"I'll pick you up at noon, okay?" We're at the door, saying goodbye. I don't actually want to go, but I have a Skype interview lined up and while I wouldn't mind doing it at Emma's place, I'm not ready for the questions of whose place is that, is that a woman's?. "I'll have to make some calls to get you an extra ticket on the train, but no doubt we'll find a way to make it work."
"Hmm, flexing that rich guy muscles?" Emma is in my arms, drawing figures on my chest. "Let me know. We could always just drive."
"That is a seven hour drive, I say we don't." I chuckle. "We'll do a roadtrip when spring is coming around."
"I'll hold you to that." She stands on her toes to kiss me. "Go off now, or you'll be late. See you tomorrow. At noon."

I remind myself to stop doing interviews. They rope you into it telling they're going to focus on something you're passionate about, something you invest in, but in the end they never do. I just spent two hours answering generic questions about my life and most of them boiled down to my love life. They promised to send me a copy of the article once it launches, but I told them not to bother. A petty move, but what else are you to do? Not long after Gabriel comes to pick me up for dinner. To his credit he doesn't bother me about Emma or my feelings regarding her. We chat about the upcoming party, what we're going to wear and what we're most excited for.
When we get back to my apartment, Gabriel suddenly turns to me. "Hey man, it's been a while since you've been on my channel. Want to record a video together?"
I raise a brow, careful. "What kind of video?"
A mischievous grin curls his lips. "A drunk one. Since we intended to get drunk anyway."

"Okay, so, Lucien here has blessed us with the wonderful game of Mario Kart. But a video with Lucien wouldn't be a true video with Lucien if we weren't out of our minds drunk." He slams a pack of cards on the table. "So we're going to do a quick little game to get us going, and then I have a little set of rules for us."
The rules, I quickly find out, are regarding to winning or losing, or the power ups you get. All of them are connected to a certain amount of shots and it's not before long before the screen is blurry and turning every which way, even though I'm fairly certain my television is soundly mounted to the wall. We're yelling at each other, laughing until we can't breath and still drinking more. Only around four am do we finally call it quits, mostly because Gabriel's memory card is full.
My bed feels like a ship in a storm, making me feel sick, so I decide to have a late night cigarette on the balcony in the hopes it'll clear my head a little. Gabriel is sound asleep on the couch, snoring softly.
I pull out my phone, pulling up my texts with Emma.
      Last time I was this drunk I pushed you up against the wall to kiss you.
I hit send, because that seems like a good idea. I don't get a reply, which isn't weird, considering it's the middle of the god damn night. After another cigarette and shivering in the cold because I didn't get my coat, I send another text.
      Wish I could do that again. Don't think Gabriel would appreciate it. I send along a picture of my best friend sprawled out on the couch. I'm tempted to take a bath, but considering my state I decide against it - which I'm proud of, because it wouldn't be my first stupid drunk decision that could possibly end in death.
      I don't dream when I'm drunk so now I have to miss you until noon tomorrow.
I finally find my way back to bed, collapsing on top of the covers. My eyes fall on the little stuffed elephant on my nightstand. I have another genius idea, if I say so myself. I roll on my back, place the elephant on my bare stomach, low enough to show the waistband of my boxers. Ha. I'm hilarious!
I send the picture to Emma.
      He'll do.
I roll over, dragging the covers over myself and clutching the plushie tightly in my arms. As predicted, I don't dream.

I have many reasons to want to kill Gabriel. Honestly, the list goes on forever, but one of the main reasons is how he doesn't get hangovers. At nine sharp he bursts into my room to bring me breakfast on bed, looking like he's just had a full night's sleep and a healthy meal.
"You," He says with a smirk, sitting on the end of my bed. "look terrible. I can't wait to see what a trainwreck you look tomorrow."
"Bold of you to assume I'm letting you see." I answer, stretching out. There's a little dimple on my chest from where I lay on the elephant's eye. I rub a finger over it absentmindedly, gulping down the freshly squeezed orange juice. Then, with horror, I remember the texts I send last night. I groan, scrambling for my phone. Gabriel watches me with raised eyebrows.
"Don't ask." I tell him, rubbing my forehead. "Can you get me some ibuprofen?"
"You're getting old, my friend. I remember the days where you'd just ask for another drink." He grins, expertly dodging the breadroll I toss at him.
Emma hasn't texted back yet, but she might still be asleep. It's early for a saturday.
      Please delete my last four texts without reading them and count this one as my first one:
      Good morning, miss Middleton. I hope your sleep was sound. Reminder: we'll be on your doorstep at noon sharp. Can't wait to see you again.

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