Once inside, he feels drunker, the floor swimming before him. 

Noticing His best friend’s sudden change in demeanor, He effortlessly lifts him bridal style, walking to His side of the house. 

“My room’s the otha way,” His best friend says, wriggling. 

“But your mattress is too hard.”

“Because it’s meant for me.” 

In reply, He dumps him onto the bed. “Whatever. Take your stuff off and I’ll be back with a glass of water.” He turns to walk back to the kitchen. “Lush.”

It was muttered, but he still hears it. Rather than respond, he turns onto his stomach and shuts his eyes. But immediately he opens them again because it feels like he’s on a tilt-a-whirl in pure darkness. Lying on his back is only slightly better, but sour saliva gathers at the corner of his lips. 

“Dude, if you hurl on my sheets, I’ll fucking kill you.”

A glass of water appears above him and he reaches up thankfully, only for it to be yanked away. “You can’t even sit up right now, can you?”

his lips move, but his tongue feels so thick that no words come out. 

“Oh well, guess it can’t be helped.”

he watches as his friend takes a long drink of water and, and almost as if in slow-motion, He gets closer and closer. His chilled, slightly chipped lips graze his before their pressure increases. Some water spills over the side of His best friend’s face at first because he refuses to open his mouth. 

Stubborn idiot, He thinks, gripping His best friend’s jaw and yanking down so his mouth opens wide enough. 

he can tell his friend is frustrated with him, probably cursing him out in His head and calling him an idiot. Well, you’re the stubborn idiot, he thinks, swallowing what’s given to him. You wanna talk about the truth? 

he grips the back of his friend’s neck and thrusts his tongue into the cool cavern of His mouth. A shudder ripples through him from the sensation of something slick around his tongue, and the taste of bourbon and Him. It’s what he imagined it would be, but even better. 

Euphoria only lasts for a moment, with his friend pulling back as if he isn’t using all his strength to keep him close. “Do you need to go to the bathroom and take care of yourself?”

“No,” he snaps, turning back onto his side. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for the water.”

He stares at His best friends back, wanting to ask what the hell his problem is. But exhaustion takes over His limbs, and He kneels onto the bed. Ignoring the tensing of His best friend’s shoulders, He reaches out and pulls the resistant man against His chest. He nuzzles into locs that smell of coconut oil and lavender. he wore them down tonight, and He’d never admit that He prefers when his hair is left free. 

“Tomorrow let’s watch that one movie,” He whispers, nuzzling closer. 

Silence. 

“I’ll help in the kitchen?”

There’s the sound of air escaping widened nostrils. “Your help always leads to a bigger mess.”

“But I always clean up my messes, don’t I?” On the L of clean, His tongue brushes against the ridge of his ear, breath adding to the heat already rushing to his face. 

“Fine, fine, just shut up already! I’m drunk and tired.”

He squeezes His best friend in his arms, waiting for the easing of the muscles in the back against His chest, the sound of measured breathing. 

“You know I can’t let you go, don’t you?”