What the-

  "Argh."

  The teen brunette rubbed his shut eyes, hoping the headache will ease. The pounding pain slowed down a bit after a while but as soon as he open his eyes, freaking sunlight almost blinded him. With his hands over his eyes, he got up and blindly tried to find something to hold on to. Bad mistake, he didn't realize the floor could barely be seen. Just two steps and he tripped and fell face flat on some kind of wrapping paper. He hoped it was wrapping paper, thought by the texture, he had a sickening feeling of what it really is.

  Disgusted, he got up carefully, eyes kept open despite the unusually bright light. He'd rather be nearly blind than falling face smack into whatever crap littering the floor currently. Half the floor was covered with a blanket which he hoped he didn't touch, seeing something white sticking on to it. The rest of the floor was either covered with clothes or basically what he deemed was rubbish - he'd rather not know really. He could've sworn he smelled some kind of filthy stench which was too close for comfort. He sniffed the clothes he was wearing, and nearly gagged. That was a horrid move, followed bya horrid stench! It didn't help that one side of the shirt kep slipping off his shoulder like it was a few sizes too big.

  Wait...he silently gasped, as it dawned on him. The shirt was too big on him, and it reeked of what he could tell was alchohol. Instinctively, he took it off and threw it as far away from him as he cold. His head pounded at the action, reminding him of his headache. He found himself shivering, realizing he wasn't wearing anything under that terrible shirt. Where was his own shirt? He looked around at the mess surrounding him, daring himself to pick one up that had the same shade of blue he remembered wearing before. He just hoped before meant the night before. But one look at the shirt had him tossing it away. He never had and never will have a shirt that has on it, censored or not.

  He wrapped his arms around his body for some warmth. He was lucky that he still had his shoes, making it easier for him to just kick the clothes away from his path. He was on his way out, when he caught sight of his reflection from the bathroom mirror. The bathroom door was left ajar, and the mirror was in full view of his reflection. He looked terrible. His usual neatly combed hair was sticking all over the places. There was something akin to drool marks at the corner of his lips - which he wiped away quickly. There was some kind of terrible doodle near his left ear and a scribble on his right shoulder. Suddenly, his skin felt sticky, and he really needed to get out of the room now.

  Plus, he needs some painkillers which he suspects is nowhere near this room. He would've checked the medical cabinet if it wasn't for the fact that he heard a groan from the bathroom. He didn't feel any urge to figure out who or what was that, he just needed to get out. His hair was a mess, he was slowly feeling sticky all over. He was shirtless, and cold. At least he had his pants.

  And -

  He stopped in his tracks, partially because he found someone passed out, as soon as he got the room door to open. Also, because he doesn't recognize the house he's in. The house was huge, larger than what he expected when he was in the room. Large and currently infested with party trash. Fear crept in him, as flashes of horrid movie scenes ran through his head. He should get someone to help him. He needs someone to help him. He was already running through all the people he could call, crossing out the ones that will surely tell his parents. What did he tell his parents to get here? Automatically, his hands searched his pockets. His eyes widened, finding nothing in them. No phone.

  Damn it, where was it? Where was he?

  From the corner of his eye, he spotted the person passed out gripping a phone tightly in one hand. Looking around, he stepped over the body and the empty bottles and cups, he pried the fingers off the phone. The guy let out a groan - freezing him on the spot - before turning to the other side, muttering something incoherent. Quickly, he grabbed the phone and stepped away.

  He let out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. He quickly dialed in his number and waited for the familiar tune. The song seemed to echo throughout the house, and he could've sworn he heard someone cursed from afar. Ignoring that, he followed the music and was lead downstairs. The view was worst than upstairs. Someone's underwear was hanging on the chandelier, and he hoped to dear God it won't fall on him. He finally found his phone kept in a drawer. He looked around, confused, why it was there in the first place. But he couldn't remember anything that would've been helpful.

  Instead, he just put down the phone he had earlier and began dialing his own. The person he called didn't pick up, and after the fifth time, he knew it was no use. He tried to call the others but it was to no avail. There was once someone picked up but all he could here was a groan and an unclear cuss before a click. He was soon left with only one person that may help him. The neighborhood was familiar when he glanced outside the window earlier. His fingers shook as they typed the numbers that he surprised himself by actually remembering it.

  "Hello?"

  "Ch-Chanyeol, can you come and get me?"