Drunk Boys & Dogs
consider this as my belated Valentine’s day post. blame deadlines.
Basilio and drunk Isagani ahead
prompt from @dailyau (?)
(and yes, Padre Irene is a Great Dane)
It has been fifteen minutes. I am stunned, confused, and very alarmed; albeit still a little lethargic from a short-lived nap. Standing at Mayor Tiago’s massive living room window, my books and laptop long abandoned, I watch the figure give Irene—the Mayor’s hulking Great Dane—belly rubs. God damned belly rubs. It took me months to actually get the monster dog accustomed to my presence and a year to make him love me, and this stranger does it within a night.
I rub my eyes. If the dog trusts him, quicker than he has trusted me, is that enough of an excuse to not call the cops on him? But, he still broke into Tiago’s property: he somehow scaled the smooth and high wall, slipped through the electric fence sitting at the top, and tamed his gigantic dog without getting mauled. He trespassed. That’s enough of an excuse to call security, right?
After scrutinizing the man on the lawn once more, I notice that he’s roughly the same age as I am, dressed in the fashion of most Ateneans, and very inebriated. I heave a sigh of relief; congratulating myself for keeping my head on my neck. I wouldn’t have been able to live with the guilt of sending someone to jail based on an empty accusation (or is it not?) and a sudden impulse. Besides, if the guy wanted to rob us or assassinate the mayor, he should’ve done that by now, right?
I assess the stranger one last time; who was now lying underneath Irene, getting smothered in dog drool. I sigh.
If everything goes to shit, I hope Irene doesn’t remember the belly rubs.
-
I was wrong. He wasn’t just very inebriated; he was drunk out of his mind. Absolutely fucking smashed.
Upon closer inspection, I could see the dazed eyes, the subtle flush in his cheeks, the goofy grin on his face, the shimmer of a Great Dane’s affection on his face and neck. His dark hair stuck up in tufts along his hairline where Irene had licked him. White dog hair flecked his black pullover and jeans. He lay on the grass at my feet. Both he and the dog watched me with some kind of astute innocence; like they were waiting for me to toss them both out or screw up horribly.
I shake my head and clip Irene’s leash to his collar. I had just started to lead the dog—who didn’t look very happy and left his new friend’s arms with a whimper—to his shed at the edge of the backyard when, all of a sudden, the person sat up.
“Don’t take hiiiiim,” He drawls, wrapping his arms around the dog’s neck. Irene licked his cheek appreciatively. “Heeeee’s my frieeeeend.”
I watch incredulously as he rests his head against the dog’s back with a sigh of content. The words were out of my mouth even before I could stop it.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The stranger ignores the bite in my tone and stares back at me with dazed happiness. “Dogs are fucking great, man. I wish I had one, they are amaaaaaaaaaazing.”
I shake my head, tugging at Irene’s leash. The stranger went so far as to putting his entire weight on the dog, stopping me from locking Irene safely away. The latter didn’t seem to mind, though—he even set his head on his paws and prepared to sleep.
“So soft. And warm. And furry.”
Exasperation seeped into my bones, weighing me down. I heard drunk people were hilarious, a great source of entertainment, but this? This is ridiculous. I am mildly entertained, but frustrated nonetheless.
There is no other way out of this than to compromise. Mayor Tiago will have my head for even thinking about it, and I make a mental note to clean up before he wakes up. Kick this guy and the dog out before sunrise.
“Get up,” I nudge him with my foot, catching his attention. “We’re going inside. And yes, we’re taking the dog.”
His eyes light up, a grin breaks out on his face. The fact that I thought that was cute stuns me a bit. “Really?”
I nod, and he pushes himself up from the ground, startling me and the dog. I take a step back as he staggers unsteadily; almost falling to his feet but catching himself just in time. He regains his footing and resumes grinning at me innocently, almost apologetically.
I cringe back.
And then, in a second of pure horror on my part; he doubles over with a retch. His heaving shatters the serenity of the backyard; I feel the contents of his stomach in between my toes; the smell crawls up my nostrils and lingers there. I turn my face towards the moonlit sky, closing my eyes.
I am a medical student, and I have handled things worse than this, I remind myself. Puke is nothing. I repeat, puke is nothing.
“Oh.” He states. He looks at Irene, who sniffs at my feet; then back at me.
I nod grimly. “Yeah, ‘oh’. Are you done?”
He closes his eyes for a moment; I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He doesn’t open his eyes for a long while.
After a solid minute of tension, his gags rip through the air again.
-
I clean him up. Thankfully, he isn’t the touchy-feely drunk; he just sits, half-conscious, as I strip off his filthy pullover. His hand is on Irene’s head.
I set up a little bed for him on the couch, and he falls asleep within minutes. He looks peaceful, absolutely serene.
I shake my head. As interesting as he is, watching him as he sleeps feels like an invasion of privacy. Besides, I didn’t need to memorize every curve and edge of his—frustratingly gorgeous—face even before I knew his name.
-
Somebody is patting my cheek. I groan in response. When I don't stir, the gentle patting is replaced by clumsy, wet slobbering--what?
When I open my eyes, I am greeted by Irene's nose sniffing at my face, urging me to wake up. Behind him, a young man watches me.
Last night's events come back to me and I sit up so fast, I am winded.
"Hi." He says sheepishly, shooting me a small smile.
I press two fingers to my temple. "Hey."
He certainly looked better: He donned one of my shirts and his dog fur-flecked jeans from last night, his hair was neater, more or less, and he looked, well, a lot soberer.
(that did not help my case, since, consequentially, he looked cuter.)
An awkward silence hung over us like a thick blanket. Only Irene seemed immune, with his big head lying on my lap and his tail thumping on the hardwood floor.
"So," I clear my throat. "How are you feeling?"
He shrugs. "Like shit. But I'm fine, I can make it home."
"Um, I'm sorry for trespassing." He adds. I notice his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on my shirt. "And for, ah, whatever inconvenience I caused."
I think of his puke between my toes and the stench of inebriation that wafted off him a few hours ago. Pushing that away, I let a small smile tug at my lips.
"It's nothing. How did you end up here, anyway? Ateneo's pretty far from here unless you drive. You didn't seem to be in the right state of mind to be behind a wheel."
At this, he chuckles; the small laugh bringing out the light in his eyes. "Well. I think I might have walked and snuck through your back gate when the guard wasn't looking. My mistake. I thought this was my apartment complex."
"You're lucky Irene here didn't maul you. That would've been a tougher mess to clean."
"Yeah." He glances at the dog, then back at me. His eyes are a deep shade of brown. "Um, I'm Isagani."
It hits me.
Isagani.
So that's Isagani.
Wonderboy, student council president, school paper in-chief, heartthrob, walking epitome of perfection (at least they say he is). Someone who I never thought would end up sleeping on my couch and wearing one of my shirts.
"Basilio. Pleasure to meet you."