Seventeen: Drunken Actions

Over A Year ago…

Parties were definitely becoming Philo’s thing. Ever since he went to that one at Rocket’s apartment, he had been hooked on showing up to random frats and houses to drink and smoke until he could not remember anything. That was his goal with each one, at least.

The spring semester was nearly over, and Philo was certain his GPA was too low to keep his scholarship. In turn, he had been flooded with angry messages and calls from his mom. Tonight, it was fairly bad. His mom always expected him to do well, and she would not have cared as much if he was trying. But, he wasn’t, and she could tell. That’s what made her mad.

Tonight, Philo decided he did not want to listen to anything negative, he only wanted to party. Shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, he did his best to ignore the persistent buzzing.

This party had been fun so far with flashing lights, loud music, a low ceiling, a makeshift cardboard dance floor, and a big bowl of mystery punch that Philo kept circling the room for. He was drunk out of his mind now, giving it his all on the cardboard until it crushed completely flat beneath his shoes.

A hand rests gently on his shoulder, and he spins around to see Rocket. His face is flushed, so he must be drunk too. There’s a little smile on his mouth, it barely hangs out there, and his eyes are red and dilated. Not only was he drunk, but he was also high. A deadly combination.

“Hey.” He slurs his words, stumbling right into Philo. They both go flopping to the carpeted ground, letting out amazed laughs.

“Hey there, buddy.” Philo says back, patting Rocket’s back as he’s sprawled out on top of him. Someone nearby, also drunk, helps Rocket up as best as she can, stifling her laugh when he nearly topples over again.

“Thanks, V.” Rocket offering her a hug which she returns before disappearing back into the crowd.

“Why did she only help…” Philo burps. “You up?”

Rocket shrugs, laughing uncontrollably, and taking Philo’s outstretched hand and yanking him back to his feet.

“I guess she likes me more.” Rocket bites on his lower lip, and a devious glint forms in his eyes. “I don’t blame her. I mean, look at me.”

Philo hums, breaking out into a ridiculous dance that has Rocket marveling after.

“I’m looking!” Philo yells, but his voice is drowned out by the loud music. “And I don’t see much!”

“Well, look harder!”

Rocket grips his stomach, laughing until it hurts, but he cannot stop. He smacks Philo’s shoulder harder than he intended, sobering up a little when Philo trips over his feet and goes straight through the open window and into a bush outside.

Albeit laughing, Rocket races through the foggy sliding door next to the window and hovers over the bush. He sets his hands on his hips, leaning forward like he’s inspecting the situation. Philo has given up on moving, allowing the bush to hold his limbs up so he does not have to.

“Let’s see what we have here.” Rocket sings, twirling in an elegant circle on the little patio, nearly falling off the concrete slab as he does so.

“Help me, you asshole!” Philo flails his arms, and Rocket takes a hold of his hand for the second time tonight, a thing Philo does not miss. They are under the dim light, swarmed by flies that cared more about the light than them so that they did not bother them. Rocket had unknowingly pressed Philo up against the wall in a drunken-state. Philo did not mind it, not even when Rocket slid a hand on his waist, seemingly unknowing he even did so.

“Thanks.” Philo grumbles.

“For what?” Rocket leans in close, eyes wide and observant. Or, the best they could be while he was cross-faded.

“For helping me, duh.” Philo stumbles a little, but the firm grip Rocket has on his waist stop him from tumbling over yet again. It would have been a new record, if he did fall. Most drunk falls in a night.

“Dude, we are like, so drunk.” Rocket declares, opting to rest his chin on Philo’s shoulder, right between his neck and shoulder joint. Philo instinctively wraps his arms around Rocket’s waist, only to find it’s stern beneath his fingertips. So, he worked out? Great for him.

“So drunk.” Philo echoes, although he was feeling less and less drunk by the second.

Even at his drunkest state, Philo knew what he was doing. Even when he blacked out, the memories would remain. Foggy, but there. So, he knew what was happening, he knew of their intentional closeness, and he knew that Rocket was likely to not realize it himself.

So, Philo gently nudges Rocket away by his shoulders. This only seems to backfire, as now Rocket is still just as close, but he’s eye-level with Philo, and Philo can see clear as day that Rocket takes interest in his lips. His eyes linger on them before trailing back up slowly to meet Philo’s eyes.

Abashed, Philo pushes Rocket away a little harder, only to reach out for him when he trips over his own feet again.

“Sorry. That was just, a lot.” Philo tells him.

Rocket dumbly nods, and Philo can tell by the look on his face that his feelings were hurt. Philo hated that look; a look so polarizing to his normal self. He thought in that moment he might do anything to keep a smile on Rocket’s face. Was it normal to feel that way about a friend? And if so, why was he just realizing that now?

“No, I’m sorry.” Rocket rubs furiously at his forehead. “I shouldn’t have…”

The music grows louder, and the house shakes with the amplified bass beats. Philo keeps staring at Rocket like he may disappear if he does not keep a close eye on him. Which was a fair assumption, since Rocket looked like he may run for the trees if he got the chance to.

“We’re drunk.” Philo reminds him, voice stern. “Not thinking clearly.”

Rocket gnaws on his bottom lip until it turns bright red. His face falls flat, and he almost appears ashamed of himself.

“Yeah, I would never…” Rocket glances back at Philo, who glances down at the floor. The concrete stared straight back up at him, like he was doing something wrong by looking at it instead of Rocket.

“Me neither.” Philo grunts finally, not missing the dejected look they both shared between each other. Why did it feel like they had sobered up completely? Why did it feel like they were lying to themselves? To each other?

Vanessa, V, runs out of the sliding door with a red solo clenched hard in her hand.

“What are you doing out here still? Come back inside!” She grabs Rocket’s arm and swings him back toward the door. Rocket disappears back into the crowd, swallowed up by dancing feet and swaying bodies. Vanessa had apparently forgotten Philo was even out there, which he deemed unlikely because she had just talked to him not even ten minutes ago. She must have been doing it on purpose, trying to get Rocket alone.

Philo decides then that this party was over, at least for him. He makes his way into the yard, narrowly dodging trees and bushes that seem to come out of nowhere. With swift movements for a drunk person, he hops the wired fence and starts a steady walk back to his dorm.

Were they just going to pretend that never happened? That the drunken actions they took may have aligned with their repressed sober ones? Did Philo actually want to kiss Rocket? A man? Did Rocket want the same thing?

As he walked down the pavement, touched gently by the stars, he was not so sure anymore.