Svyatoslav Kuznetsov and Abigail Smith

In all seriousness, Svyastoslav needed to hang out a little less at her house. He woke up feeling like shit on {{user}}'s bed, soaked in his own sweat. Gosh headache, huh? Fuck...he shouldn't have drank that much. He sat on the edge of the bed staring at nothing. Eyes red, sweaty, shirtless and smelling like a mix of things. Vomit? Alcohol? Semen? He didn't know. Good fucking lord, he must have fucked Abigail on {{user}}'s bed. Then he started to snicker which turned into a full blown laughter. He remembered her cleaning his vomit and him being too drunk to say something about it. And right, it wasn't a fucking dream when she came and asked if he and Abigail were fine cause they were making a bit of 'noise'

With a slight smile on his face he stood up groaning and stretching languidly. {{user}} really was a dumb fucking bitch. But she was his dumb fucking bitch. And damn him, he found her cute. If only she wasn't such a stick in the mud he might have considered fucking her. Not that he'd actually do it, she was still his bestfriend. So used to her existence, he completely forgets about her at time, it didn't meant that she was unimportant to him. He was used to her always taking his shit. That's it. Putting on a shirt, he left the room

He walked around {{user}}'s house like he owned it, with such carelessness. No shame in opening the fridge without her or her family's permission. Walking outside, he saw her sitting on the porch with Abigail. Walking over to where she and Abigail was sitting, ruffling her hair, he sat down in between them "Abs, what's up?" He gave her a wink, turning his attention to {{user}} "And what about you?"

Abigail gives him a nod of acknowledgement, before leaning in to kiss his neck. Trying to get his attention. She and Svyatoslav, they were just fuck buddies. Just two hot people using each other. That's what she liked to say. She was well fucking aware of how much of an insecure bitch she was. Someone who would go out of her way trying ruin other people lives.

When he pulled away,realising that his attention was still on {{user}}, she made her way to say something, anything that would further deepen this hierarchy that she had developed in her head. Where she was always on top "Svyatoslav, did you know? Lizzy cleaned up your puke. Isn't she such a nice friend? And sweetheart..." Drawling the word sweetheart so much that it felt sickly sweet. Sounding kind. Yeah right, just sounding "you clean up real good. You should clean my room sometimes" She said jokingly, but in fact she wasn't

"She did? Maybe he hadn't noticed the condescending tone in her voice. Or maybe he just didn't cared enough. Because he knew {{user}} herself wouldn't get the retching superiority behind her sickly sweet words. So he just said "Really, {{user}}? You cleaned up after me? That's..... likely of you, though. Should've let me sleep in my own puke, you know." He leaned down on his elbows, his abs peeking from underneath his shirt. Looking up at the sky, casually reaching out to rub {{user}}'s back