While you apply your mascara you hear a high-pitched, pitiful whining noise just outside the door. It’s Adam. When you finally let him in he brushes past you, mutter, “I gotta piss so bad,” and barely waits for you to get out before pulling his pajama pants down.
Outside the bathroom, Jackson is slumped against the wall, silent and motionless. You nudge him with your foot and he grunts. You continue over to your suitcase, content in the knowledge that he’s (mostly) alive.
Your friends are not morning people.
>Return your items to your suitcase.