Why is there talking? Mohinder thought miserably, burrowing his face further into the cushion as if to drown it out. And noise? Why are things spinning-- Oh God, what if it's my super power to make things spin like this when very hung over? The chatter didn't stop either, not in his own head at least. His mind wandered to a place where it might seek a little refuge from the daylight but alas, he didn't have Matt's mental acumen.

Mohinder cracked an eye at Matt, the way he was standing there, smirking like that. He wanted to throw something at him, but it dawned on him that it would be useless to do so. Matt would probably know he was doing it before he could even grab a pillow!

Damn telepaths. Always cheating.

"I might throw up an aspirin," Mohinder replied as he rolled onto his side, facing the back of the couch now. "I probably will throw up any way. Why do people drink?"

Because it was fun to drink. It just wasn't fun to put up with what happened after drinking. Mohinder tugged the afghan off of the back of the couch and draped it over his head.

Dying would be pretty good about now.