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I do as he says, taking the bottle from my night stand and lifting up enough not to choke on it. The room still has strong opinions about the x-axis. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to leave the bed, let alone the room, without the walls joining in on the conspiracy of making me dizzy. Sitting up is still a negotiation without having my stomach roll. And standing feels very theoretical.

Daniel doesn’t have that problem. He hops down from his bed with ease, then stretches his arms over his head, and lets out a yawn. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a soft blue t-shirt that’s a little loose at the collar, and he looks good enough to eat.

The thought arrives fully formed.

I blink.

That’s not a normal thought I have. Sure, I can notice when people are objectively attractive. I do not under any circumstance think about eating them. Is this what happens when you have a crush on someone? Or did the tequila do something to my brain?

He catches me looking and raises his eyebrows. “You gonna make it?”

“Define make it.”

“Get vertical. Put on clothes. Eat food that’s not a lime.” He grins at me, and I vaguely remember ordering extra limes last night.

“The room is doing a thing.” I spin my hand in a circle at my wrist.

“Yeah.” He’s already at his dresser, grabbing out socks and a hoodie and appearing unfairly competent. “That’s why you can hold my arm and we’ll go slow. Once we get grease in you, you’ll feel way better.”

“I need pants.”

He huffs another laugh. “I figured.” I watch as he goes to my top drawer and pulls out a pair of jeans and holds them out without making a joke. Close enough that I don’t have to stand up to grab them. “You want the bathroom first? Or are you going to do a dress in bed situation? I can even turn my back.”

“Bed,” I say immediately. “If I stand up and fall over, you’ll laugh.”

He scoffs. “I would catch you first and then laugh.”

I work the jeans on under the comforter in a series of careful movements that make my head pulse in protest. He looks out the window, giving me some privacy in my misery. When I get the button done, I have to stop and breathe.

I glance over at him. Even from the side, he looks good enough to eat, even adding the hockey team hoodie. Maybe more.

I shove that thought into the same hole as the black void of last night and swing my legs over the side of my bed. The floor is very far away. But I reach for my shoes before he notices and leans down to grab them and hands them to me. I hate wearing socks two days in a row, but it’s that or ask him to get me a new pair, and this morning has been embarrassing enough already. So I shove my feet into my shoes and tie them.

Once both my feet are on the ground again, Daniel puts his arm out. I take it. The hoodie is softer than it looks. My stomach dips for a reason that is not due to the spinning room.

“Slow,” he says. “The first time is always terrible.”

“I know how standing works.”

“Do you? This morning?” He chuckles when I don’t answer.

“I have to brush my teeth.”

“Yeah. That’s a real priority waking up with morning-after breath.”

I make it to the bathroom on his arm and shut the door in his face as politely as a person can while dying. The mirror makes me cringe. I look like hell. Hair sticking up all over, and I’m not sure a little water and my comb will do much for it. A pale face with blood shot eyes. And honestly, I don’t care, at least my outside is matching my inside. I empty my bladder, wash my hands and face, try to tame my hair, then brush my teeth until the toilet taste is gone.

When I open the door, he’s right there, holding out a sweater for me and my jacket. I try for a smile and think it probably fails when his face takes on a pitying I-want-to-laugh-and I’m-not-going-to look.

I ignore it and tug on the sweater he must have grabbed from my dresser. Followed by my jacket. He’s really sweet, actually. It makes my stomach flip, and it’s not the seasick feeling I’ve been having.

“Ready?” he asks.

“No.”

“You’ll feel better soon,” he says with a growing smile, as if my hangover amuses him.

I’ll remember this next time he’s hung over, and since he hasn’t swore off drinking like I have, it will happen.