Never mind. Forget it.

"Hey," said Rob, as he entered the kitchen bleary-eyed. He rubbed his face and scratched his arse, through the back of his Y-fronts.

"Hey," said Andre, drinking coffee. There was the smell of coffee in the air.

Rob breathed the aroma in. "Did you sleep well?"

"Um? Er? I guess, I did. You?" said Andre, hesitantly.

"Sure," said Rob. "Like the dead."

"That's great, just great," said Andre, staring into his coffee cup, which he held under his chin.

"You okay?" asked Rob. "Is something wrong?" He touched Andre on the shoulder, reassuringly. Andre pulled away.

"Okay?" said Andre. "Me? Something wrong?"

"You just seem a bit stressed," said Rob. He flicked on the kettle and reached out for the cupboard for a cup.

"About last night?" said Andre, more as a question than a statement, his voice raising in pitch.

Rob turned around. "Something happened last night?"

"Don’t you remember?"

"I’m a bit hazy, really," said Rob. He grimaced. "I remember everything until we left the restaurant." He smiled broadly. Cheekily. "I must have had a shit load to drink. How many shots did we have? "

"I don’t know what we did last night… " Andre was shaking his head.

"Ah, fuck, we didn't get caught doing something… "

"No," said Andre. "Not caught… "

Rob shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out in front of him, as if as a question mark. He grimaced and shook his head, questioningly.

"You don’t remember anything?" said Andre.

"Why? Rob scratched his head. He suddenly itched down the back of his neck.

"You and me."

"What?"

Andre stopped talking. He looked at Rob quizzically. A smile peeled across his lips. "We had a shit load to drink, mate." He punch Rob on the arm. "Just checking to see if you remembered any more than me."

The kettle boiled. "I just want coffee," said Rob.