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Hangovers were the worst.

His vision blurs as he wakes up, reeking of a cold sweat and alcohol, the sun shines over bedsheets and the comforter he's currently cradling himself between. Surprised not to find another person in his bed, he yawns with the glimmering light breaking through his blinds where no Hopes' dumb words can't reach. A peaceful morning where his head was pounding out of his skull and he's definitely dehydrated, but drunk him didn't decide to be a nice guy and leave items to alleviate the headache or the dryness of his throat. Instead, he lays back down, shutting his eyes for what felt like two seconds, but was probably another hour.

Memories of drunkenly sneaking through his window, laughing at nothing, but the anger of his own father and mother not caring about where he went. Family runs deep with the Hopes, built from a legacy of togetherness even though all of it was just bullshit. The only person he really cared about in the family was maybe his siblings, his mother on a good day, and his auntie who let him be himself. Bathed in the reality of morning and the pang of pain stabbing through his skull like a weight on his shoulders, burning the feeling of his sore throat and bleary eyed state. His hair is a mess, spread out across his head with a messy look as he clothes himself into a large shirt and sweatpants, not caring if he looked as bad as he felt.

"Oz, come into the kitchen please, I have something important to discuss with you."

His day only seemed to get worse and worse by the second. Slamming his door shut behind him as he enters the kitchen to his mother; ignoring her eyes for a moment as he immediately goes over to a pot of coffee, pouring himself a cup, while also reaching into a cupboard and taking a dose of something to relieve the headache that surely would come back tenfold from his mother. Silently, he sips from his coffee in the mug he got his father ages ago before the arguing that said "World's Greatest Dad." The irony of the statement now makes him feel uneasy as he speaks.

"Why yes mother, good whatever time of day it is to you too." Rolling his eyes as he sets the mug onto the counter behind him, leaning against it, crossing his arms as he stares back. "What is it?"