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night two.

warning: drunkenness; alcohol mention

thomas’s car is right there. right at the curb. and his keys are right there in his pocket, he can feel them. at least he’s pretty sure that’s his car. he can’t read the license plate from where he is. can’t quite tell what kind of car it is, either, but he’s almost positive it’s his. he’s almost sure that’s where he’d parked it.

why is he standing outside again?

oh, right. alex.

that’s also the reason why he’s not driving home at this very second as well. very specific instructions.

second night in a row, and he comes to the conclusion that he’d been wrong about how many drinks he’d had. it feels worse. he can barely even think straight this time, and he isn’t sure if he could form coherent sentences if he tried.

he stands under the blue glow of the sign hanging over the door, leaning back against the wall. he’d take a step forward so that alex could see him when he pulled up, but he’s not sure if he can walk straight.

away from the noise and crowds of the bar, this feeling isn’t fun or comforting anymore. not at all.

the same parking spot is open, alex notices, almost as if waiting for him. as if the whole world knew this was coming except him. keeping it secret, waiting for him to arrive and do this all over again. he pulls in, sliding off his seat and stepping into the street. just like yesterday.

and there he is, leaning against the wall. he walks over to him, not quite registering what's going on and yet understanding absolutely everything at the same time.

"hey, it's me again. my car's where it was before. i'm just going to drop you off and i guess i could walk back and drive your car to your apartment? or you can get it tomorrow morning." he shifts his weight on his feet. it doesn't feel like he's talking to thomas. just a tall stranger. a man leaning against a wall who he would normally avoid encountering.

thomas turns, eyes wide, breaking into a wide smile.

“alex.” again, his voice barely sounds like his own. even more so than last night. “you know, you are, like…the best person in my life right now.” his smile drops, as if attempting to shift to a more serious demeanor. “i mean it. you are the best person.” his words tumble from his mouth in a flood of barely distinguishable syllables. the smell of vodka clings to the air, strong on his breath.

his heart sinks, it kills him to see him like this. what's he going to do? obviously his bullshit care didn't do anything last night.

“glad you're happy to see me. c'mon it's really late, we gotta get you home.” his voice almost fatherly, or like an older brother. he doesn't feel comfortable speaking like this but he knows if he talks to him sincerely he'll break down crying. he's not too great at this whole see-the-person-you-love-hurt thing. even though he's the one who started it.

“home?”

it takes thomas a minute to connect the word to its meaning, and another minute to process a visual image of it. he glances back, through the propped-open door of the bar. somewhere inside, glasses clink together in a toast, followed by loud cheers. he furrows his brow in confusion, turning back to face alex. “but i’m fine here. it hurts less here.”

hurts. what hurts? why did he say that? he strains to remember, though he knows he came here to forget.

alex feels hollow, like a shell. empty, almost. “yes, home. you're not safe here and you can sleep at home. i'm only taking you home because you can't take yourself, and it's extremely late. i care about you and i don't want you hurting yourself. do you know how late it is?”

the tone of his voice disgusts him, like the sound of some over-protective mother. it's the only voice he can use to handle the situation, anything else would pass through thomas's brain like nothing.

he shakes his head and glances down at his shoes, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them back up again. “are you mad at me?” his voice is low, mumbled, barely audible over the muffled din from the bar behind them. he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and his fingers scrape against his car keys; how easy it would have been just to drive home.

“no, i'm not mad,” he sighs, “i just don't want you here. i'm sorry i'm acting so strict it's just—”

god, he wishes he could just start over, change what he said and how he said it. he can't help himself, he's confused and he's not sure how to control it.

“i don't want you to feel hurt. i know you are and that's why you're here. i just want you to be safe, and i know you'd rather be here than in your apartment, but i need you in your apartment so you don't get sick again, or hurt yourself trying to drive back. i'm not mad. i'm sorry i made you think i am.” words spilling out of his mouth almost too quickly, trying to sound less fake. more like himself, who he wants to be.

thomas looks back up, quiet for a moment, trying to process everything alex had just said. “okay.” his voice breaks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “okay. we’re going home.”

he dismisses the ache of trying to remember what it was he’d been so intent on forgetting. there’s no room for it in his flooded mind. his vision dips, swimming, and he sways slightly on his feet. reaching to hold one hand to his head, eyes shutting. “fuck.”

"it's okay, i'll walk you to my car. it's not far." he places his hand on thomas's arm. “when you get home we can get you water, okay?” he's starting to feel light headed, as if he's not actually there but completely disconnected from his body. the world seems to be spinning around them and he isn't sure why. he closes his eyes for a moment, shaking his head and opening them again. nerves.

he nods, reaching for the car door to lean against as they approach it. “okay.” something surfaces in his mind from the previous night— water, a glass of water, alex’s bathroom floor. he struggles to piece it together. “best person in my life,” he repeats mindlessly, the words barely registering in his head.

“here, watch your head.” alex opens the car door, allowing thomas to sit down on his own. he closes the door behind him, walking over to the other side of the car.

he begins to wonder if he's just dreaming. if he fell asleep on his couch and he's remembering pieces of last night. he sits down in the drivers seat, turning the key and pulling out of the parking spot. he turns onto the main street, turning left to get down to thomas's house.

thomas lets his head loll back against the seat, eyes falling closed, the motion of the car feeling much faster than it actually is. slowly, more memories find their way into his head— this car, the stairwell, alex’s front door. memories from last night.

he pauses, eyes opening. the stairwell, alex’s front door. that’s something else. that’s not just last night. he fights to remember, but every drunken ounce in his body screams at him not to, and he shakes his head slightly, frowning. from the window he catches a glimpse of his apartment building— home— rapidly approaching, less rapidly as the car slows to a stop in front of it. the familiarity of it is welcoming, warm in a sense, and he instantly reaches to open the car door.

alex gets out of the car, walking over to the other side just in time for thomas to stumble out.

“alright, could i have your keys so i can open the door?” he asks quietly, holding onto thomas's side. slowly walking towards the front of his apartment building.

“wh- oh. keys. right.” thomas’s hands reach for his pockets; both at once, he’s forgotten which one he put his keys in. he finds them in his left pocket and fishes them out with slightly trembling hands, nearly dropping them before handing them to alex.

“thanks.” alex takes the keys and unlocks the door.

he brings him to his apartment, switching the keys between his fingers and unlocking the door.

“okay, i'll take you to your room and i'll get you some water. do you need anything else?” he looks up at thomas directly for the first time all night. his eyes are lost, dropped down as if he's been crying for hours.

thomas looks back at him, eyes meeting his, and almost breaks down right then and there. he shakes his head, toying with the hem of his shirt to keep his hands from shaking. “no, i just— i need to lay down.” his words slur together, the result of both exhaustion and drunkenness. his knees give way, buckling, and he grabs onto alex’s arm to steady himself. “god, fuck.”

“shit-” he pulls thomas close, wrapping his arms around him. “can we walk to your room?” he asks softly, holding him up. he can't quite tell if thomas is able to move or not. “you're too big for me to carry, buddy-o,” he jokes, pushing him up. he knows now isn't really the time for jokes but he can't help but try and lighten the mood.

thomas laughs grimly, holding on to alex like a lifeline. “uh. yeah, that’s- probably best-“ he stammers, voice breaking off. his head aches, and his legs feel numb.

he takes a breath, afraid to attempt to walk. “wish you would. carry me. wish it was that easy.” another breath. every moment seems to take hours. “jesus, help— help me out here.”

“just try and use me as a human crutch until we get to your room, okay? it's right there.” he steps back, holding thomas tightly.

“right. yeah.” christ, had he forgotten the layout to his own apartment? he blinks, as if it could clear the blur from his vision. he clings onto alex, taking shaky steps towards his room, counting down the steps it would take him to get there. four, three, two, one, and he attempts to reach for the doorknob, turning it and weakly pushing the door open. as if proving something to himself. as if it helps at all.

the door swings open and there’s that strange twinge at the back of his mind, like he should be remembering something he’s not. he curses alcohol and everything about it.

they inches toward thomas’s bed every step cautious and after a hesitant moment alex lets go of him, letting him sit down.

"okay. you lay down and i’ll get you some water. give me a second."

he steps back out of thomas's room and into the nearby kitchen. he looks up at the cabinets, the feeling all too familiar. he goes through them, unsure of which one has the glasses. he finally finds them, and fills one with water. he brings it back to thomas's room, holding it up to his hands.

and in the three minutes it had taken for alex to come back, thomas remembered.

gradually, not all at once. he’d left the door slightly open behind him, he notices as he lays back- that’s something. slightly open like it was then (then, not when, he’s realized this is real, this happened). and then? then what?

he’d opened the door. carefully, quietly, and-

he remembers.

everything.

tries to tell himself everything’s okay now, he’s forgiven him, but his drunken mind is hearing none of it.

his heart plummets, stomach knotting itself over and over again. only vaguely aware of alex re-entering the room. he stares straight ahead of him, his face stone cold.

“you broke my heart.”

alex’s head goes cold, looking straight at thomas, bringing the glass back towards himself.

“i—”

he chokes, as if thomas drinking again wasn't enough of a reminder. his eyes dart down, trying to keep himself from crying. he turns his head, if he was ever at a loss for words it was at this moment. tears begin to roll down his cheeks, his hands tremble, setting the glass down on the night stand.

“i should go.” he looks back at thomas. “i don't think you want me here,” he continues, glancing back at the door.

“just go.” it’s as if he’s talking to himself. voice barely above a murmur, his eyes glazed over. he can’t cry, but his chest aches as if he’s been punched; his throat’s tightened up, head going numb.

his mind is screaming at him— (but i forgave you! tell me why i forgave you! tell me what you said, every word, i need to hear it again—) but he says none of it. the air conditioner hums from the other room, the only exception to the silence that had fallen over them.

and finally he feels tears welling up in his eyes, quietly streaming down his reddened face.

“please.”

alex nods, his throat burning from trying not to sob. speechless. wanting to explain himself. to try and remind him of everything that's happened. he doesn't want to fight him, more than anything he wants him to be happy, but he knows that's not going to happen. god, just—

go, alexander. leave his apartment, go on.

he steps back, barely able to keep himself upright. nearly falling to his knees. he turns, stumbling through thomas's bedroom door. his breath speeding up, turning the doorknob and stepping outside. the air is surprisingly cold. his whole body shaking, he pushes himself outside the building.

back inside thomas covers his mouth with one hand, sniffling, his breathing staggered and completely out of his control. sliding down against his headboard, shoulders heaving, every inch of him shaking uncontrollably. this whole night is his fault. his own damn fault he started drinking again, let it take over him, let the alcohol speak for him, put words into his mouth-

no. he’s fine. really.

he tells himself that. he tells himself he’ll explain all this to alex in the morning and hope to god everything’s okay.

he has this under control.

it’s not a problem.

the car door slams shut behind alex.

staring into space, he finally breaks down, sobs uncontrollably rattling his body. he hits his head down onto the steering wheel of his stupid fucking car— stupid fucking words and stupid fucking tears. he takes his phone out of his pocket and throws it down onto the floor of his car, kicking it to the passengers side. shut up alexander, that's all you had to do. shut your big fat fucking mouth. why can’t you can't do that? maybe it's because you're a fucking idiot.

he takes the keys from his pocket, his hands shaking as he starts the car and begins driving back to his apartment.

thomas considers reaching for his phone. calling alex, begging him to come back. the low hum of the air conditioner is no company, and he’s completely and utterly alone in every sense of the word.

(help me get through this. / of course.)

can he even stand to see him again tomorrow? three times now he’s had to deal with him drunk, and that’s three times more than thomas had ever intended. he’d meant to hide that part of himself. because maybe acting like it wasn’t there would make it go away.

he rolls over onto his side, numbness flooding his mind, tears staining his cheeks.

he was right. he’s crashing. dragging alexander with him. and there’s nothing he can do about it now except ride it out.

but it’ll work itself out. of course it will.

after all, it’s not a problem.

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