Morgan has never had a hangover before. He had never been drunk, and the closest he came to getting intoxicated and out of control was when he took two cans of Red Bull. He was up for two whole days, spent playing video games, eyes wide open, with Matt begging him to stop so they could sleep.
This heavy feeling sitting on him is not the same as being high on caffeine and energy. It is as if someone dropped sandbags on him, kept adding more, and just left them there. This skull-breaking headache is keeping him from lifting his head, and even his entire body is being dragged down to the point that lifting a finger is outright difficult, if not painful. His hands and feet felt sore, with a stinging sensation at the tips, and for some odd reason, he could feel a phantom tail behind his back wagging faintly.
A beautiful morning sky can be seen above the glass panes of the greenhouse, complete with angelic sunlight and light, fluffy clouds slowly moving in a peaceful sway. Morgan has been looking at this sight since he opened his eyes. There was no other choice for him but to look up above because turning his head even just a little hurts him.
Nothing. Just like the endless sky above him, there was nothing about last night that he could remember. The last thing he is certain of is preparing for the game and eating hotdog sandwiches, and then nothing else. A total blackout.
Except rage. He knows he was overflowing with wild and unending rage last night.
“Finally!" Matt's head popped into view, blocking the peaceful sky, his face radiating with boundless curiosity and glee.
What’s going on? was what Morgan wanted to say out loud, but judging from Matt’s confused expression, his words came out as a nonsensical rumble when they left his mouth.
“Oh no. I hope slurred speech is not a permanent side effect. Are you okay?”
Matt’s words echoed slowly, and it took Morgan a while to answer, nodding his head. He tried to sit upright but needed Matt’s help, who quickly wrapped a blanket over Morgan's shoulder. Only then did he realize that he was bare naked, lying on the ground. There were candles around them, and leaves curiously encircled them perfectly. There was an annoying scent in the air that was irritating his nose.
“Your clothes got ripped when you... don’t worry. You look confused. Are you confused or constipated? 'Cause your face looks the same when those two things happen. You know, like in school, when you're figuring out what the teacher is talking about.” Matt stopped, catching himself. "So are you good?"
Questions were popping, left and right in Morgan's head, and he didn’t know where to begin. “How the hell did I get here? What do you mean I ripped my clothes? Is that Longganisa I’m smelling?”
“It’s the only thing available in the fridge that was easiest to cook,” Matt answered, dropping a plateful of rice and longganisa sausages in front of Morgan. “I bet you’re already hungry after everything that happ…” Matt’s mouth opened in a big O right after Morgan devoured the meal in a flash. There was already a lot on the plate, but Morgan still feels hungry even famished. “Please don’t eat me,” Matt said, the look of delighted surprise not leaving his face.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Okay, seriously, what’s happening?” Morgan eagerly demanded after throwing the plate to the side. “The game? What happened? Did we win?”
“Oh yes, the basketball match!” Matt avoided his gaze, and still Morgan was hopeful that Matt was going to say that it all went great and they won the game. They partied hard last night, which is why they ended up in the greenhouse and why he is having a hangover. “I really have no idea how it went.”
“Didn’t you watch the game? We were there yesterday afternoon! Why would you leave?”
“Yeah, I watched the game just as much as you played in it.” Morgan was not sure if that was sarcasm or not.
“Look who’s awake! ‘Sup little pup.” Doc popped out of the door of the supply shed with the same wide, gleeful smile Matt had earlier.
“Oh no! You're not messing up the kitchen, are you?” The terror in Matt's eyes grew after seeing the kiss-the-cook apron Doc was wearing.
Doc flaunted his apron. The word kiss was slashed out and scribbled over. An extra word was added at the end, and so now the apron reads Do Not Let the Cook Cook.Matt claims it is one of his greatest works, both for artistic and humanitarian purposes. “Oh boy. Morgan, you do not look so well. You know what? I’ll get back to the kitchen and continue preparing a feast for the two of you.”
“I'll order take out. Hasn’t he suffered enough? Haven’t we all suffered enough?!” Matt screamed as his uncle’s silhouette disappeared out of the greenhouse. “Remember the last time he tried cooking? He mixed up the recipe for dinuguan and tinola. Fingers crossed, we won’t have to sit through another one like that again. Okay, back to the news. Now, what do you want to hear first, the good news or the bad news? How about we start with the good one first, 'cause you know it’s good and it will cushion the bad news. Unless the bad news is really, really bad. Not that I am saying that it is the worst kind of bad or anything, but it kind of is, which is why I put it under the bad news category in the first place. It really depends on how you look at it. If I were to be asked, I’d say it’s a good thing if we put aside last night, but knowing you, you might not think it's that good. But you should. Just a suggestion, you know.”
Something bad must have really happened last night. Matt has always been a fast talker, but when something that rattles him happens, his mouth borders on rapping just to get his thoughts out. He also gets twitchy, his eyes roll around, and his lips pout left and right.
“Just tell me before my head explodes.”
“Okay. We’ll start with the good. First thing. You are no longer diabetic. Yay!” He clapped and smiled, expecting Morgan to do the same. “No more check-ups, injections, alarms for the injections, needles, and stuff. I know you hated those. Although... even if you are sick or not, I still highly suggest you get at least an annual checkup with your doctor. But noooooo more insulin shots, basically. More importantly, your dad won't need to set aside money for that anymore. More money for the cafe, yeah!”
Morgan is more convinced that he is still asleep and is having a nightmare. It is not a scary dream, but it is a ridiculous one. It’s the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. “I landed badly at the game, hit my head, and now I’m dead, aren’t I?”
“Unfortunately no. So we'll have to get to the bad news. The good-bad-bad news is that you are basically—you are a werewolf. That’s why you no longer have diabetes. It has something to do with your healing factor; that's how Doc explained it.”
Morgan's head is going to explode, and he knows it. It’s just a question of whether it will be because of his headache or because of Matt’s nonsensical rambling. “Could you get giant sheers from your shed and stab me so I could move on from this weird delirium?” He slowly fell on his back to the ground, but Matt caught his blanket and pulled it back up again, forcing him to sit up straight again.
"Sorry bud. It's all true, and we are not done," Matt said, again with his eyes overflowing with boundless curiosity and glee, only now it is more annoying to look at it.