The overpowering scent of Kirk's cologne lingered in the hall like a department store perfume counter had exploded. Dale dragged himself upright, wondering if his nose hairs would ever recover. He picked up the discarded ice trays and headed for the kitchen, cussing under his breath about roommates with the spatial awareness of a drunk rhinoceros.
He supposed he had it coming. Hadn't he done the same thing to Kirk less than ten hours ago? Unable to stay mad—probably because his brain cells were too busy defending themselves against Kirk's cologne—Dale threw the trays in the sink.
He better wash off his face before their guests saw him all made up like a contestant on RuPaul's Drag Race. He didn't want to give them the wrong impression, though at this point, covered in makeup and smelling like Kirk's cologne by proximity, he wasn't sure what the right impression would be.
His hand paused on the bathroom door handle when he was grabbed and pulled back by the shoulder with all the grace
