Work Text:
The back of Seth's throat burned as his stomach forced up its contents out into the sink in front of him. He'd barely stumbled into the bathroom before everything was coming back up, leaving him just barely staying upright at the counter, knuckles turning white around the ceramic.
He shouldn't've gone out tonight, but he wasn't smart enough to regret it, so here he was. Cursed to tear himself apart, over and over, and never to learn his lesson.
Seth got about three seconds to breathe fresh air before he threw up again.
This time, upon resurfacing, he realized he'd brought the bottle into the bathroom with him. It was lying on its side, inches from his hand, only dregs left in the bottom now. Seth grabbed it, threw the cap somewhere over his shoulder and downed the last of it in one swig. The resultant taste in his mouth was almost enough to make him throw up again, but he just spat a couple times and scrubbed a hand over his eyes.
No fucking use. He couldn't get it out of his head.
He couldn't count how many times he'd been to Bacchus. He knew every damn foot of the building like the back of his hand, knew all the regular customers and all the staff. It was practically his fucking club. But he'd never seen them before.
Seth hadn't even noticed when he'd seen them. Just that he'd come back to the table with some of the guys from the football team that weren't in-fucking-tolerable, two fresh drinks in hand, and he'd taken over hold of the table while the others did whatever. It wasn't as depressing as it sounded, drinking alone. Plenty of bodies around to hide the fact.
They had been two of them, hovering at the edge of the dancefloor. Seth didn't recognise them, which might've been why he watched. They were both wearing entirely black, matching bullet belts and thick jackets. At first, it'd only been the one guy, leaning against the wall, eyes scanning the crowd like he was looking for somebody. He had long hair, longer than Seth had seen on a guy before, and half of it was braided back against his skull. His expression was blank, almost bored, but then he caught sight of a movement in the crowd, and a smile spread to his eyes. Another, taller man was walking toward him, drink in hand, and the shorter had greeted him with an arm wound around his neck.
And he kissed him.
The club was dark, sure, but it was still public. Nobody around seemed to notice, not even when the taller set his drink down to tangle his fingers in the other's hair, pressing their bodies together. They didn't look like fags, either. Seth was sure the one against the wall wasn't a girl, and the other definitely wasn't.
They kissed for a long time. Hands roaming over and under layers, until the dancefloor widened when the song changed, and Seth lost sight of the two completely.
The ice in his drink had melted by then. He was holding the glass so tight he could feel it wanting to shatter under his grip, and he didn't know why he suddenly couldn't breathe in here, but he just couldn't.
Seth downed what was left in front of him, and abandoned the table and the tab to the others. They'd get him back for it, but he didn't care now. He had to get out.
The bus he took back was empty save for a couple other people, and Seth hunched down in one of the seats at the back, tugging his jacket further around his shoulders like it could smother him. He stared at the cracked, bruised knuckles of his hands and started to trace the lines. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it wasn't his finger at all, but his sister's, carefully drawing out every line on Seth's palm with her tiny nail as glass smashed on the other side of a slammed door.
He missed his stop, and had to walk two miles back to campus. Fox Tower crested the horizon like a beacon calling him home, or warding him away, and Seth's body walked him back as his mind spun away from him. He wasn't all the way back to himself until he was snatching a bottle of vodka from the cabinet in the dorm kitchen, flicking the cap off and racing himself to alcohol poisoning.
Now, Seth found himself on the floor of the bathroom, back against the tub as he stared at the tile wall opposite him and wondered how much booze was left in the dorm. His stomach churned at the thought, but he wanted it anyway.
Gotta burn that shit out. Only way to fix it.
He couldn't force himself to move. Every time he closed his eyes, he replayed those moments in his head. Braided hair and a smile, condensation on the rim of a glass and a kiss that lasted days, weeks, years. It didn't matter.
Mama always said fags are sinners. Sinners suffer and sinners go to hell.
If they're sinners, Seth's traitorous mind asked him, why do they make it look so easy?
Blink, and he's watching it all over again. Closer, though, close enough to see every point of contact between them, hear every gasped breath, almost feel it on his own skin–
Sinners suffer. Sinners go to hell.
Another blink, and this time it's him who's walking across the floor toward that guy by the wall, he's being smiled at, reached for, wanted. Calloused fingers grazing at the nape of his neck, warm breath whispering in his ear, the length of a body pressed against his own, and it's–
sinners suffer. sinners go to hell.
i'm already in hell.
Glass suddenly shatters on the floor beside him, and Seth feels the bite of shards digging into the skin of his arm. The bottle on the counter had rolled off and hit the tile beside him, and now there's beads of blood forming in the tiny cuts it left on him. Seth doesn't even move.
A voice from the other room, roused by the sudden noise, appears in the doorway.
"Jesus, Seth. What did you do?"
What did you do. It's always something he's done.
"Nothin'," he answered truthfully, though the scoff in Matt's response probably meant he wasn't truthful enough.
"How'd you come back early and still get this fucked up?"
Just lucky, Seth guessed. He didn't say that though, because Matt was silent for a long while before he said, a little gentler this time,
"Are you okay?"
Laughter bubbled up inside his chest, but only surfaced as a crooked smile, before Seth finally rolled his head to one side to look at Matt.
"'M fine. Scout's honor."
He even tried to raise a shaking hand in a little salute, but it was his injured arm, and he dropped it again.
Matt shook his head, but he just sighed.
"You know, one of these days somebody's gonna believe you when you say that. But that's not gonna make it true."
Then he was gone. Seth watched the flickering light reflect off of the broken glass, and lost track of time.