That's it. This time I mean it. I have said it before and never actually followed through, but this time I mean it with all my heart. I am never drinking ever again.

My head feels like somebody opened it up while I was sleeping and they've stuffed a bunch more stuff in it that doesn't fit. The resulting pressure is threatening to make my cranium explode. My mouth feels like a whole family of something crawled in there and died, it's all dry and I have cotton mouth. It's like a family of little fuzzy animals had a suicide pact and chose my tongue as the perfect place to end their lives. More than anything, I would like some water. There's actually a bottle of it on my bedside table, but I have a suspicion that if I move my head is going to start pounding and I'm going to get dizzy. On reflection, I think the tongue thing is the lesser of the evils.

Going back to sleep would probably be the best thing for it apart from the water, but that won't happen. For one thing it's hard to relax and get back into it when your head feels nasty, and for another it's too warm in here. Somebody who shall go unnamed is apparently a hot blooded little so and so because I'm boiling. Then again, maybe I'm just not used to sharing; the bastard is practically on top of me. Also, he breathes a little heavily. Any louder and I'm going to have to nickname him Darth Vader - maybe I should urge him to see a nose ear and throat guy about that.

Still, I suppose not moving to get the water has the added bonus of not waking him up when I have to push him off me. The best I can do for now is throw my leg outside of the covers and get some air on what little of my body I can get out from under the sheets. I really hope he's not hung over either otherwise it's going to get pretty pathetic in here. If I can't even manage to reach for my water then a trip to the bathroom for some ibuprofen is probably a lost cause.

Justin looks kind of stupid when he sleeps. I know you're supposed to look at them while they snooze and think how angelic and sweet and childlike they are or whatever, but his face is all smushed up against the pillow and his mouth's gaping open. I don't see drool but it's a distinct possibility, as is a big red crease against his face when finally he burrows out. I'm impressed really; I don't think you could physically get any further into the pillows and sheets without actually pulling them over your head. The bed's a little short for him since he's so tall, and he's had to curl up.

"Hmm." He breathes out a little sigh and for a moment I think he's waking up, but he merely pushes his face further into the pillow and my shoulder.

After we kissed, the discomfort led us both back to the party we'd previously been so keen to leave. What Justin was thinking I'll never know, for my part I was looking for people to distract me. People did distract me, but so did sangria. Justin's lovely, I think he's great, but he is leaving at some point and a fling really is all it could ever be. I can deal with that since it's just the way it goes around here, but I'm not going to push for it if he'll wind up regretting it - especially when he's already depressed and confused over other things. He's already been here for what has to be at least three or three and a half weeks, so we're talking nearly a month. We've spent so much time together it feels like I've known him longer, but that's how long it's been. It's been good times but I figure his trip has a shelf life of two more weeks, tops.

I think he also took solace in the sangria and in a classic piece of Addy over-compensating I made a big deal about inviting him to crash at my place because it was closer and he was a little too wobbly to walk very far. In my silly little head, rather than being an obvious danger zone inviting him back was my little way of pretending things weren't embarrassing as hell and we were still the best of buds. The sex stuff as I recall started because he had tipped a glass of sangria down his shirt and obviously since red wine stains it was in peril. I told him I'd soak it in the sink overnight and wash it for him in the morning so naturally his shirt had to come off, which was the start of the nudity. He was also muttering something about Christophe's mum telling him off for abusing a classic, but I have no idea what that means in real English.

Well, you add drunkenness to sexual tension and partial nudity and it's not surprising that we wound up in bed. Maybe Mike's disappearing act was a blessing; if he was here to witness any of this he would never let either of us hear the end of it.

"You awake?" I hear a croak from somewhere near my neck. I guess the sighing was a precursor to awakening.

"Yeah," I respond.

"Is something pounding or is it just my head?"

"It's both our heads," I say wearily. Oh well, at least I'm not the only one suffering.

"Do you by any chance have any liquid nearby?"

"There's water on the stand but I'm afraid if I move I'll vomit."

Gingerly he uncurls himself from me - which is very nice because it stirs the sheets and gets a little air in there - and manages to sit up. The crease I foretold is indeed slashed across his cheek like a scar. His eyes are a little bloodshot but he doesn't look as bad as he sounds. He reaches across me for the water, making the sheets fall off my chest. Considering that we've been naked all night and obviously had sex I probably shouldn't be blushing when his body brushes over mine, but I am. Morning afters aren't always this uneasy… all I can do is try to pull the sheets back up as subtly as I can. I may be embarrassed but I'd rather he didn't realise that. Well, I'm not really embarrassed by the sex or nudity, just the conversation we're going to have to have; I don't think nudity helps these things.

Greedily I eye the bottle, but since he was the one who could be bothered to grab it I don't begrudge him the first gulps. He drinks like a man in the desert, but is still polite enough to make sure I get exactly half of what was there. I practically snatch it from his hands and suck it down as fast as I can swallow. It does wonders for that whole cotton mouth thing. I can feel it swiftly rushing down into my stomach and diffusing out to where I need it, running in nice wet streams around my body and clearing out the debris.

"That's not actually so bad," he tells me as I finish my drink. "I think with a little more of that I'll be fine."

"Yeah. Might not even need the aspirin… which is in the bathroom if you do want it."

"Thanks. What time is it?"

"Umm…" Feeling better, I'm now able to move myself and grab my watch. "Shit, it's nearly midday."

"Well the party didn't finish until three so that's not really that bad," he points out through a yawn. "If you have eggs I can make Trace's patented proven hangover cure."

"Trace?"

"My friend," he clarifies. "Eggs?"

"Yeah, in the kitchen," I say as if they'd be anywhere else. "Oh, I need to put your shirt in the washer…"

"Don't worry, I can do it. It's my shirt and my own stupid fault," he jokes weakly as he shuffles over to the side of the bed and grabs his jeans and boxers.

It's just occurred to me that until I've sent his shirt through the dryer as well as the wash, he's going to be roaming around here still half naked - which is what started this trouble in the first place. Warily I eye the angel on his back and the muscles rippling underneath, and yet again I swear to myself that alcohol is the devil and I will partake in its evil doings no more.

***

A little guilt hits me when I finally emerge dressed and showered and I realise that in this time Justin has already managed to wash and dress himself, put his shirt in to wash and get a good part of the way through making breakfast for us both. He's even managed to find the cutlery and set the table. This is my house, if anybody's playing host it should be me but I'm just too sluggish this morning. With lots more water my head now feels better and I'm not going to feel any more after effects of last night, but I think my head's going to run at a slower speed today.

"There she is," he says brightly. "I was just about to send in a search party."

"How are you so chirpy?" I ask incredulously.

"I probably decimated your bottled water supply but I'm all re-hydrated now," he continues in chipper tone. "Do you want a drink? Hope you like scrambled."

"This is my house, you're supposed to be the guest and I'm supposed to look after you and I need tea." The whining tone wasn't intentional, really.

"English and she wants tea? What a surprise."

"Hey, tea fixes everything I'll have you know." I bump him with my hip, nudging him out of the way. "That smells nice."

"Like I said, patented hangover cure, you'll feel like you could run 10k when you're done with these."

I find that doubtful, but I humour him. "So long as I can manage walking to market later, that'll do me."

"Market?" He asks as he taste tests the eggs.

"Yeah, there's a little market on Sunday mornings in the next town over. It's like the one they do on Saturdays in Playa Del Sol except less teeming with holiday goers."

"Would you mind if I tagged along?" he requests while turning off the heat and reaching for plates to dish out the food. "I probably ought to grab some souvenirs or something for people. I figure if I pissed them off by disappearing I can at least bring them back something touristy and tacky."

"Or you could bring them back something actually nice." I crack a smile. "They do some nice glass and jewellery along with the fake Prada."

"You and your girly eye can steer me straight," he chuckles as he hands me a plate of what do look like pretty good eggs. As if on cue, the toaster pops up and he throws a slice of wholemeal onto my plate with it.

"I should warn you that we usually bike it over there. Any objections to cycling? It's about half an hour."

"After all that booze last night? I probably ought to do some exercise anyway."

If I was feeling wittier and less uncomfortable I'd make a joke about sex being good exercise, but this normalcy is actually throwing me off more than if he'd immediately started the big dreaded talk. He seems much calmer about this than I am. Does he do this a lot or is he just that laid back?

We fall into silence, mostly because he's wolfing down food at an impressive rate and I am preoccupied with trying to eat mine and make tea at the same time. These eggs are pretty good; I suspect the involvement of some seasoning I don't know about. We do have seasoning in this kitchen but it rarely gets used, so I wouldn't know one if it smacked me in the face - or if I tasted it, which might be more likely. Justin's opened up the patio door and the fresh air is a good thing. As always it smells mildly salty from the ocean, but there's a clean crisp edge to it that definitely helps with clearing out a hung over head.

I find my eyes are flicking back and forth between Justin and my plate. As you might expect, most of the people I date around here are very Mediterranean looking. They're dark and in some cases a little stocky, and usually the eyes are dark too. I am a fan of dark eyes (which helps since I have them myself), you can find all kinds of warmth or mystery there depending on the circumstances. Justin's eyes are a bright shade of dark blue. I'm sure there's a name for that shade, but since I don't know it 'bright dark blue' will be my chosen description. They're intelligent and very piercing at times. Justin's different in general - he's not ever going to be described as stocky, he's very tall and lean, quite an athletic build. A lot of the guys around here have the kind of cheekbones Michelangelo would chisel out of rock but Justin's features are quirkier, on some faces they'd seem a total mismatch but on his they work. His head is kind of square, not that I'll be telling him that.

Sitting opposite him after a night like that, I'm taking some time to ponder how I feel about this whole thing. He's a great guy and he's good looking, we have a lot in common and we enjoy each other's company… but for two or three weeks of fooling around sometimes it's not worth taking it up to that point. Unless it really is too good to miss, sometimes you're better off continuing to have a blast as friends and then parting on that level where it's not going to leave one or both of you covered in 'what if we'd had longer.' I talk very casually about having no strings summer romances, but the fact is that you can't be blasé about everybody just because you want to be. Some guys you can like too much to keep it casual.

I don't feel like I'd have that problem with Justin - I mean, while I do like him it's not going to kill me when he leaves - but I wonder if he'd have that problem with me. I don't say that because I'm such irresistible hot stuff or whatever, I'm not that egotistical, but the guy is in a weird situation out here and he's vulnerable. We've hung out in groups sometimes, but in any way that counts I'm the only person he's really been in contact with for nearly a month. He still won't tell me what's at the heart of all these issues he's having and I'm not sure he's even pinpointed it himself, but as much as I try to help him have fun and take his mind off of things he and I both know it's still there. He's pretty much dependent on me at the moment for company, advice and sanity. Such circumstances may not really allow for casual.

Well… I say that, but he's doing a pretty impression of casual. I seem more bothered about this than he does and I'm the one who according to me is supposed to be more at ease with the idea of us having done anything together. Why does sex have to complicate everything so much?

"You're quiet," he comments, startling me out of my reverie. "You still not feeling well?"

"I'm just concentrating too much on my food," I smile at him. "They are good eggs."

"They're just about the only thing I know how to do well unless I'm standing over a barbecue."

"Typical male. How come you guys can only cook when it's over a grill? Is it some caveman fire thing?"

"If you'd tasted my barbecue, you wouldn't care."

"If ours wasn't currently busted I'd challenge you to test that theory."

The conversation is trivial, but that makes things easier. "So what time do we need to go to this market thing?"

I glance at my watch again. "Give it half an hour to let the food go down and we can head out. It's a nice scenic route, I think it's probably the only thing I haven't shown you."

Inwardly, I cringe at the glaring but unintentional double entendre. Justin either doesn't notice it or is too polite to mention it, because he just smiles amiably at me as he chews and swallows. How is he so calm? I feel like there's a large African bull elephant in the room and I don't know whether to bring it up or not. He hasn't brought it up, but he wouldn't be the first person in my life to play that fun little mind game where they force you to mention it first to give them the power in the conversation. He doesn't seem like the type, but then neither did anybody else until they proved themselves to be.

Maybe I'm kidding myself about this whole casual thing. I'm not casual about this at all; I'm positively wound up.

"Are you okay?" Justin asks again. The tone sounds innocent, but maybe he's just a good actor. "You really are kind of quiet.

"Fine." It was a little squeaky but believable.

"Do I need to put you out of your misery and bring up last night?"

Oh. Well, on the bright side, he's definitely not trying to manipulate me into bringing it up first. I still think he has the power here though.

"Am I that transparent?"

"No, it's just kind of a prerequisite of the morning after that you feel awkward."

"True." He's definitely not wrong on that one.

"Well…" Finally I seem to have stumped him for a moment. His hesitation, however small, reassures me that he's not totally chilled out. I'd feel all the more foolish if he was. "I'm okay if you are."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay."

"Then why the face?" He asks knowingly as he picks up his glass and takes a swig of grapefruit juice. He nearly blew up the juicer by neglecting to put the lid on, but once I showed him how to use it we averted the crisis and had nice freshly squeezed juice with our eggs. Mike's already sent juice all over the ceiling once and it took God only knows how long to get off.

"It just… I don't know what to say." I throw my palms up for a second in a gesture of confusion. "I have no idea what you want or expect out of this and you're so chipper and acting like it was nothing that you kind of threw me."

His eyebrows crease, almost meeting in the middle as he frowns. "You wanted me to be angry or upset or something?"

"No, no, fuck no, I just…expected you to be less nonchalant, is all."

"Why?" Justin asks with a shrug and another gulp of juice. "We're adults, we like each other, you made it clear what the score is and I have no problem with that. We don't have to embark on some star crossed affair to enjoy being around each other and have some fun for a couple weeks."

Quickly I scan his face for any sign of bravado or doubt, but I see none. Maybe I really was just making too big a deal out of it. He seems fine with it and I couldn't have described my thinking any better than he just did. So long as it stays on that level and he gets it then everything's peachy.

"Fair enough," I tell him honestly and with a smile. "Consider all awkwardness done."

"We're all good?"

"Dandy."

"You sure? You're not going to have one of those girly turns where you change your mind and suddenly want to fight with me about it?"

I snort. As much time as we spend together and how I feel like we've been friends for longer than we have, sometimes he says things like that and reminds me he doesn't know me all that well. That has never been my style. "How many times do I have to tell you that this is Adora and we like it drama free?"

"Then it's all gravy." He drains the last of his juice. "But if we're going out I need a change of clothing. You want me to meet you back here in about half an hour and we'll head out?"

"Sounds like a plan." I throw my napkin on the table and stand up with him, automatically seeing him to the door - force of habit.

"See you in a few then."

Justin kisses me goodbye and then jogs out and down the steps to the beach like we've been doing this the whole time. My fingers go to my lips for a second and I slide the door slowly shut behind me, staring at the dirty dishes on the table. Now he's been so cool about everything I feel a little silly for worrying about his reaction, but I'm gladder than I thought I'd be that this is the way it's gone. Prevention is better than cure and if I'd had a little less alcohol last night then maybe none of this would have happened, but if I'd had to turn him down or if I'd embarrassed him or whatever it probably would have put quite a strain on the friendship. I'm glad it's worked out okay. Almost a little excited, in fact - a little summer fling can be great sometimes and it's been a while since I had a fling of any kind, casual or otherwise.

Also, apparently I underestimated the boy. He's got a few surprises in him it seems, which is always interesting…