Rue doesn't know where he is.
He could be in an apartment, maybe, or a motel. He's wrapped up in sheets on a bed, his limbs stiff and his vision blurry. There's a throbbing pain in his head, fading in and out with each heartbeat. Gradually, he sits himself up.
Has he been sick? He can't remember. It's always possible it's a hangover, but-- for all the hangovers he's had-- this feels different somehow. No, no. There's something else. It's tugging at the back of his mind, like a half remembered dream, flashes of white, gold, and black.
Has he been dreaming?
He makes his way out of the bed unsteadily, using the wall to keep his balance. His hands are shaking, fingernails tap tap tapping against the plaster.