Chapter Text
A quiet fell over the north wing of House Vermillion. All throughout the castle, partiers were waking to find themselves amidst a sea of hungover bodies. The smell of booze and sweat flavored every room. In some places, a cool summer breeze stirred the air thanks to an open window. But most people were waking on a couch or floor, among their fallen comrades, amidst the afterbirth of one hell of a party.
Somewhere in the distance, the dull whir of a vacuum cleaner dragged Solid out of a heavy sleep. His eyes fluttered open, and then squeezed back shut. The sunlight streaming in from the window behind him burned. He was queasy, and he suspected that if he moved, he’d still feel the delayed vertigo of drunkenness in his head. But he wasn’t nauseous enough to just be drunk-- and he was still too drunk to just be drunk. He must have gotten into something else last night, too.
He looked around the room, piecing together his surroundings. He was laying on a bed, in a guest room. He patted himself on the back for managing not to fall asleep in the open, with all the regular partygoers. Evidently, Drunk Solid had kept the comfort of Hungover Solid in mind. He had woken up with a blanket over him and laying on his side. Good job, Drunk Solid.
He rubbed his neck and grimaced. What a magnificently rude feeling it was, to be both high and hungover. His golden choker was missing, and his top had fallen away from his pale, sticky neck. He patted his chest, assuring that the rest of his clothes were still in place. He’d never gotten so drunk that he’d woken up naked, but accessories and pieces of clothing missing… that wasn’t totally uncommon. Silva attire wasn’t especially comfortable for partying, after all.
His clothes, as rumpled as they were, were mostly intact; his belt was missing, and his pants were riding a little low on his hips. So as far as blackouts went, not a bad way to wake up. He let his head fall against the pillow under him as he patted himself down one more time.
He realized that he was pressed against someone else when his hand did not land on his own ass.
Bristling, he pushed himself upright and scrambled to turn around. With the motion, an arm that he’d found against his stomach slid onto his thigh. Solid nearly fell out of bed trying to escape it. When he finally slithered out from under it, he threw the blanket back. What he saw under it made his face go white.
Langris Vaude. Shirt missing, hair a mess, sound asleep. Solid’s gold collar collapsed around his neck
Drunken panic boiled in his stomach. He had no memory of seeing Langris the night before. Where did he come from? Why were we spooning?
He scrambled off the bed and ended up face-down in the carpet. Spitting out fuzz, he crawled along the floor until he was safely out of Langris’ unconscious reach. There he stopped and stared at him again. The passed out space mage hadn’t so much as twitched.
Solid ran his hands through his loose silver bangs and rolled onto his back. What the hell happened last night? He couldn’t remember anything after the first couple hours of the party. But his clothes were a mess, and his body was hot and sticky, and Langris Vaude’s body had been pressed against his. His heart shook his entire chest as a question mounted in his drunk mind.
Did I have sex?
It had happened to people at these parties now and then; that type of thing tended to. But it had never happened to him . Solid prided himself on his self restraint; he may drink to excess, but he’d never done something as embarrassing as shacking up with someone and not remembering it. In fact, he’d never shacked up with anyone. Ever. Except-?
Did I have sex with LANGRIS VAUDE!?
The question pounded against the sides of his head. He needed to get out of here. He could figure all this out later. The worst possible thing he could do now was stick around.
He climbed to his feet and relished that the room barely swayed. Whatever he was on, it wasn’t that strong anymore. He was steady. He gathered his shoes and choker, and sparing Langris one last mortified glance, he slipped into the hall.
One of the perks of being cousins with the host of the weekly Coral Peacocks ragers was that he didn’t have to ask to use the showers. He helped himself to a different guest room where he took a long shower and assessed the damage. Some light stains on his clothes; sticky skin, obviously from spilled wine and spirits; tangled, sweaty hair. Nothing out of the norm that he could see.
As he stepped out of the shower, he pulled his hair into a ponytail and eyed his reflection in the steamy mirror. Yeah, he probably had nothing to worry about. He’d notice if he’d had sex, right?... He’d feel it somewhere? There’d be evidence?
It embarrassed him to think about it. He turned away, reaching for his clothes, only to do a double-take. In an instant he was pressed to the sink, mopping away the steam with the corner of his towel.
He leaned in. Craned his neck. What is that?
A faint, purple mark on his neck, just above his clavicle. He’d almost mistaken it for a shadow.
His nose nearly touched the glass as he leaned in and twisted his neck, forcing the spot into the light. No. Definitely not a shadow. I must have missed a spot. He grabbed a washcloth, wet it at the sink, and wiped at the spot. It didn’t fade.
His pits started to sweat. He dripped some soap on the cloth and scrubbed again. His skin reddened, and the cloth foamed up, but when he splashed it clean, the mark was still there, now in a halo of rosy skin. He slapped the washcloth onto the sink and leaned toward the mirror again. Why isn’t it washing off?
It occurred to him slowly, muscling its way through a wall of drunkenness and willful ignorance: A bruise. It wasn’t coming off because it was a bruise. A hickey.
He grabbed the cloth again and scrubbed until his skin was raw; only when he was sure that he could not have possibly missed a spot did he stop, set down the cloth, and lean against the sink.
Still there.
Shit. He was so mortified it was hard to breathe. Heart pounding, he dressed and slunk out of the room. He probably just ran into something. It’d happened before-- not often, but it had. There was no way-
“Oh, there you are, cousin~”
Solid whirled around. Kirsch was sauntering towards him, neatly dressed and groomed save for an asymmetrical part in his hair. From the sway in his step, he was still completely hammered.
Solid swallowed and tried to sound casual. “Hey, Kirsch.”
“Off so soon? You had such a great time last night,” he lilted, throwing his arm around Solid’s shoulders. He was long past alcohol on the breath; the man smelled like an open bottle of wine. “Won’t you join me for breakfast?”
“No, I gotta go!” He tried to wiggle out from under him, but Kirsch was all but using him as a crutch. If he dumped him on the floor, he’d never get out of here. “Let go, Kirsch! I have somewhere to be!”
The redhead’s lips puckered into a sleepy frown. He drew himself up and pressed his finger tips to his forehead. “After a night like that, you’re running off…”
Solid stopped mid-stride and whirled on him. “What? What do you mean?”
He let out a melancholic sigh that nearly took him off his feet. “Go. I know when my beauty is no longer appreciated.”
“Wait, Kirsch! Wait!” He scuttled back to him and grabbed his arm, inadvertently keeping him from staggering mid-pose. “What did I do last night? What happened?”
Kirsch turned toward him with a smile. “Hmm?”
“What happened? What was I doing!?”
His older cousin stared, lips curled into a drunken smirk.
Solid shook him. “Kirsch! Tell me what I did!”
“I don’t know,” he giggled, head bobbing like it would fall off. “Do you have something you want to discuss…?”
He threw up his hands, turned on his heel, and ran away.
“You’re up early.”
Solid froze mid-step. His head craned robotically toward the open door to his left, where his big brother was sitting on the couch, a book in his hands, ankles crossed on the coffee table.
“How was the party?”
“Fine!”
His voice cracked like a prepubescent boy’s. Nozel’s eyes jumped to him, narrowed and wary.
He was caught. He wasn’t sure if he’d done anything wrong, but whatever he’d done, he’d just got caught after doing it.
“You look terrible,” Nozel chided. “Go change and then come back here.”
Venturing to breathe, Solid slunk off to his room. As he changed into fresh clothes, he wondered if disobeying his brother’s order and hiding for a day or two would be better than whatever would come out of going to talk to him. Nozel would be furious if he didn’t come back. And had he actually done anything wrong? Nothing that he could prove. After all, it was probably nothing. They probably just talked. And layed down together. And fell asleep spooning. Average party stuff. He didn’t usually fall asleep with people, but that was besides the point. And the mark on his neck had nothing to do with that. Probably.
He didn’t realize his face was burning until he glanced at the mirror. Red from his forehead to his neck. If he went to see Nozel like this, there was no way he’d get out without an interrogation. But he wasn’t sure that he’d done anything wrong!
Maybe I’m looking at this from the wrong angle, he mused, tidying his ponytail. After all, if, by some astronomical chance, he had slept with Langris, it wasn’t like Langris was a disgrace to the Silva name. He would be just as much to blame as Solid would. And Nozel had experience with sleeping with people, as disgusting as it was for Solid to consider. Maybe, if he was careful, he could help Nozel help him get to the bottom of this.
He nodded to himself in the mirror and rubbed his cheeks, massaging the color out of them. This was a moderately good plan. He definitely wasn’t drunk enough for this plan to be complete horseshit.
Properly dressed and groomed, he marched back to the music room and sat down next to his brother. “What did you want, big brother? Why did you want me to come back?”
“How was the party?” he repeated, glancing sideways at him.
Solid leaned back and rubbed his neck, eyes on the coffee table. “It was good! Same as usual, I guess.”
“Nothing noteworthy happened?”
Solid’s fingers curled into the hair at his nape. Does he know? “Uh, not really. I drank a lot.”
“So you don’t remember.”
He sighed, relieved. Nozel’s tone was his usual casual disapproval, not the scathing suspicion of something done wrong. “Yes, I drank a little too much. But I’ll be fine in a couple hours.”
Nozel let out a hum. He turned the page of his book.
A silence settled between them. Solid fidgeted, his eyes still glued to the coffee table. This was his out, if he wanted it. Apparently he’d assuaged whatever suspicion Nozel had. He didn’t have to tell on himself. But who else could get him this vital information he needed?
He cleared his throat. “Brother?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever, uh…” He could feel his face heating up again. “L… Let’s say you, um. Had been seeing someone, and for reasons, you don’t remember the night you spent together. How would you find out what happened?”
A long silence.
Nozel closed his book and set it aside. “Solid-”
“I’m just saying, how do you know what happened? How can you tell?” he babbled, spreading his hands in front of him and staring at them like they had a script. “Without asking, how do you know? You must be able to tell!... Right?”
Nozel was staring directly at him. He pressed the knuckle of his finger to his lip and stared, unblinking. “What is this about?”
“It’s not about anything! It’s a hypothetical!”
“No, it’s not.”
He curled into himself, burying his crimson face in his hand.
“Did you sleep with someone last night?”
“Nozel!”
“Did you?”
“I don’t know!”
A smile threatened Nozel’s careful deadpan with everything it had. He managed to keep a straight face as he persisted. “Do you think you did?”
“I don’t know what to think!” Solid stuttered. “I didn’t even remember seeing him at the party, but when I woke up, he was-”
“Him?”
Solid’s face was between his knees. “Will you let me finish!?”
“Of course. Go on.”
“I… I don’t remember anything that happened last night. When I woke up, I was sleeping next to someone, and things just seemed off. I don’t know what happened!”
“Who was it, Solid?”
“Does it matter?” he barked, leering up at him desperately.
Nozel’s entire fist was pressed to his mouth. “No. I guess it doesn’t. What is your question again?”
“How do I know if…” He pressed his palm to his face and wondered just how bad it would be to suffocate himself to death. “...if I slept with him?”
“...Ah. You’d know.”
“How?”
“You’d know.”
“Nozel, that’s not helpful!” He ran his hands down his face and stared at him miserably. “It’s probably nothing, right? Tell me it’s nothing! I mean, I don’t even like men! I’m straight!”
Nozel’s eyes closed as if he was remembering something dear to him. “So is spaghetti until it gets hot and wet.”
“NOZEL!”
He held out his hand. “Lower your voice. If you don’t know, and you can’t tell, then you’ll have to figure it out someway.”
“Fine!” He jumped to his feet and stomped out of the room, leaving his pride in shattered pieces at his brother’s feet. “I will!”