Coming to was never a pleasant affair. My body felt heavy and woozy, and my head was like a lead weight. Inside my mouth, there was a familiar, stale, and detestable aftertaste of beer. All signs pointed to a hangover.
Beneath my cheek, the stiff and scratchy cotton smelled of bleach; it made my nose wrinkle. A number of things happened when I moved to sit up; first, the sheet slipped away from the rubber-coated mattress, and the frame creaked beneath my weight. The bed was much too small for the likes of me. Second, my stomach burbled, and meady bile rose up my throat. Jerking forward, I heard the inevitable splatter of vomit hitting the hard floor.
"Ngh, fuck... I'm too old for this shit." I groaned, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.
"Heh..."
The quiet chuckle was jarring. My eyes quickly found its source; Hayashi sat next to the bed I was in.
"Where are we? And what are you doing here?" I croaked.
"The infirmary. I'm the one who carried you here."
"That's impossible," I scoffed, eyeing his lithe and elegant frame. "I'm over two hundred pounds."
"Two-twenty, I would wager."
I couldn't reconcile the physics of it; imagining him carrying me was almost comical. I must have had an incredulous look about me because his feathery black brows furrowed as he stood up from his chair. He took a brief glance at the pool of vomit at his feet before striding over it.
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"You underestimate me. Quite bold for someone who spent the night drinking himself into a stupor while crying like a child..." He shook his head, "and then, you almost puke on my feet. Rude."
"I... I'm sorry."
"It's fine. You're not the first hulk of muscle to assume they're stronger than me." A smirk pulled up the corner of his lips as his dark eyes panned down my body, making me feel suddenly self-conscious.
My gaze naturally followed his when it settled.
"What The Fuck!" Wide-eyed, I clutched my hands to my groin, but it was too late to salvage any of my dignity. I was sat there stark naked! "Where the fuck are my clothes?"
He started to chuckle again, which only deepened my embarrassment.
"Calm down, Scott." He hushed and passed me a pile of neatly folded clothes. "You stripped off, explaining that you like to sleep nude. I didn't want to wrestle a drunk person, so I let you."
"Ri-ight. Thanks." I forced a toothless smile. Hopping down off the bed and being careful to dodge the mess I'd made, I started by pulling on my underwear and jeans. "And uh, it's Nate. My name... It's Nate."
"I know." Hayashi nodded, smiling at me from over his shoulder. He was standing before the room's sink with the faucet running.
"You can call me Nate if you want." I shrugged on my shirt and started fastening the buttons.
He rang out a washcloth and, walking back to me, smiled softly again, "Are we so familiar that we're on first-name terms?"
"I mean, I hate to bring it up, but I was naked about two seconds ago, so I'd say so, yeah?"
Silently, he handed me the damp cloth, then turned away and walked to the door. The washcloth warmed my hand, yet his cold shoulder made me shiver.
"We'll see."
A tight feeling crushed my chest; his words left me feeling rejected. Though it was no wonder he didn't want to be my friend; I'd embarrassed myself over and over while in his company. At the time, I thought he probably thought I was a pathetic mess, and he wouldn't have been wrong. I was left thinking I shouldn't have confused his kindness for friendliness in the first place.