Room 504, Tuesday Afternoon

[wesleynotponcy]

It was afternoon. Or maybe it was morning. Or night, even. Wesley hadn't moved since coming to his room in the first place yesterday after finishing watching the Games, at which point he'd slumped onto the floor with a bottle of scotch and proceeded to down what felt like most of it. His head lolled back against the bed behind him. 

Everything hurt. Just -- less, with the fuzzy outline that alcohol gave everything. He wasn't moving.

[[for she who knows who she is! NFB, please.]]

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