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Drew is sixteen.
He has been for roughly a week now. He can't shut up about it — Jake isn't sure why. But after multiple lectures and eavesdropping on gossip while walking through the hallways, apparently the socially acceptable age for a teenager to drink is sixteen years old.
("But isn't the legal age for drinking twenty-one?" Jake asks, his history assignment scattered all over the floor, long forgotten. Ironic.
"Obviously," Drew clicks his pen. "But have you ever met a teenager, Jake? I guarantee you they have drank at least a little."
"Well, yeah," he scoffs. "But how come people are only not-weirded out by it when you're sixteen? Why not fourteen, or something."
"At fourteen you're basically a baby. At sixteen, you can get a driving license."
Jake feebly sorts out his history papers. "I don't think I was that stupid at fourteen."
"What are you talking about?" Drew snorts. "You literally had the messiest haircut ever."
"My hair is just thick!"
"Well, you could've just-")
Jake kind of gets the gist of it. But still, Drew is filthy rich, he could probably get some alcohol by money alone. No fake ID, no dressing more 'maturely'. Just greens in his wallet and a victim of capitalism eager to cope with the system.
… Reputation, maybe? Despite Drew's infinite amount of detentions he has gotten, he actually does care about how people perceive him. Wether it's somewhat or a lot is unknown to Jake — but he remembers the times where Drew would rant about how Zoey makes him look like a bad boyfriend, or that one time 'some kid' was bold enough to insult Drew, which almost gave said kid a black eye.
But drinking is not that much of a big thing in Rosemeadow High School. Jake has mostly only seen any sort of alcohol in those senior party things.
Maybe it's one of those Drew moments where he tries very hard to act like a typical teenager despite having everything served on a silver platter for all of his life.
Yeah, that's it.
The sound of footsteps bounce off the walls as Drew and Jake venture down a basement in the former's mansion.
As he follows behind his friend, Jake sneezes. "Drew, where exactly are we going?"
"You'll see," Drew fumbles with his keys as they reach a brown door, carved with flora in a perfect symmetry. It stands out like a lone star in the darkened night.
After twists and turns and a few kicks to the door, it opens with a loud creak, revealing pitch black.
Drew glides his hand across the walls like a blind man, and just like that, something clicks and the room reveals it's secrets.
More specifically, an abundance of alcohol.
Jake walks around, seeing nothing but shelves of fancy, unreadable, probably European named drinks. "What the fuck."
"This is a wine cellar," Drew answers before Jake could ask. "But not everything here is wine," he grabs some random bottle off a dusty shelf and sneezes. "This is beer," he squints at it. "I think."
"I thought you would go out and buy drinks yourself," Jake repeatedly taps on a group of bottles, creating a nice melody. "You know, the legit way."
Drew sighs. "Couldn't find the time to get a fake ID," he grumbles as he goes deeper into the cellar. "Honour classes have been kicking my ass."
"You said they were easy," Jake grins, turning to look at him.
"They are," Drew stops in his tracks to give Jake a somewhat-glare (could be one, could just Drew's resting face, just slightly modified). "But the workload has been crazy. Seriously, do they not know I take other classes?"
"That's high school for ya'," Jake shrugs. Drew rolls his eyes in response.
After a few minutes of Drew's never-ending pondering, and Jake kind of just walking, the former finally takes two bottles of something.
He nudges Jake's shoulder as he passes by, pulling Jake's consciousness back down to earth. "Found some. Lets go."
Still trying to reconnect with reality, Jake scrambles behind. "Wait! What drink is that?"
"Beer," Drew says as he twists the key, locking the door "Shouldn't be too much."
Jake blinks. "Really?"
Drew raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean by 'Really'?"
"I don't know. I thought you would pick a stronger one, or something," Jake scratches his nape.
As Drew starts moving up the stairs, he scoffs. "And send you into a coma? I'm not an idiot, Jake."
"Not that! It's just, you really like taking up a good challenge."
"I just want to drink with my bro. I don't really want anything extreme."
A sigh gets out of Jake as the two finally get out of the basement. "Okay, dude. But you made it sound like such a big deal."
Drew shrugs. "I lost the hype."
"But it's only been a-"
"Shush."
Jake opens his mouth.
Drew glares at him.
He quickly shuts it back. "Okay."
"Nice," Drew's face goes back to resting. "Anyway, does the patio sound good?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Cool," the bottles make a light sound as he readjusts his grip on them. "Let's go."
They sit across from each other, a fire pit table sitting between them. It is not lit.
Jake fumbles a little as he adjusts his legs. "It's a little dark out here."
Drew hums in acknowledgement. He looks at the fire pit, looks away, then picks up some artificial candle and turns it on.
Jake blinks.
After a few beats of silence, Drew sighs. "Look, if you get too drunk, you could burn yourself."
Offended, Jake scoffs. "Just me? How about you?"
"I won't, obviously," Drew smirks, his chair creaking slightly as he relaxes. "I'm always in one piece."
Jake stares at him for a bit before rolling his eyes, but in classic yes-man fashion, doesn't say a thing.
Then he hears clicking accompanied by frustrated grunting.
With veins popping out of his hands, Drew tries to open his beer bottle, fighting it like it's a wild animal.
"I-" Jake gets cut off by a particularly loud grunt, perhaps a growl. "I think we should get one of those cap openers."
Drew doesn't even look at him. "Nah, I got this."
Then he wrestles it some more.
Even tries to bite the cap.
Pauses for a moment just to stare at it.
Almost smashes sit against the table, but he snaps out of it and lets out a defeated sigh.
"You stay here," He tells Jake as he walks off into what presumably is the kitchen, leaving him with his beer bottle.
Eventually, he does come back, looking like he just lost a fight, or got rejected from a scholarship, or- well, you know.
He grabs his beer bottle and gets to work. He fumbles with it so much Jake swears he's about to witness property damage real soon.
With a pop and a fizz, the beer bottle finally opens.
"It's kind of like soda," Jake jokes, trying to lighten up his friend.
Drew hums, unamused. "Totally."
He slides the opener to Jake and the latter somehow opens it in one try, earning a scoff from Drew.
"Whatever," he mumbles, pulling out his phone.
He looks at Jake expectantly, and before the latter could say anything stupid, he catches on and taps his bottle against Drew's.
Drew's phone clicks as he snaps a photo. "Cheers."
"Cheers," Jake smiles.
And almost immediately, Drew takes a sip (after putting his phone back to its natural habitat, of course) and shortly after that, starts chugging it down his throat.
Jake stares at him, mouth slightly agape.
Drew turns to look at him after taking a big chug. "What are you doing? Drink."
"I- Oh, yeah, I," Jake lets out a shaky laugh. "Hm."
He stares at the bubbles before taking a sip.
His whole face squeezes into itself. "Fuck," he mumbles. This is worst than that discontinued Monster flavour Liam has sitting on his shelf for multiple years. Ridiculously harsh on the tongue and too adult-y.
He turns to see how Drew's handling it and somehow that guy already has half of his drink gone. What the fuck. How the fuck. This is the same guy that jumped on Jake's couch when he saw his dog, by the way.
Biting his cheek and whining slightly, Jake mans up and takes another sip.
Then another.
Followed by another.
And another.
He ends up with fog in his brain and a half-emptied bottle. He pulls his knees to his chest and places his face between his legs, groaning.
Eventually, he musters up the strength and cranks his head towards Drew.
And. Well.
He's dead against his seat with his legs sprawled out, one of his arms dangling off and the other limped against his forehead.
"Uh, Drew?"
No response.
"Drew!"
Not even a twitch.
Jake looks up at the night sky and wonders, what has his life come to?
The chair lets out a loud creak as he pushes himself off of it. He pauses as he looks at his own reflection on the glossy table. Red eyes and fucked up hair. Great.
He rubs his face and makes way to his dear friend Drew, making sure he is alive and well first. He is. Fortunate for him, unfortunate for some.
He shakes his shoulder. "Drew."
Unmoving.
He shakes both shoulders. "Drew."
Stillness.
He practically shoves him off. "Drew!"
Finally, a groan, followed by moving limbs.
Drew opens his eyes, slowly. "Huh..?" He tries to scramble into a proper position, but his legs lack cooperation and his hands grasp at air. "Jesus..."
Jake feels like he already knows the answer, but — "Are you okay?"
"'Course," Drew mumbles, wiping saliva off of his mouth. He smells awful. "You look like hell."
Jake scoffs. "Y- You- You're literally- Fuck, whatever." He looks around the messy patio. "Let's clean up."
"Yeah…" Drew sits up but then his body seems to freeze in time. He's now just sitting there, eyes staring off into the distance.
Jake almost says something, but he has never seen Drew in this state before. He's not sure what to do.
So he grabs a bunch of tissues to start cleaning the spills (which were all on Drew's side, by the way) and throws the beer bottles into the recycling bin.
If it weren't for the slight fogginess, Jake wouldn't feel like collapsing right now. But alcohol is a bitch.
He nudges Drew. "Done. Do you want to head to your room? We could like… play a game, or, somethin'."
"Hmm…" Drew blinks. "Sounds good…"
"Cool. Come on, I don't even know what time it is right now."
Jake turns around and takes a head start. He continues to walk before a loud curse stops him in his tracks.
He turns around. "Drew?"
Drew grumbles, taking a ridiculously long time to get his was around a flower pot. "Stuff keeps getting in my way."
"… They were always there."
"Still-" Drew steps on Literally Nothing and loses his balance, but luckily, Jake is the most over-reactive person ever and saves Drew from getting face planted into the harsh, cold floor.
"You're really… out of it, aren't you?" Jake asks as he sits Drew back onto his seat.
"'m fine," Drew mumbles, barely coherent. He attempts to stand up again, to no avail.
"Sure," Jake says under his breath. "I'm gonna get someone."
Drew's eyes widen, looking aware for once. "What? No. Why?"
"Look at you," Jake gestures to Drew's… everything. "How are you supposed to get up the stairs if you're like this?"
Drew huffs. "I'll be fine."
"No, you won't."
Jake moves an inch and that immediately earns a pull by the sleeve.
"No."
Jake sighs. "Drew…" he almost argues but Drew's half lidded eyes and slightly furrowed eyebrow makes him look pitiful, somehow. Unfortunately, Jake is the easiest person to guilt-trip.
"Fuck," he groans, having to look away so his heart doesn't explode. He scratches the back of his neck, trying to think at the maximum his drunken mind allows him to.
And then he remembers that one time Henry said that Drew's mansion might as well be a labyrinth — with the hundreds and billions of rooms this building can hold.
"Is it okay if we sit in one of the guest rooms first?" Jake asks, turning back to look at Drew. "We'll go to your room after our heads clear up."
"Mm…" Drew's frown suggest he isn't fond of the idea, but, "Fine."
Jake waits for Drew this time but the latter is wobblier than a baby deer right now. He sighs, swinging Drew's arm over his shoulders to support him, much to Drew's dismay.
They finally reach one of the guest rooms, even with all of the stumbling and Drew constantly cursing into Jake's ear.
Once Jake opens the door, he sees the bed and gains the urge to just throw Drew onto it. He doesn't, obviously, but maybe in a different timeline he did do that. Luni knows.
He sits down next to Drew and takes a good look at him. The eye bags sitting under Drew's half lidded eyes makes him look more like a tired 9-5 worker than mysterious emo boy his nepo-baby-ass desperately wants to achieve, and his hair sticks up into every direction ever.
Drew flops onto the bed and places his hands on his chest like a dead man.
Jake clicks his tongue, about to speak up, but Drew beats him to it. "Do you think I'm lame?"
Jake blinks. "What?"
"You heard me," Drew rolls over to get a better look at Jake. "Am I lame, Jake?"
"I-" Jake stumbles, "No? Why are you asking me this?"
Something in Drew cracks as he stretches. "You're always…" he yawns, "You always doze off every time I talk to you."
"That's not true," he takes a seat on the bed. Drew glares at him. Jake sighs. "Okay, maybe sometimes. But that doesn't mean I think you're lame, you know."
Drew rolls to his other side, grumbling. "Liar."
Jake scoffs. "You think I'm able to lie while drunk?"
Drew doesn't respond. His body lays there, breathing slowly, steady. Unmoving. Jake can't tell if he's ignoring him or if he has blacked out.
The thing is, Drew never ignores Jake. Which, on surface, makes complete sense — why would you ignore your best friend? But once you get to know Drew, like — 'finding his secret collection of oddly cute bow socks that apparently aren't from Zoey' kind of get to know Drew — things don't line up as well.
Drew, having lived his life in a mansion the size of a small neighbourhood — and vacation homes that are probably only slightly smaller than that — gets bored of the normal things easily. (Which is silly, since he sees himself as the Judge of Normality, getting to decide who is normal and who is not.) Because of that, he almost never pays attention to things around him, opting to mindlessly scroll on his phone instead. Well, Jake wouldn't want to hear about Henry's 2D girl crushes — or whatever absurd celebrity Liam decides he now crushes on, either. If he had a girlfriend (preferably Daisy), he wouldn't ignore her though.
And that's the thing! Drew has ignored Zoey a concerning amount of times. Yes, Jake doesn't like her, in fact, he hates her — but his animosity for her doesn't make Drew's eyes basically peering into Jake's soul every time they're having a conversation any less uncomfortable.
(Not exactly uncomfortable… but, Jake doesn't know how else to describe it.)
He gets pulled out of his introspection session when he suddenly hears a sob from Drew.
So it's neither, he sighs.
Wait. Drew, the Drew Reyes, crying? That's…
Jake cautiously scoots closer, as if approaching a wild animal. "Drew, are you—"
"Head hurts," Drew quickly responds, probably to hide the fact that he's crying. He's not doing a good job though — with his hands gripping his head, Jake can see the redness of Drew's eyes just underneath his arms.
Jake doesn't push though, his mind deciding to think of ways to stop Drew's crying first. Luckily, it's nothing emotional, just a bad headache. Drew has always been prone to migraines, so he always has painkillers stacked in the kitchen shelves. Jake thinks he's clear minded enough to just go fetch them.
So fetch them, he does. "I'll get some painkillers," he says to Drew. But just as he's about to stand up, Drew grabs his wrist. It's so much weaker than before, barely a grip, but it somehow keeps Jake in place anyway.
"What?" Jake asks, turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Drew's flushed face.
"Don't," Drew mutters.
"I'm not going to tell anyone," he promises, gently shaking his wrist out of Drew's grasp, only for it to get captured again.
Jake groans, now fully facing Drew. "What?"
Drew just looks at him. His eyes are red and fucked up, and his cheeks are glistening, probably from the tears. Somehow, his hair is even more messed up than before, and at this point, he might as well change into his pyjamas 'cause his overpriced black hoodie reeks of beer.
Jake was looking forward to being off of babysitting duty today.
"Oh my Luni, Drew." Jake rubs his free hand all over his face and sighs heavily into it. For a moment, he even considers screaming into it.
"Yeah?" Drew says in an oddly innocent tone, like, not the same one he uses when he purposely kicks the ball a bit too hard at Jake during soccer — and now Jake feels like running up to the highest floor of Drew's mansion and jumping off of it.
Jake doesn't say anything, though. Instead, he swings his legs up to the bed and folds them neatly. And because things just have to get worse, Drew, for some fucking reason, places his head on Jake's lap.
Jake would mutter some generic curse if he wasn't so stunned by this move.
With being banned from straying a few feet too far from Drew, he places his hands on Drew's head and starts massaging it gently.
Drew visibly relaxes, but he still has the audacity to be annoying. "What are you doing?"
"You're not letting me get painkillers, so," Jake shrugs.
"I'm not a baby."
"I do this to my mom all the time."
That somehow shuts Drew up. "Oh," is all he says, before going back to a so-comfortable-it-becomes-uncomfortable silence.
But all good things have a short lifespan.
"Did you even drink?" Drew asks, annoyed, but the usual edge in his voice is absent.
Jake raises an eyebrow. "You literally saw me drink."
"But you're not drunk."
"I am," Jake insists. He has to be. Why else is this weird feeling he has every time he's with Drew oddly strong this night?
"Uh huh."
Jake huffs. "Well, clearly you're more drunk than me. So if I had to trust anyone's judgement, yours would be the last."
That must've pissed Drew off, because instead of arguing back, he yanks Jake's hands off his head and sits up.
"What the hell?" Jake curses. "I'm trying to help you."
"Headache no more," Drew mutters, his hands still gripping Jake's wrists. Luni, he's touchy today.
Then he releases the one holding Jake's left wrist and moves it to start caressing Jake's right arm instead.
Luni, he's touchy today.
Jake's face goes red — if it wasn't already red from the alcohol, that is. "What the hell?"
Drew completely ignores the comment, and just, everything. "You know, Jake, I've been meaning to ask you something lately."
It takes Jake a bit too long to croak the words out. "About what?"
"This." He rubs Jake's bicep like it's the most fascinating thing ever. "You were basically a noodle last year. And now look," Drew rolls up his sleeve just enough to reveal his own arm, " you're basically at my level now."
Jake looks back and forth from his and Drew's arm and honestly, at this point, and he means this in the least arrogant way possible, Jake is ever so slightly beefier than Drew.
He's not interested in getting beaten up by a drunken Drew though, so he doesn't say it. "Well, uh, you did tell me to work out so I could impress Daisy and stuff."
"I didn't think you would get buff this quick." He finally lets go of his grasp on Jake, and for whatever reason, Jake is left with a small hole in his heart. "I would call that impressive, but you're impressing everyone but Daisy."
That hole gets filled up real quick with the urge to punch Drew. He's so lucky he looks absolutely pathetic right now. "I'm sure she's impressed! In fact, she said I looked better last week."
Drew hums, tone flat. "That sounds like something a doctor would say."
"Maybe she isn't impressed romantically, but she's still impressed nonetheless."
"You don't know anything about romance."
"And you do?"
"I have a girlfriend."
A girlfriend you barely even like, he almost says. "I still get more girls than you."
"And how many of them have you kissed?"
A beat.
"Touche," Jake mutters.
Drew gives a sloppy grin. Jake would find this argument unfair if he wasn't drunk as well.
… Though, the both of them don't seem that drunk right now.
"Do you think we can go up now?" Jake asks.
Drew hums. "Huh?"
"Your room," Jake says. "I said we'll wait here until you're sober enough to move on your own. Don't you remember?"
Drew slowly shakes his head.
Jake lets out a sigh, but he doesn't even blame Drew. "Figured."
After an unnecessarily long silence, Drew says: "I think we can go up."
The bed creaks when Jake basically jumps on it, eager to finally be free from the stench of Drew's hoodie.
"Nice! Come on, it's like," he looks at the fancy high-tech clock on the wall, "two o' clock."
He gets up from the bed and extends his hand to Drew, who doesn't take it. Jake would jab at him, but Drew's eyes are droopy and when he stands up, his movements are sluggish. So instead he just… walks.
By the time they get to the stairs, Jake doesn't wait to get up them. He's already a few steps ahead when he stops to look back, because behind him, Drew hasn't moved an inch. He's just staring at the assortment of stairs, as if he just realised how massive his 'house' is.
Jake raises an eyebrow. "You okay, dude?"
Drew blinks, then shakes his head. "Yeah, just," and now he's finally walking up the stairs. His movements are wobbly and he's gripping onto the railing like a lifeline. So Jake stays where he's at, just in case.
By the time Drew gets to the fourth step he, unfortunately yet unsurprisingly, buckles his knees and slumps against the railing.
Jake sighs but doesn't complain. He quickly makes his way to Drew and slings his arm over his shoulder.
"Whats wrong?" Jake asks, but Drew doesn't answer. Not even a grunt — not even a bit of a glare. His body is completely limp against Jake's, and the droop of his eyes makes his eyelashes look longer than usual.
Despite Drew's lifeless state, Jake still really, really wants to crash into Drew's room and slump against his bed. A baffling, out-of-this-world idea quickly crosses his mind — an idea on how to get Drew upstairs — but it disappears just as quickly once Jake throws it into the depths of the Never Think About It Again pit.
Jake is a normal guy with normal ways to handle things. So he guides Drew back into the guest room they were staying at. Though Drew wasn't trying to bring misfortune upon his bloodline this time, the journey was way harder than the previous one, because Drew's legs are basically just sliding against the floor this time, leaving Jake to do most of the work.
By the time they get there, ten minutes had already passed. Jake tries to sit Drew down on the bed, but once the latter makes contact with it's soft mattress, his body falls against it. He really is tired, guess all of that tomfoolery he did finally caught up to him,
His hoodie still reeks of beer though. Jake doesn't know how much longer he can put up with the stench before he loses his sense of smell. Then he remembers that they're in a guest room, so there's probably some clean clothes somewhere.
He rummages through the closet somehow still bigger than his, checking each drawer. Then, right there — deep in the closet — a set of plain white pyjamas.
It's nothing incredible, but it's not like Drew's fashion sense is anything worth of note either. With newly acquired clothes, he heads back to the bed, where Drew is still dead asleep.
(Or maybe not? Jake isn't an alcohol expert.)
The bed creaks slightly when he sits on it, trying to scoot over to Drew. He nudges him a little. "Drew?"
Thankfully, unlike last time, Drew responds instantly. He makes a sound that vaguely resembles a whine, turning his head just enough for Jake to see.
Jake continues. "You stink," he holds up the pair of pyjamas for Drew to see. "You need to change."
In response, Drew scrunches his nose up and turns away.
Jake huffs. "Come on, Drew. I will leave this room if you don't change," he lies.
At that, Drew slowly, reluctantly, rolls over and sits up. He takes the pyjamas from Jake's hands and rubs the sleeve against his fingers, getting a feel of its texture.
He stares at it for a bit before turning to Jake. "You're gonna watch?"
Jake blinks. "Do you not want me to?" It's not like Jake has never seen Drew shirtless before, he has been in the same changing rooms and went to pools and beaches with him, but the comfort of his friend comes first before everything else.
"Do you want to?"
"What."
Drew starts to change like he didn't just say anything. Jake immediately looks away, for some reason. He needs to look up the effects of alcohol after this.
He knows Drew has finished changing once he hears a loud thud against the bed. Jake then fully sits himself on the bed, before cautiously lowering his body onto the mattress. It should feel soft and inviting, ready to send Jake to La La Land, but Jake feels ready to plunge himself out of the universe instead.
He flicks the light switch, which is thankfully right next to the bed. The room is now covered in darkness, and the only thing he can see is the tuft of magenta hair right next to him. He opens his mouth, wordless, before eventually letting out: "Good night, Drew."
Drew gives a small grunt in response.
Jake then finally closes his eyes, sleeping next to Drew, something he has done dozens of times. But there is still this weird feeling in his gut, a feeling that doesn't go away until the realm of sleep fully claims his body.