost overpowering sense of déjà vu. Did...Did Randall wear this last night? It didn't really seem like him (mind you, what did these days) but it did appear somewhat reminiscent of something from your dream...something Miss. Card had been wearing. Fuck! You were really confused now. Especially after recalling something she'd said. "I'm trying to take care of you, buddy." and "Tonight...just think of me as your dream girl." What the hell did that mean? Why would Miss. Card say that to you?...Did last night actually happen?

Feeling that uneasy sensation in your stomach again returning, not being entirely sure what to think, you quickly dropped the robe to the floor and set off to find Randall, assuming that he'd be the one with the answers. The minute you hit the hallway, you immediately caught the scent of bacon sizzling from somewhere below, the smell instantly perking you up as you realized Randall must be in the kitchen making breakfast.

"Nicely timed, dude!" he called out as you descended the stairs, obviously hearing you approach. "Breakfast is nearly ready."

Following after the scent, you peered your head around the door and caught side of Randall busying himself with a frying pan. He was dressed in a gray camisole top and matching shorts with a cutesy looking pink bunny logo prominent on both (this presumably being his pajamas), and didn't look all that long out of bed himself from how lightly tussled his long dark red locks were. "So how are you feeling this morning?" he asked with a smile, spotting you standing rather awkwardly there in the doorway.

"Uhm, not so great to be honest. I must have been completely out of it last night." you told him, rubbing at your head and trying your best not to stare at his ample chest.

"Oh believe me you were." Randall laughed.

"Heh, yeah. Sorry. Sorry if I did anything stupid or anything. I'm kind of a little blank on a few things."

"That's cool. I guess it makes us even." This was presumably a reference to the night he'd gone off and got wasted with Mrs. Walsh and you'd had to drive him home and put him to bed, rather than the other way round. That was of course assuming that putting you to bed was all that had happened...

Rather than inquire about any of this, feeling a little too embarrassed for the moment (Randall standing there looking absolutely gorgeous even in his 'just woke up' state not really helping matters), you instead quickly changed the subject, letting out a nervous little cough as you pointed towards what he was currently cooking. "So, a fried breakfast, huh? Surely that isn't part of Miss. Card's nutritious diet." you joked.

"Probably not, but I thought "fuck it!" You'll need it to help with your hangover and I've gained enough pounds as it is already, so a bit a bacon and a few eggs isn't exactly gonna make much difference. ...At least I hope not." As he said this, his gaze lowered towards his stomach which he cupped in his hands, displaying sure enough, a little bit of a pot belly. You certainly hadn't noticed that before, even when he'd told you as much a few days ago, but seeing it now, emphasized by both his hands and the thin material of the camisole, it was more than obvious that Randall had gained a little weight. "Ah well, the treadmill can wait till Monday. This weekend is about having fun and doing whatever the hell we like!"

Taking a seat at the kitchen table as per his instruction, Randall then dished out the bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes and french toast onto two plates and sat down himself. Though you still had many questions and gaps from last that needing filling, the fatty, friend breakfast in front of you looked so good that immediately started to tuck in - it being surprisingly enough, just what your hungover body was craving right now. "Oh, and I also made you this," Randall suddenly remembered, reaching behind and grabbing a tall glass of murky looking brownish-green liquid from the counter top. "It's George's hangover cure. I thought it was total bullshit at first, but it does actually work."

"What the hell is in it?" you asked, half munching on a piece of bacon.

"Better you don't know," he chuckled, passing you the glass. "Just down it and you'll start feeling a lot better in no time. Trust me."

Eying up the contents for a moment before figuring it was at least worth a shot, you threw your head back and downed the entire thing. While it wasn't as bad as the whiskey you'd been drinking last night, it was still pretty gross, and as soon as the thick, gloopy liquid had disappeared down your throat, you quickly began stuffing your mouth with as much food as you could to try and get rid of the taste, much to Randall's amusement.

A couple of minute later, after quickly scoffing the rest of your meal, pretty much in silence, Randall finally asked "So about last night...How, uh, how much of it do you actually remember?" his rather tentative tone suggesting a little bit of nervousness on his part also.

"Not much," you replied, looking up at his beautiful, soft and questioning face. "I remember Allison dumping me at the dance. I remember drinking with Bryce in the car park. And I remember you and Coach Mullins giving us both shit."

"What about after that? Do you remember coming back here?" There was an urgency to his questioning now.

"Kind of. I remember bits of the car ride, and like maybe sitting on the couch in the living room... But after that, not much else."

"Oh," he said, looking somewhat disappointed, clearly not expecting this answer. "So you don't...you don't remember going to bed, and what happened after?"

Though it was becoming pretty clear that something had obviously happened between the two of you last night, you still only had your 'dream' to go on, and right now that was way too awkward to share. So instead you told him, "No... Not....really." after an extremely long pause, hoping instead that he would clue you in.

That he certainly did, practically rising from his seat as he stared at you with an almost aggressive look of disbelief. "Dude, are you fucking kidding me? You seriously don't remember anything? You don't remember getting a visit from...you know...'Miss. Card' ?"