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There was someone in Monty’s backyard. Miller was barking like a madman, which Monty was almost 100% sure that he was as mad as a dog could be, and there were these weird hissing sounds, which could be a person? He turned over in his bed, staring at his alarm clock, which was flashing 3:27.
Fucking hell.
He reached blindly for his glasses or his iPhone, finding his glasses first. He slipped them on, his vision clearing instantly, as he picked up his iPhone and turned flashlight on. He poked his toe out of the covers and shivered involuntarily. Fuck, it was freezing out there. Why did there have to be someone outside patting his dog at 3 am?
As he crept slowly down the stairs, he was aware of the music that was playing down the street, and Monty began to put the pieces together. The person in his backyard was probably drunk, and had wandered into his yard from the street party down the road.
He peeked out the window and immediately had a bright light flash into his face. He squinted, bringing his arm up to cover his face. Jesus Christ Octavia.
The offending house belonged to the Blake siblings, Bellamy and Octavia. Bellamy was a classics major, so he was probably over at Clarke’s house for the night, ‘studying’. Octavia would then throw a massive party with one of the local street gangs, and trust that Clarke could keep her brother distracted for long enough while she cleaned up.
Miller let out another loud bark, and Monty knew that he would have to go and confront the issue sooner or later. He didn’t particularly want Miller to get injured because of some drunk.
“Dogssss are greeeeeat,” a drunk voice slurred.
Monty reached for something, anything, scared out of his mind, coming up with an umbrella. Oh well, it would have to do.
“Who’s there?” he called out shakily, the umbrella raised like a sword.
“The doooooog whispererer. I think your dooogggy loooooves me,” the drunk voice slurred again. Monty walked down the corridor and came face to face with a shaggy haired man, intense safety goggles strapped to his forehead. Goggles was standing next to Miller, who looked as terrified as a dog could look, half hitting half patting him.
“Are you okay?” Monty questioned, not lowering the umbrella.
“I told youuuuuu, idiot. The dooooog whispererer,” Goggles garbled, swaying. He was well and truly drunk out of his mind.
“I asked if you were okay, not who you were?” Monty said, instinctually more than anything.
“Didn’t you askkkkkk like, before, or something?” Goggles said, rubbing his head in confusion.
“Doesn’t matter,” Monty mumbled, dismissing it. Goggles was obviously too drunk to comprehend what he was talking about.
“You know whatttttt? Dogsss? They’re fuckinggggg fantastic!” His eyes widened to make it seem like he was about to kill Monty, who took a step back. Goggles fell forward onto his knees, his eyes becoming unfocused.
“Fantasticccccc,” he slurred, before convulsing. Monty knew what he was about to do, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the spattering of puke that he got on his feet.
“Fuck,” he cursed, knowing he would have to clean Goggles up. He couldn’t just leave him here, unconscious in the backyard. The sofa would do for him tonight.
First priority though, getting this disgusting puke off of his bare feet. As he stood underneath the garden tap, worrying whether a toe would fall off due to the fact that the water was so bloody cold, he could hear Goggles snoring, which was probably the most disgusting thing he had encountered in his life, considering Goggles was lying in a pile of his own puke, and he was a pre-med student.
Shit. Recovery position. He could be choking on his own vomit or something. God Monty, you’re a pre-med student, you should have already done this shit.
He walked over to Goggles and began running through all of the steps that he had learnt in pre-med. Danger? None. Response? Don’t worry about it. No need for help. Airways? Unclogged. Breathing? Stable. No need for CPR or defibrillation, so looks like Goggles was in the clear.
Monty went back inside and began to rummage through his linen closet (yes, he had a linen closet, no he was not an eighty year old woman), looking for a sheet he could wrap Goggles in when he carried him into the lounge room. He honestly didn’t know if he was strong enough to lift a guy that size, but he would have to try, for Goggles’ sake if not his own.
He rolled Goggles carefully into the one sheet big enough when he was back out in the garden, then bending down and picking him up bridal style. Wow. He was surprisingly light.
It took being up close with this guy for Monty to realise how attractive he was, much to his chagrin. This guy had stumbled into his life quite unexpectedly at 3 am, but now he was contemplating a date with him? Totally embarrassing, and something he would never mention to anyone.
“Uuh,” Goggles groaned, trying to shift around in Monty’s arms. Thanks a lot, Goggles, you just had to make it harder for him. He tried to still Goggles, to no avail, who kept wriggling around. He very nearly sprinted into the living room, practically dumping him on the sofa at the first available moment.
“Sorry mate,” he said sympathetically, “I hope you’re happy with the couch.”
Monty pulled the blanket up around Goggles, before removing the one thing that gave him a name and laying them on the coffee table in front of him. He gently lifted his head up and placed a cushion underneath.
He walked back to the stairs, intending to go back to bed, but not before looking back at Goggles, who was lying peacefully on the couch.
“Sweet dreams.”
100100100100100
What the fuck? The light was streaming in, too bright for Jasper, and he was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He did not remember going to sleep on a sofa last night. Hell, he didn’t remember going to sleep last night.
He went to open his eyes, but the moment a single sliver of light snuck in, his eyes instantly shut, the pain too much. Shit, he must have gotten smashed last night.
“Do you want some coffee?” A voice came ringing out. In the back of his head, there were memories of a man, someone who had a dog, someone that he met last night.
“That would be great thanks,” he mumbled, his head swimming. Jasper had no idea what was going on, but he was going to take the free coffee while he still could. A few minutes, or hours, or seconds later (Jasper really had no understanding of time when he was hungover, a mug of steaming coffee was placed in front of him.
He still hadn’t opened his eyes, but the smell of expensive, freshly brewed coffee, might just be the answer to some of his problems. His eyelids gently flickered open, slowly and painfully, revealing the sight of a man, crouched in front of him, holding two steaming mugs of freshly brewed coffee.
“You sir, are a godsend,” he said gratefully, accepting the coffee. The man who gave it to him retreated to the armchair across the room, sitting down and drinking his coffee.
“Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your name and what were you doing in my backyard at 3 am with my dog?” The man said calmly. Jasper, on the other hand, spat out his drink.
“I was doing what?” Jasper said, racking his brain for any memory of him doing anything like that. The dog definitely sounded familiar, but the rest of it made it seem like Jasper was insane or something. But he couldn’t really deny that, because his friends told him he was insane on a daily basis.
“You came wandering into my backyard and started telling me you were the dog whisperer, ending with you puking on my feet and passing out,” he said, not looking up from his cup of coffee.
“Did I really do that?” Jasper said, astounded. God, he was definitely hammered as fuck last night, especially if he can’t remember doing that.
“Yeah. The one detail you forgot to mention, however, was your name.”
“Oh, its uh, Jasper,” he said awkwardly.
“I’m Monty, and the dog you probably half molested last night is Miller,” Monty said confidently. He didn’t know where all of this confidence was coming from, but he was loving it, because it probably made him seem less like an idiot and more like someone he would…
Monty didn’t know where he was going with that train of thought, but he scrapped it almost instantly. Jasper was someone he met randomly, and would probably never see again, so he should just offer him a ride to wherever he needed to go and be done with it.
Instead, however, his brain came out with, “Wanna go and get Starbucks?”
Jasper was thoroughly confused for all of three seconds about what Monty was asking him. Didn’t they already have coffee in their hands? Plus, he didn’t think that he would be able to move, not since his head was pounding and he was developing an allergy to sunlight.
But he found himself accepting, because something inside of him was telling him that Monty was trying to ask him out on a date, not buy him a coffee to cure his hangover.
“Great,” Monty said, smiling in this strange way that made Jasper’s insides go all fluttery and strange. He definitely would not mind seeing more of that smile. He got up to follow Monty, who had retreated into the kitchen, but sat down almost instantly when pain rocketed through his skull. There was one important part of the post hangover routine that Jasper had forgotten.
“Before we go though, you wouldn’t happen to have any Advil? Or a change of clothes?”
It was to Monty’s endless amusement and Jasper’s eternal embarrassment that he met his boyfriend during one of said boyfriend’s drunken escapades.
“Am I ever going to live that down?” He asked half-heartedly when Monty was telling the story yet again to a bartender named Maya.
“Not at all,” Monty said, grinning from ear to ear. And really, if the story made Monty grin like that, then maybe it wasn’t a bad story to tell.