Dirty Life's Dirty History

Still 2005. Not even a whole day after the post before this one.

At some point, Ryan Bertrand woke up.

He didn't wake up at all where he thought he would -- instead, he woke up on a couch, in an unfamilliar living room with a lot of wooden objects, though admittedly fine-looking ones -- and quite a bit of tasteful blue, and his first thought was along the lines of fuck, Vaughn is going to kill me. The second thought was more along the usual bewildered lines.

His hand fished around the couch he'd fallen asleep on for his glasses, and pulling them on realized just how bad the headache was. Almost as if the room had read his mind, the next thing his eyes fell across was the table next to the couch, complete with water and asprin.

( And a note. )