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"Fuck this, let's get drunk," Erlich said.
Richard looked down at the bottle in his arms. He was cradling the tequila like a baby, or maybe clinging to it like a life preserver, and when Erlich grabbed it and started pouring shots Richard flailed, no longer sure what to do with his arms.
"We, we, we, should we really, is drinking really a good idea right now, we..."
"I'm in," Gilfoyle said with a shrug.
"You're really going to drink that guy's tequila? After he fucked us over?" Dinesh asked.
"Bet your ass I am. The least that fucker could do is give us a portal into sweet alcohol-induced oblivion."
"Geez, Dinesh, don't be such a pissbaby," Carla said as she crossed the room. "When you pass out I'll make sure you're on your side so you don't choke to death on your own vomit."
"Hey, don't joke about that," Erlich grumbled. "That's how Hendrix died."
Richard took the shot glass Erlich handed to him, and was dimly surprised when Jared did the same. It tasted the way melted plastic smelled, but he did another shot, and then one more, and then excused himself, stumbling to his room.
Richard's head was swimming. He stood in the center of the room in the dark, wringing his hands and trying to figure out what the fuck they were supposed to do now. "Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!"
His phone vibrated, slipped out of his hand like a bar of soap when he tried pulling it from his pocket. He finally got his hands around it and checked the text.
It was from Jared, and all it said was I believe in you.
Richard stared at it, like maybe it would help, if he just looked at it long enough, but all he felt was vaguely queasy. Then there was a rapping at the door, a voice calling tentatively, "Richard? It's Jared? Did you get my text?"
"Yeah," Richard said. "Yeah, no, I did. It was, uh, it was nice. Thanks."
There was a pause, then, "Is it all right if I come in?"
"Yeah. Sure. Do whatever."
Jared stepped into the room carefully – the way he did everything – and pushed the door closed behind him. He looked more ghostlike than ever in the slants of moonlight coming through the blinds.
"Richard, I know you said you read my text, and I believe you. But I can tell you're upset right now--"
"Upset!" Richard's voice was doing that thing where its pitch headed up into a register that usually required a hit of helium. "What am I supposed to feel, Jared? Happy that we just got completely fucked over because of a goddamn misplaced tequila bottle? There's no way we can recover from this. We're just. Fucked. So, so completely fucked."
"I know it seems bad. That's why I thought maybe it would be more effective if I told you in person." Jared's hands came up to Richard's shoulders, and Richard was so surprised he went completely still beneath them. Had Jared ever touched him, aside from that hug after they'd won TechCrunch? He gave a slight squeeze that was genuinely comforting, and with deep solemnity like he was making some kind of unbreakable vow, Jared intoned, "I believe in you."
Why? Richard wanted to ask, but the word stayed put, rattling around inside his head. Jared's left hand had slid up, cupping Richard's cheek, and it felt so nice Richard didn't even realize immediately how odd that was. But when Jared leaned closer, head tilted and eyes half-closed, Richard took a step back. That seemed to snap Jared to his senses.
"...were you just trying to kiss me?" Richard asked, incredulous.
"I. Ah." Jared looked around, at his own empty hands, at Richard. "I, I'm terribly sorry, Richard, that was... incredibly unprofessional of me. I shouldn't have had that second shot-" He interrupted himself with a nervous laugh. "I shouldn't blame the alcohol, though, there's really no excuse for such inappropriate-"
"Well fuck, why not," Richard said, and closed the distance between them.
Kissing Jared wasn't anything like Richard might have imagined it, if it had ever occured to Richard to imagine it before. He was solid and warm and his lips were soft and his fingers were twining into Richard's hair, and Richard thought he could taste the burn of the tequila on Jared's tongue. And he was so tall – when the kiss trailed off Richard could just lean against him, arms around Jared's torso, forehead against his shoulder. It felt less weird than it probably would have if he hadn't just slammed three shots of Tres Commas.
"You should get some sleep, Richard," Jared said reasonably, his breath warm against Richard's ear, hand still stroking his hair like he was a cat. "We'll get through this."
"I don't think I can get up the ladder," Richard mumbled.
"All right, then, how about I bring your bed to you?" When he stepped away Richard rocked forward into the space he left, unsteady.
Jared pulled the pillows from Richard's loft, then dragged down the blanket. "...do you need the mattress? I could probably get the mattress, but it might be easier to just lift you up there-"
"Nah, I'm good. The floor is fine. Thanks." Richard took the blanket, twisting the edge in his hands. "Jared, could you, uh. Do you think you could maybe stay here tonight?"
"Here... at the house?"
"I mean here like, here. Just, uh. I think it'd be nice if you. Uh. If we. If we just tried spooning, a little bit?"
"If that's what you want."
Richard had never been spooned by someone else. He wasn't sure he'd want to even acknowledge what had happened later, once the tequila and the panic had worn off. He woke up with a dry mouth, a sore back, and his hand halfway asleep under Jared's arm, but his shirt was dry, and he hadn't heard a word of German all night.