It was hard for Kurt to say he was hungover, because he basically felt crappy all the time right now. He had no sleep pattern, he hadn't been going to work, most days, he wasn't even getting out of bed or leaving the bungalow. Sometimes he would go out and just sit on the beach to pretty much pray to the island powers that be to send him Blaine. He had even begged them sometimes, tried to bargain with them, got angry with them, or just sat there and bawled his eyes out when all of the above took too much energy. He was drinking and smoking more than he normally did too. Normally he only indulged socially, but now it was like he needed both to function. He made it two years here without Blaine. He didn't think he was going to make it much more. His heart was broken and this time, he couldn't even band-aid over the wounds to pick himself back up.

He didn't wake up immediately. It took him a few moments to wade through the thick grogginess, and even then, he just thought it was another one of those dreams where Quinn woke him up to tell him Blaine was here, but it turned into a nightmare when he ran down on the beach and it was Blaine's dead body. Those awful nights his mind really played tricks on him with this whole situation.

He groaned and gave a whimper of protest at being woken and disturbed, trying to give her a nudge away with his hand, but it was just more like a flick of his fingers against his arm. "Don'say tha'. S'mean..." he mumbled and tried to bury himself deeper under the blanket he had wrapped around him.