January sucked. Hayato always started it with a New Year’s hangover. Then came the anniversary of the worst day of his life. And that wasn’t including the cold. At least the snow was pretty sometimes, but January storms usually skipped the happily-ever-after fluffy snow and went straight to freezing rain of doom. No matter how many layers Hayato wore, he always froze his balls off. The whole month should be tossed out like a used condom in a love hotel’s trash.
If he stayed in bed, he could pretend the calendar had never turned. He could go back to sweet December when nothing bad ever happened and the world was a blur of sales and romantic dinners. Or maybe he could stick with his current plan to spend the whole month of January drunk until the thirty-one days of hell passed and February dawned, if not warmer, at least a little brighter.
He hugged his pillow closer, then gagged, his sinuses assaulted by the stench of sweat and cum. Like the hangover wasn’t bad enough. Only January 1 and already the month had lived up to its reputation as the one of suffering and hatred.
Hayato threw the pillow off the bed and rolled onto his back. Furry pink walls shocked any remaining sleep out of his system. The matching sheets and heart-shaped tufted headboard confirmed it. He’d spent the night at a love hotel. No big deal. No one wanted to spend New Year’s alone. The sound of rushing water in the bathroom signaled Hayato needed to leave before things got complicated.