Nathaniel Black's day had been great, so far. He'd got up at his usual time, drank a cup of coffee (spiked with something a little more uplifting) and had gone into the office. He didn't really need to be there, but at least he felt useful there. At lunch, he'd had a cocktail. Then another. Two turned into many and when he'd gone back to the office he was sent home. He'd stumbled in, drank straight from the bottle and then went to bed at three pm. He'd slept for a few hours, and he awoke to a grating noise, head pounding with it. Okay, maybe he was lying to himself. His day had not been great, so far, admitted. He supposed that was just what happened when you found your girlfriend of two years in bed with your brother. Nate sat up, realising he was still fully dressed, although his shirt was crumpled. He unbuttoned it and unclasped his cufflinks, throwing the shirt to the floor, cufflinks to his bedside table. It had been four days like this. The grating noise repeated itself, and left Nate trying to remember what it was.
Dante had woken up to a massive hangover. The brutal beating of a brick on his inner skull was overwhelming. He was far from a light weight when it came to alcohol, but had swallowed down drink after bitter drink until he'd succumbed to unconsciousness. The reason for his drinking? A rare, and particularly hostile fight with his sister. She refused to accept the fact that Dante wanted to look out for her. His sister was wild, he couldn't help but feel the pull of brotherly instinct. With the constant reminder of the spat, due to his hangover, Dante had dressed in some shorts and attempted to go for a jog. It had been a complete failure--he had overestimated his immunity to the dangerous thing called sunlight. After scarfing down breakfast, and another much needed three hours of sleep, he'd decided to head to Nate's house. Nate was Dante's only friend. His sister, still teased him over the fact that he had one, single friend. Frankly, he didn't care. He preferred it that way. Too many friends would have been far too frustrating. Dante himself had work off for the day, but was aware that the same didn't go for Nate. He headed over to Nate's house around six in the afternoon. Dante arrived, thankfully recovered from his hangover. He knocked on the door fairly softly, just incase. The sound was quiet, especially compared to his typical barbaric banging. Nate was his go-to guy, not to mention his only guy. Dante just needed someone to go to with his problems, otherwise, it was likely that he'd get into some sort of trouble.
((Sorry it took me forever school is weird and the eu is weird and there have been many fights and much homework lol))Nate glanced over to his bedside table and realised that a mug of water and a couple of pills sat on the black glass. Past Nate had been kind to Present Nate, so Present Nate was kind to Future Nate by drinking the whole cup full down, along with the pills. Dragging himself out of the bed, he stared at the mess which had piled on his floor over the last few days, and convinced himself to quickly grab the clothes and put them into his laundry hamper. He then picked up a few pieces of rubbish which had made their way to the floor, such as the few empty bottles, pill packets, a chocolate bar wrapper and the pieces of glass which were currently shattered on the floor. The rubbish went in the bin before Nate had even realised what the noise was. A knocking, assumably on his front door. When would hell end? He ran his fingers through his dark hair and kicked his shoes off, putting them in the foot of his wardrobe, then his socks, pants, and underwear. After all, he couldn’t open the door in his current state, and even if his eyes would still be a bit red from the rubbing and his jaw may have stubble, at least his clothes wouldn't be so rumpled and whiskey smelling. He redressed more casually, quickly, before he headed to the door.His house was not as big as either of his brothers. He found ridiculous size unnecessary, and found comfort more important. The place was simple, with just a kitchen, dining room and living room downstairs, and two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a small study upstairs. It was mostly decorated in whites and greys, with some pale purple and blue here and there. Soon he came to stand in the small hall at the front of the house, where the stairs ended. He opened the door and gave a sigh of relief when he realised it was just Dante; of course. He opened the door wider and took a step back, before walking off into the kitchen, knowing that his friend knew how to properly shut the door and would follow soon enough. “When did you start knocking, then?” he asked, meaning both how long he’d been knocking just now, as well as the fact that he had knocked on the door at all.
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