Meat Sweats Two stops before he arrived. Unfortunately two stops wasn't an awful lot of time to deal with a cold-turkey-induced, systematic failure of what he, perhaps over-dramatically, deemed to be his entire body. His nerves were shot and his fingers trembled. He pulled his coat tighter around his sweating body. The presence of even a slightly nauseating perception of reality was making itself more known to his body than he cared to admit to himself. The swaying of the carriage, the squeaking of the doors; sights and sounds that he cared little for. It was the first time in a good while that he would lay eyes on this blonde haired boy, indeed his blonde haired boy. An organised meeting had been hanging over him for a while. It was time to oblige. Yet here he was, in as bad a situation as ever before. He stepped off the train and promptly caught sight of the blonde haired man in fact, responsible for this much anticipated rendezvous. "Look at the state of you man! You only had to last three days without the red meat! That's all the doctor asked: three days!" Our man simply shrugged his shoulders and wiped his heavily perspiring forehead: "YOLO?"