The room's too cold and the blankets are falling off the dirty mattress. Mark's only half asleep, and in his state of near consciousness he pulls the cover up to his chin.
The half of his brain that has not retired for the night is still in the pub he left two hours ago. It was on the same stool that he'd sat on, drinking and nervously watching the match even though he knew they couldn't possibly lose to Brighton.
"We did man!" grinned Spud. He turned to Renton, with the same grin that would have looked completely psychotic if Rents didn't know he was intoxicated. And that was when he kissed him wide eyes and breath that tastes like whiskey.
And Mark hates it for feeling so goddamn good.