Truth or Dare Aftermath
Truth or Dare had probably not been the brightest idea Finn had ever had. It was probably not the worst, but it was definitely not one of the best. It probably fell in some middle bracket that didn't actually have a name. He couldn't call it a middle idea. The alcohol had probably also been a bad idea, as was not watching what his step brother and friends were doing to his boyfriend. But really, it probably all could have been solved if Truth or Dare had never been brought up. Drunk Finn knew this. Which meant that sober Finn was probably going to be kicking his own ass up and down the streets of Lima for weeks. What had he done? No really. It would have been bad enough, that he thought trying to get Jesse to loosen up by way of alcohol was a good idea. But Jesse had passed out, and Finn had never felt so guilty over something in his entire life. That wasn't cool, and it wasn't funny, and if Drunk Finn knew this... He cringed as he looked down at the prone form of his boyfriend, and his chest felt tight. He should have noticed what they were doing, and he hadn't. He couldn't fix that now, he could only try to lessen the damage and hope that he wasn't single when Jesse woke up. The thought alone has him shaking. But he leaned down to scoop Jesse into his arms, making sure his head was cradled against his shoulder, one hand brushing a bit of hair out of his eyes so that he could take in Jesse's face, gorgeous despite the damage. He walked carefully to his room, trying to be mindful of the fact that he as still drunk, and Jesse was not tiny, though it wasn't too hard to carry him. He was lucky he never made his bed, because the covers were drawn, and he laid Jesse on the sheets, quickly stripping him of his shoes and unbuttoning his jeans, hoping he'd at least be marginally more comfortable this way. He wasn't willing to change him into pajamas, sure that Jesse would want to escape when he woke. And he slid the covers up to cover the rest of Jesse, tucking him in the way his mom used to when he was little and needed comfort. He quickly trotted up to the bathroom that his and Kurt's parents shared, and grabbed the little towelettes that Kurt and Carole swore by and went back to his room. Cleaning the make up from Jesse's face was slow and pain staking, made harder by his shaking hands, but he refused to leave any of the lipstick behind for Jesse to find in the mirror later. And he once again mentally kicked himself for not noticing what had been going on. But no. He'd been too busy swapping spit with his best friend. Who he could only hope was going to pretend like that hadn't happened, especially since Dave knew how Finn felt about him, even it was harmless. At least Jeff hadn't seemed to mind. He knew, however, that Blaine was going to mind the fact that his boyfriend had sucked whipped cream from Finn's tongue. And Finn wanted to cry just thinking of the potential drama that his stupid little game had caused. But he didn't. He was too drunk to cry. No, he was just too tired to cry. He probably didn't deserve to. Oh, the alcohol was still obviously working his magic, since he couldn't even decide if he deserved to cry or not. He stood looking at Jesse for a moment, let himself feel guilty and mentally apologize. Jesse had trusted him enough to come to his house, and Finn had taken advantage. He hadn't meant to, it wasn't intentional, but he had done it, and he felt sick. Reaching under the blankets, Finn fished Jesse's phone out of his pocket. He wasn't sure if it had a ring tone or vibrated, and he walked into the hallway, just in case it made noise. Holding Jesse's phone in one hand, and his in the other, he sent the boy a text, letting his hand muffle the noise. Finn: I'm so sorry, I'll trust you when you use that tone on me next time. If there is a next time. No alcohol. And I love you. I need you to know that I really, really love you, Jesse. And, uhm, I didn't abandon you in my bed. I'm downstairs, just... if you want to join me. He walked back into the room to sit Jesse's phone on the table beside the bed, the one Jesse would have to be blind to miss. He kept the door open a crack and flicked off the light, letting himself look at Jesse again, his nerves scrambled, his feelings scrambled, and he could only hope that it didn't look this bad when he was sober. That it was just the alcohol talking. But he knew he'd still feel guilty. He sighed as he went back downstairs, deciding he probably didn't deserve to sleep on the couch, but at least the rug in the living room was plush.