"If everybody's got a personal hell, then this one's mine," Auggie murmured, staring at the crowd surging about them.

Why did he agree to this again?

His heart began to do that thing, what was it called? He couldn't recall. Palpitations? A murmur? Shit, there're just too many people. Too many Crayon-eaters... or Marines, right? Marines.

"So, I think I'm having a heart attack, and we should go home." Auggie squeezed Naomi's hand. "Can't we just go up and say, 'congratulations', and then disappear?" 

Naomi squeezed back. "Auggie, I'm literally one of the bridesmaids. I can't disappear; you know that."

"... shit, yeah, I know. I'm sorry for being so needy."

"Look," Naomi's hazel eyes studied her nervous best friend's expression. "I know it's a lot to ask, I know this type of thing is your worst nightmare but it's kind of mine too at this point. I don't know how I'll get through it without you."

Auggie shifted on his feet and fumbled to adjust his tie; the thing made it feel like he couldn't breathe. Even so, he did his best to reign himself in. Auggie rationalized they could escape once dinner was through, after the speeches, toasts, and the other bullshit. But he knew that was just wishful thinking; after all, Naomi was a bridesmaid, and she had to stay until the bride officially left the venue. 

The hours would pass like nails on a chalkboard, but Naomi needed him.

"... right, yeah. Okay."

She gave a gentle smile and leaned over, planting a friendly kiss on his cheek.
"I owe you, Boots."

Auggie's face flushed. "Just buy us some Pho, play Minecraft with me tomorrow, and we're even."

"Done." Naomi gestured with a tilt of the head at the open bar, currently swarming with men—all of them wearing uniforms. "Let's wade into shark-infested waters and grab a drink, then, shall we?"

S.O.S.

Auggie's stomach flipped a bit at the sheer number of humans crammed on the terrace; the weather was beautiful, though, sun low in the sky, heat comfortable, not intolerable. It made wearing a suit somewhat bearable, but the activity in front of the open bar was giving him anxiety. Music swelled in the background, boisterous laughter and chatter from said Marines made his brain feel like it needed a good itch. Too much noise, and he forgot his headphones.

As they moved through the crowd, Auggie's mind kept returning to what Naomi had said about the aforementioned creatures in uniform: that there'd be a lot of them, and an open bar had been secured.

Auggie recalled asking what was so bad about an open bar, more for them, if anything. But Naomi's wonky expression followed by a begrudged, "Marines and bottomless alcohol? That's a shit-show waiting to happen, especially since most of them are grunts."

He wasn't sure what a "shit-show" to that degree would look like, and he knew little about 'grunts', but August didn't plan to hang around and find out.

So, as they neared the bar, his brain couldn't help but consider these supposedly feral crayon-eating men, and the fact that Naomi was desperate not to get with one again. She seemed to have a love-hate relationship with these creatures; desired them nearly as much as she disliked them.

Well, once they'd arrived at the back of the line, he began to understand Naomi's conflict.

He leaned in close, "... 'kay, I get it. They're hot."

"Right?" She rolled her eyes and flicked her hand openly at their uniforms, "and see the dress blues? They call those things 'panty-droppers' for a reason."

Yeah, Auggie could see why.

"Fuck," he chuckled. "Well, then, I've never felt so inadequate in my life."

Naomi waved him off and interlocked their arms. "Shush. I need my August tonight. Not a drunk, horny Marine. They're only thinking with their dicks right now, anyway. I need my best friend, not that."

He watched her eyes as they flickered once again to the Marines standing in front of them, and he himself had to admit those men looked a bit too good in that uniform. August thought it'd be too easy to end up on his knees sucking dick for one of those crayon-eaters, even if they did lack crucial braincells. It was obvious they were there for a good time, in more ways than one.

And so, the friends stood there for what felt like an eternity in the chaos of the party, waiting on some liquid courage to help them float through the rest of the night. August thought he'd get himself a Vodka-soda with lime, while Naomi mentioned she'd be gulping down the Chardonnay.

While they waited, August fought the itch to check his phone—he'd been eyeing it the whole drive there, hoping to hear from that guy, Mr. Wrong Number. Responding to said wrong number had sort of spiraled into something August didn't know how to dig himself out of. He'd made the mistake of engaging in conversation instead of fessing up, and as a result, August had spent the greater part of his day flirting with the guy.

August knew it was wrong to lead him on, to enjoy the flirting, but he'd never experienced anything like it. He was painfully single, and unlucky in love. Primarily due to his lack of self-confidence, shyness, and battle with dysphoria. He just struggled to put himself out there, to even attempt dating. Thinking about sex, what it'd actually be like, he usually kept that stuffed in the back of his brain like a taboo thing. Having sex just seemed like a stretch at this point—August hardly felt secure in himself to begin with, let alone enough to share his body with another human. 

He let out a heavy sigh as he pondered the man's most recent text and did his best to shake off all the usual anxious thoughts that occupied his brain. He even blushed as he read the man's text: "Got some plans I can't get outta tonight, but we could always mess around over the phone later"

August had responded shortly after—venturing so far beyond his comfort zone it wasn't even funny, but the anonymity of it all left him feeling a bit emboldened. 
"lol same actually. And what you thinking? Sexting?"

His heart skipped a beat as he re-read his own message, but more than that, he couldn't believe he'd sent it. Sure, they had sent some dirty texts back and forth earlier that morning... in fact, things had escalated fairly quickly, because the man thought he texted a hookup.

"What do you want?" Naomi's voice caught him off guard. "We're next."

"Uh," he pocketed his phone quickly. "Vodka Soda, lime."

Naomi nodded, smirk reaching her eyes. "You're talking to Mr. Wrong Number again, aren't you?"

His face warmed. "Ah, um, yeah..."

She bumped him with her hip. "You gotta stop that, Auggie... he thinks he's talking to a girl, right?"

"I know."

"Just don't... do anything stupid." She added softly. "Promise you won't meet up with him, that's dangerous."

"Never," he exhaled. "I may be inexperienced, but I'm not foolish."

"Good, then let's order."

They moved forward as the Marines in front made off with six drinks between the three of them, and it made August laugh. These guys didn't just have the occasional drink, they drank, and they drank hard.

After receiving their own liquid courage, Naomi guided August over to her cousin's table. The bride was glowing; she'd chosen a champaign-pink wedding dress, drenched in lace, with a modest neckline and off-the-shoulder look, pearl strings accentuating the shoulders. He had to admit it was a beautifully unique gown, Mari looked ethereal, and her husband looked killer in his uniform. August also couldn't help but notice how beautiful Naomi looked—her features echoed her cousins, the women clearly related, but he knew better than to long for his best friend in such a manner.

So, as the evening wore on, August found himself daydreaming, wishing, wondering what Mr. Wrong Number was up to... and stressing out. It was just all too much. He felt small, out of place, nervous. He'd lost track of the time, but after introductions were made, complete with more awkward small talk over dinner, toasts and speeches, Naomi turned August loose so he could get some air. She saw the anxiety in his body-language, the brewing overstimulation... besides, everyone was about to get stupid drunk. Now was the time for him to make his escape.

"Take a break," she'd said, gesturing toward the garden past the terrace. "It's a bit quieter down there, go chill. I'll come find you."

August was wholly relieved and thanked her with a kiss to the cheek before practically running off, like a nervous, overwhelmed kid.

But he still kissed her! How did that happen? When did he get the balls to do that?

He glanced around as he shuffled through the crowd, made his way round the dance floor which was now full of drunk Marines paired up with their dates, some with each other dancing and drinking—the ultimate bromance. Finally, after stopping at the bar for another refill, and skilled maneuvering, August had made it to the steps with his drink intact and descended in the darkness toward the garden.

Edison lights had been strung up above the garden, while smaller, white, twinkly ones had been woven through the trees to give the place somewhat of a magical effect. There were flowers of all kinds, hedges trimmed neatly, all laid out in an easy-to-navigate maze. Some of the bushes were tall enough to hide Marines and their partners messing around in the shadows, which kind of embarrassed him. August had never made out with anyone like that, never gotten hot and heavy at a party, or snuck off to a room to fuck. He had no clue what that felt like, and as he strolled around the garden, he fell deep into thought.

Thinking turned into overthinking, second-guesses and regrets about his Mr. Wrong Number... if he was smart, he would just block, delete and try to forget about it ...

Auggie sipped heavier on his drink, the heavy buzz enveloping like a soft hug. He began to feel looser, a little happier, clumsier. His alcohol tolerance was as low as it got. At least that made him a cheap date, right? Not that it mattered, not like he had any dates lined up, anyway.

He stumbled upon a small bench, perched by a beautiful pond. Hedges taller than August encircled the spot, and he had to wonder why no one else had taken up residence here for the party. It was the perfect place to kiss, hold hands, talk about anything and everything...

August ran a hand through his brown hair and sighed, seating himself clumsily. Leaning over, he could see some of his reflection in the pond, and when faced with it, August felt like crying. His confidence faded the longer he looked at his reflection, until a Koi went scooting by. Auggie's amber-brown eyes followed its movements, watched as it swam around with the other Koi. That sucker was huge, nearly the length of his forearm.

"Damn, look at that thing."

A deep voice caught August off-guard, he looked for the source and his mind short circuited when he laid eyes on it. The source of said voice was far too handsome for his own good.