Fitz’s head hurt and it was already late in the afternoon when he actually got himself together to go visit Skye’s dorm; he threw on whatever clothes he had nearest and of course ended up with his tie clashing with his shirt, his collar frumpy and his hair uncombed, but he really wasn’t feeling the whole ‘looking good’ thing today. Hangover days were not days where you actually tried to look nice.
It took him about fifteen minutes to trudge to the Comms area, and another five or so to get to Skye’s dorm. He stood outside the door and knocked.
“It’s open,” she yelled out from her spot, comfortably stretched out on the bed, laptop resting on her legs. Had anyone else ever (probably) dislocated their shoulder doing cardio? Unlikely. The (self-) prescribed minimal movement, however, was fine by Skye. “You know me, I can’t pass up an opportunity to get murdered in the night. Oh, and Fitz. The alka-seltzer is in the top drawer.”