Archive of Our Own

{inspiration: Tonight I Might | KATSEYE}

"I'm such an overthinker, loner, the one who misses all the jokes,
I'm not the number, callin' at four o'clock in the morning, but

Tonight I might do it a little different than I did before
Different than I did before

Do all the shit I know I didn't do when I was a kid,
Get high on life, for somebody's kiss,

But tonight I might, 

Tonight I might, tonight I might,

Do stupid shit, pretend these people,

they are my friends
That sing too loud and get complicated
Tonight I might 
Tonight I might, tonight I might"

Their room was quiet without Winnie, Augustine found. Peaceful. Relaxing, even. The summer birds chirped outside, so peaceful and harmonious somehow, golden rays of midday sunlight peeking in through the window above his desk that Winnie never liked to close. It felt like, for once in Augustine’s busy uni days, the world had stopped to breathe, leaving him alone to study in peace. Just him, alone, by himself, definitely not missing Winnie’s cheerful laugh, because that would be kind of pathetic. 

Just enjoying the peace, getting some work done.

Ah, who was he kidding?!

Augustine Orlov was feeling way too alone without his best friend, and he absolutely hated it. 

He hated how everything felt so empty without the joyful blonde chatting his ear off. Hated how cold it got when Winnie wasn’t beside him, how the room seemed to be holding its breath without him. He hated how much he noticed, after telling himself time and time again that he didn’t care. 

Augustine told himself, once again, that he was being ridiculous. That he liked the quiet, that, really, it shouldn’t bother him. Because, in all, he did enjoy the quiet. He did hate people who never stopped talking, he normally adored being alone. Fundamentally, he should be glad Winnie was away—as much as he enjoyed the company, it was damn near impossible to get any work done with that dork around.

Stupid fucking essay. 

Or maybe Augustine was the stupid one, for how long he was taking to complete it.

Last year, he would’ve been flying through the essay. He would have been listening to some podcast and drowning himself in his studies, because it meant not having to think. He would have never admitted that, though. Had said he was turning his life around, trying for straight As, all the other bullshit other people told him. 

No one expected a coping mechanism in study. 

It had been a stupid cycle, but a safe one. When everything got too much, when he began to feel the tremors of guilt or jealousy or loneliness or whatever the fuck he felt about Winnie, when all he wanted to do was run next door and let the blonde hold him—he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t give in, he told himself. Just another of Winnie’s mind games, just another thing he would steal. Well! Augustine was going to get back at him! Steal his grades, see how he liked it! 

He buried himself in his studies, in a fruitless attempt to become good at something. 

Winnie had stolen hockey. Had stolen his friends, his homecoming date, his personality, his life. He would steal back his grades, at the very least. 

It was only fair. 

But that was never true, was it?

It was just jealousy-tainted self-hate, just anger that no matter how hard he tried, he could never be better than his best friend. How pathetic was that? The fact that he was almost willing to hurt Winnie—joyful, loving, adorable Winnie, just because he was too stupid to realise that the blonde would never hurt him on purpose. 

Stupid Augustine. 

Even in his panicked force studying, he could never get to be as good as Winnie. He got close. Close enough to get into the same college, close enough for his mother to be proud. But they were still night and day, Winnie and him. Winnie—optimistic, friendly, popular, smart, best on their team. Augustine—angry, jealous, quiet, introverted, fine at a lot but good at nothing. 

He couldn’t even take Winnie’s word for it when the blonde had told him he was amazing. Brilliant. Sounded like a load of BS to Augustine. 

Couldn’t even be there when Winnie needed him. 

The switch from last year was so stark it stung. Painfully different, for more reasons than one. Augustine didn’t struggle with change much, as that tended to be more of a Winnie thing, but damn, it had taken him…a while to get used to. 

He had gone from hating his best friend to the point of almost wanting him gone, to waking up to seeing him every day. Not that he was complaining. He didn’t want to ever complain about Winnie again, though, knowing him, that wouldn’t last for very long. But, really, it felt like a sigh of relief, seeing Winnie daily again. 

You don’t realise how much you miss someone until they're gone, or until they come back and you remember just what you had been missing. 

But god, now that he was back, Augustine thought that he might never be able to live without Winnie again.

It was the little things, the ones he almost forgot, that did it for him. The way Winnie woke up with his hair messy and wild. The way he would rest his head on Augustine's shoulder when he was tired. The way he would smile and the world would right, the way he would only eat certain foods, the way he smiled when Augustine did something forgettable. The way he said ‘Auggie’, despite all the times Augustine had told him not to, the way he would hug and laugh and smile and pretend not to care when everyone teased him for ‘being gay’.

There were other things, too, new things. Things he hadn’t done before, or things the brunette hadn’t seen him do before. How he worked himself into an oblivion for decent marks. He wasn’t just naturally smart—he worked. So fucking hard. He studied for hours while he endlessly tapped his foot to stimulate movement, because he couldn’t bear to sit still for that long. He earned those grades he got, while Augustine only got good grades when he tortured himself to ‘get back’ at Winnie.

It made him feel even worse about being a jerk. Like he wasn’t a jerk enough, he just had to accuse Winnie of stealing his grades, when he himself even barely tried. 

It wasn’t lost on Augustine either, the…other ways Winnie had changed since. The way he went to grab Augustine’s hand, before backing off with a nervous smile. The way he needed confirmation that Augustine liked him, the way he seemed to be requiring constant information that the brunette wouldn’t leave him in the dirt. How he quit hockey, taking up figure skating instead. How he said he didn’t mind, when he looked like he wanted to cry. The way he asked before joining anything that Augustine did as well, as if the brunette would hate him for it.

It’s fair. 

You did hate him for it. 

You almost killed him for it.

The way he feels now is your fault. 

Why does he even stick around?

A perfect ray of sunshine has no business sticking around the ugly bridge troll. 

It's only a matter of time before he realises how horrid you are and leaves.

He’ll leave you in the dirt like he should. Like you almost did to him.

If he stays, it’s out of pity. 

Ugh—No.

No, no, no. He is not doing this again.

Augustine shook his head. Not this again. The thoughts never left him alone, even after the car crash. They just dimmed, but they were always there. In the back of his mind, haunting him, like a silent gas clouding his vision. Blue and black marbled lines, they still existed in his sleep. In his subconscious. 

They followed him. Haunted him.

 But it wasn’t Winnie’s fault, as he previously believed. He blamed the blonde until it almost got them both killed, until he knew that he couldn’t avoid the truth for any longer. 

Yes, it wasn’t Winnie’s fault. It was his. 

His fault, his flaws, his problem. 

So he didn’t tell Winnie why he kept jolting out of bed with sweat dripping down from his forehead. He didn’t tell Winnie that it was okay for him to hold his hand and hug him, that Augustine wouldn’t think the blonde was mocking him anymore. He didn’t tell him of the voices, because he didn’t want to freak him out—and he knew how easily Winnie got freaked out. 

He didn’t tell Winnie things, not because he didn’t trust him. 

But because he didn’t trust himself not to ruin it, he didn’t trust himself to keep it together.

Sides, it wasn’t his job to be all emotional and insufferable. He wouldn’t subject Winnie to that. The blonde had always been more emotional than Augustine, and although he admired Winnie’s ability not to be scared of feelings, he intended to keep it that way.

Winnie has no business with your feelings. 

…

Yet, despite it all, he appreciated Winnie.

Well, maybe ‘appreciated’ wasn't the right word.

Appreciated was for professors who gave extensions. For strangers who held doors open. For teammates who passed the puck.

It wasn't for Winnie.

Winnie, who had woven himself into every corner of Augustine's life so thoroughly that a quiet room felt wrong without him in it.

But Augustine wasn't ready to think about what the right word was.

So appreciate would have to do.

What he didn’t appreciate, however, was this weird, oppressive silence. It felt so alien in their apartment, so devoid of the indisputable joy his best friend always brought. 

Augustine was rarely ever alone anymore. 

He…He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

He didn’t feel oppressed anymore, though. Didn’t feel like an extension to the blonde, didn’t feel like a head case, a follower, an embarrassment. And when you took away all the jealousy and left Augustine alone with his admiration…

Well, he couldn’t say he didn’t cherish the company. 

Winnie was always there, chatting his ear off about this and that. Augustine didn’t mind. Winnie’s smile while he talked—truly talked, not the fake bullshit he pulled for the popular gang—made it all worth it. 

But Winnie was off wishing some girl he knew happy birthday, laughing his stupidly heart-warming laughter to someone else while Augustine stalled alone, saying something about how ‘Auggie would be able to focus more on his essay’. Stupid fucking essay—getting in the way of Winnie and him.

What's the bet he’s also making out with that goddamn girl while he’s at it?

Augustine wouldn’t put it past him. 

Always going out with a new chick every week or so. Running away before anything got too serious. Augustine would call him a coward if he didn't know how those things often really went, if Winnie didn’t run back into his arms, tears falling down his face, saying this and that about his weekly battle with love. 

Winnie had dated a whore, a druggy, a fake, a jerk, a bully, a manipulator—the list goes on. 

Augustine would say he didn’t know why he did it, but part of him did.

Winnie was agreeable to a fault. 

Winnie would always say yes. 

Even if it got him in danger, used, hurt, and betrayed. He would always smile and say he had a good time, while he cried invisible tears that it seemed only Augustine knew how to see.

He would never hurt someone's feelings by turning them down. Would never want to be a bother. Would never even consider putting his needs before anyone else’s.

Augustine just wished he would wake up and realise how problematic that was before he got hurt badly.

He sighed, swinging back on his chair. It was pretty pathetic that it's the first hour he's been home alone in weeks, and all he can do is think about Winnie. 

Winnie this, Winnie that. Since when did he care so much?

Since when did Winnie become the thing he wakes up to see every morning?

When exactly had the blonde gone from being his best friend, to his mortal enemy, to the weird enigma he was now?

They say that it’s hard to keep friends when you live with them. That you’d get sick of them, that it would get too much. 

Augustine was finding this true for the opposite reason. 

It was getting harder to keep viewing Winnie as just a friend. 

Getting harder to convince himself that every hug, every laugh, every million-dollar smile that Winnie gave to him were just platonic. 

Dangerous thinking. But addictive thinking as well, and Augustine felt himself spend hours just…thinking about Winnie when he was meant to be writing that god-forsaken essay.

Winnie’s hair in the breeze. Winnie’s laugh. Winnie’s hands hugging him, holding him when it go to hard. 

Winnie this, Winnie that, focus on your goddamn essay, Augustine!

He blinked, staring back at the page. It wasn’t like he had gotten nothing done. 

So long as you counted the document heading as something, that is. His cursor flicked on and odd like a beacon, except unlike a beacon, it didn’t guide. Not at all. Just stared back at him blankly, almost mocking. 

Come on, dude. At least get something done! What’s Winn gonna say when he gets back from probably making out with what's-it-face, only to find that you’ve done nothing?

That, at least, was motivation enough for him to begin. 

Writing started out slow, like it always did. He would forever marvel at the way Winnie seemed to just…manifest ideas out of nowhere, the way he always seemed to know what to say next. But, eventually, Augustine got into a flow. Write a few paragraphs, take a sip of Diet Coke. Not the healthiest way, but it was a drive, and it was a little too easy to convince himself that the ‘diet’ in Diet Coke meant that it was going to be healthy for him. 

It wasn’t long before he was up to the conclusion. He grinned to himself. The easiest part, in any essay by far. You could pretty much just write the same copy and paste thing every time, Augustine found. Just “In conclusion, this essay demonstrates how this and that happens, and blah blah blah.”

Piece of cake. 

Maybe he would get this god-awful essay done after all! Maybe Winnie would be proud! 

Augustine scoffed despite himself.

Hah. Yeah right. He really had nothing for his best friend to be proud of. He wasn’t the blonde's direct shadow anymore, but the damage had been done: anything that Augustine did decently well, Winnie had already done better. Anything he wanted to succeed in, Winnie had already won. 

Winnie couldn’t be proud of him. 

Not realistically. 

Or maybe that's just what he told himself, because maybe believing that was easier than believing Winnie when he assiduously praised him. Wasn’t like Augustine had anything to be praised for. Must be fake. 

Must be easier than accepting that Winnie cared for him when he so obviously and painfully shouldn’t.

But alas, it probably wasn’t the best time to be sulking like a fuckign depressed kitten. He had a goddamn essay to complete. Ugh. Final line. And—

‘It is important that we consider the effects of climate change, as if we don’t, humanity may be in grave danger—’

“Hey Auggie!”

FUCKIN—

Deep breath, Augustine. Don't take your anger out on Winnie. Not again. 

“Heyyy Winn—”

“Mm, missed you.” The blonde hummed, wrapping his arms around Augustine’s waist from behind. He buried his head in the crook of Augustine’s neck, his breath hot on the brunette's skin. Shit, he was clingy.

“Winn, you were only gone for like, a few hours.” He laughed, or tried to laugh, as if his face wasn’t bright red and his heart going way too fast. Winnie's hands on his skin were fire, but soothing, warming, relaxing fire. Fire that made you stop and breathe and smile, that is, if you weren’t desperately trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t gay to be blushing over a hug from your best friend.

It was. Probably. Not that Augustine would ever admit it, much less to the blonde dork. 

Said dork sighed, the breath prickling Augustine’s neck and making him gulp. God, he was too close. Did Winnie not get personal space?

Why did he just...do those things, like Augusitne wasn’t affected. 

Why was Augustine affected so much in the first place?

“Still missed you! I don’t like being alone.”

Augustine rolled his eyes. “I know that. You’re never alone.”

Winnie giggled, that stupid, beautiful laugh that could turn rain to shine. “Hehe, yeah, I know.” There was something in his voice, almost holding back excitement, like he was hiding something. Augustine knew Winnie’s voice a little too well. 

He sighed, spinning around on the chair to shake off his best friend. Winnie squealed, before giggling as if Augustine was the funniest person alive—and god that laughter. If Augustine had his way, he would make Winnie laugh like that every day, would make Winnie smile at him as if he were the world every night. Finally, the blonde settled for hovering around Augustine, his hands bouncing by his side. 

And Augustine meant hovering. Flitting around like some sort of firefly. The brunette smiled at him, closing his laptop with that dumb essay to stand by Winnie. 

“What is it now?” He asked somewhat begrudgingly, although Winnie looked like he was going to burst if Augustine didn’t ask. 

“Oh! Well, I met up with that friend—you know Char, right?”

Augustine blinked. Winnie was still smiling so bright he wasn’t sure if he would get sunburnt or not, acting like this ‘Char’ kid was the be-all and end-all in life. 

God, was Winnie actually like—into her or some shit? 

Yuck.

That—that shouldn’t’ve grossed him out as much as it did. 

God—why couldn’t he just let Winnie have one good thing in life without getting jealous?

…

And was it Winnie or the girl he was jealous of?

...

He’d rather not think about that.

So he just turned back to Winnie, smiling somewhat dimmer due to Augustine's quietness, and actually answered his freaking question.

“Uh—Char? Can’t say I’ve heard of her…?”

Winnie rolled his eyes. “Ya know—Charlotte, from art class? The one with cool hair?”

Augustine blinked. “Uh…not ringing a bell?”

“My old besty, before you! You know her! She was at my old school before I moved? Then we went no contact for ages, and then I found at she went to our uni and we reunited? THAT Charlotte!”

Oh right. Charlotte.

He felt something in his stomach drop. “Ah. That Charlotte.”

Ugh. He just remembered why he didn’t remember her. Not that she was forgettable. She—almost fundamentally—wasn’t. She wasn’t evil, though to be honest, Augustine kind of wished she was. It would have made things easier, that's for sure, if Charlotte were a bitch. 

If she had scowled and bitched around that day when Winnie had introduced them. Maybe then it would be better, because maybe then he would have a justified reason to hate her. 

But no, because it seemed that the god Augustine didn’t believe in hated him, because Charlotte just had to be a decent person. Loud, chaotic, overly emotional, a drama queen—but a good person. Much better of a person than he could ever be. 

Worse still, she was decent. Not fake. Unlike just about every other friend Winnie had taken in over the years, she still seemed genuine. 

Augustine hated her. 

Hated himself for hating her. 

Maybe it wasn’t her that made his stomach drop, that made the slow tendrils of dread creep into his heart. Maybe it was more accurately the idea of her. The idea of someone being that close with Winnie before him, the idea of Winnie being able to rely on someone else, who was objectively better than him, and the idea that his best friend could simply move on. 

And why wouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he?

Charlotte hadn’t pushed Winnie down the stairs, breaking his leg. 

Charlotte hadn’t blamed Winnie for her own self-hate.

Charlotte hadn’t thought about ending Winnie’s life, just because she couldn’t see past her jealousy. 

Charlotte hadn’t done anything wrong. 

Augustine was scared—no, terrified, that Winnie would just wake up one day and realise that he didn't need to hang around Augustine. That he could just move on, that even through all the fake-ass cool kids, there were still people like Charlotte, who had been there before Augustine ever cared, that had probably cared and held and comforted Winnie before Augustine even knew about the blonde.

God, he really couldn’t let his best friend have one good thing without freaking out, could he?

Stupid jealousy. 

Stupid Augustine, blaming everything on jealousy. 

Stupid, wonderful, gorgeous, pure, amazing Winnie, somehow not realising that the shorter wasn’t worth the effort or time. 

But he couldn’t tell Winnie any of that, of course. He couldn’t show Winnie the true depths that his stupid jealousy problem went, because he knew Winnie would just get scared and run. 

He wouldn’t blame him.

So he just smiled and nodded, pretending that he and Charlotte were close friends, that he hadn't hated her name out of his memory, and that he didn’t secretly wish that she and Winnie had never reunited. 

Because that would make him cruel, evil. He didn’t want Winnie to see him that way. 

He didn’t want Winnie to see him the way he saw himself. 

“Yeah, I think I remember her. Sorry, my memory’s not what it used to be.”

Winnie laughed. “Trust me, it CANNOT be worse than mine, hehe! Anyway, so I was over at her house because you know, sweet seventeen—”

“I think it's meant to be sweet sixteen…”

“Shhh, lemme tell my storryyy”, He whined, grabbing Augustine's arm and pulling him over to his bag. 

The brunette smiled at his friend. “Okok, sorry. Continue…”

“Right. So! She was saying something about how she was going to have this massive party! Because she wasn’t living with her parents this year? I dunno. Something like that. It sounds so cool, Auggie!” He grinned, hand slipping down to squeeze Augustine’s.

Oh…

God. Kill him already. 

Winnie’s hands were cold. So cold that Augustine mentally scolded himself for forgetting. That being said, this was probably the first time Winnie had dared to touch him this much (in a totally normal and platonic way, of course) since the car crash. He had always been cautious, hesitant of what he was doing, as if it would upset Augustine, as if he would yell at Winnnie for invading his personal space. 

And, yeah, Winnie was a space invader, and yeah, it did get a bit much at times, but God, he had missed it. Missed how Winnie's hand just felt so right in his. Missed how confidently his freezing fingers would rub soothing circles into his, how perfect it felt to Augustine. 

Jeez, look at him blushing like a goddamn ten-year-old. Get a grip, Augustine. This is your best friend you're talking about, not some fucking childhood crush. 

Not that Winnie was that in the first place. Not that he was Augustine’s crush. 

They were just close friends. 

So what if Augustine thought that Winnie was the most amazing person in the world?! Feelings would never be reciprocated, so there was no point in acknowledging that they existed in the first place. 

But alas, good things can never last, and before he knew it, Winnie had pulled back, looking somewhat sorry as he laughed it off, saying, “Sorry—I know I’m a bit clingy.”

Sorry?! Sorry for being clingy?! Sorry, his ass. Augustine should just grab Winnie's hand again, like they apparently both wanted so badly, and just let it be. Should just tell Winnie that he doesn’t fucking need to worry about being too clingy, not with Augustine, that what he should be worried about is Augustine liking him being clingy a little too much.

But he didn’t say that. 

His oh so high pride wouldn’t allow it. 

Instead, all he spluttered out was a flustered “It’s fine,” and moved on. 

The blonde looked up at him, a trace of shame in his eyes, and only for a second, Augustine realised that if he wanted, Winnie could probably get him to do absolutely anything with those gorgeous eyes of his. 

If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you?

If the friend just happened to be Winnie, then yes, yes, he would. And he would jump first so he could catch Winnie, even if it meant he got hurt in the process. 

…

God, he was so screwed. 

It didn’t take Winnie long to snap out of it and bounce back, as he always did, flashing Augustine another beaming smile. “Ok—uh—Well, see here, Auggie?” He pulled out a flashy letter with fancy writing and everything. 

A quick scan revealed nothing other than the fact that Augustine was either secretly dyslexic (he wasn’t) or the cursive writing was absolutely unreadable. 

For him, at least, because his best friend was looking at him with those eyes, and Augustine would be damned if he didn’t pretend to understand what it said. At least try to appear smart…

“Uh-huh, that looks…uh….cool..?”

Winnie giggled. “Hehe, you can’t read it, can you?”

Augustine's fists clenched. Curse Winnie and his weirdly good insight in impractical times. 

“Wha—Well—I mean—” He spluttered. Because, of course, Winnie had caught him lying through his teeth. God, these days it almost felt like Augustine was trying to show Winnnie how insufferable he really was. 

But of course, his best friend never showed any sign of being annoyed, only smiling and laughing, “Oh, don't worry, this thing is total gibberish!”

Augustine blinked. “Wha—”

“Yeah, nah, I couldn’t read it either, hehe. Had to get Char to read it for me, because I was honestly convinced it had to be another language or something. Or that I was secretly dyslexic hehe!”

Augustine pursed his lips.

'Secretly dyslexic'

…There was something really uncanny about him and Winnie having the exact same thought process. He knew, that locally, Winnie was no mind reader, and he had not stolen the words from his head. But he couldn’t stop the feeling that, after all this time, Winnei was still stealing from him, the way he had been unknowingly all that time ago. 

He didn’t want to think like that. 

It had…

It had almost gotten them both killed, last time he fell into that. 

He had almost killed Winnie the last time that had happened.

But he didn’t. He didn’t, and Winnie was here, and Winnie was alive, and that's what mattered. The longer he dwelled on the past, the more likely it was to repeat itself, he knew. 

So let it go, Auggie. 

“So anyway—” Winnie continued, snapping his friend out of his head. “I asked her to translate- which was just about as embarrassing as you’d think, but honestly at this point I don’t think embarrassment even affects me too much anymore, hehe.”

Augustine rolled his eyes. “Sureee it doesn’t.”

“Hey! It doesn’t!”

“Mhm. So don’t smoke because it’s embarrassing to be the only one who doesn’t?” 

Winnie groaned, his smile dropping for the first time that day. Augustine instantly knew he had gone too far. 

After not for long—Winnie was never not-smiling for long—he was grinning again, laughing “No, Auggie, I smoke because of my people pleasing complex, not cuz it's embarrassing! Silly!”

Augustine flashed him a concerned look. “...Right…”

“ANYWAY, as I was saying, after a quick translation, I can confirm that the note says: 

~~~

Heyyyy loosey ! 

My bday’s coming up! GUESS WHAT! I CAN FINALLY DRINK NOW! FUCK YEAH!

Needless to say, I'm having a party. Most everyone's gonna be coming, so fun!

Jus head down to yk where i live, Win.  At like, 9 pm ish? Dunno how long it'll go for, so don't come by to early lol.

Most everyone's gonna be coming, so fun!

Win, if you don't wanna come bc of the crowds, I dont rlly mind btw 

Bring a plus one!

50 dollars that I don't have says that you bring along Augustine. 

RSVP by: just show up loosey, its chill.

Anyway! Cya there! (or not, no presh lol)

Love from Char, duh. Bro, why do these letters end on 'love from'?

So cheesy. Its a party invite, not a goddamn valentines day note lol.

if u do end up comeing, no presh, but if you DO, then ur bringing the games. 

(i think my mum miiiight be a little sus if i buy a bunch of partys games on a wim around my bday lol)

~~~

Augustine listened to Winnie, a slow dread building in his gut. 

Ugh. Not a party. 

Why Winnie loved big parties so much baffled him. Because he shouldn’t—that was the thing. Winnie hated everything about parties. He hated big crowds, hated loud noise, hated excessive socialising, hated eating new, dodgy party food. He hated everything about parties, and yet for the life of him, Augustine couldn’t find a single sign to say that he must be lying when he insisted he was excited for one. 

Even now, at the face of a last-minute party with a fuck ton of people, he was still grinning so excitedly, almost jumping around with sheer enthusiasm. It would be cute if it weren’t so scary. 

Not that Winnie being happy scared him. But that the reason Winnie was so happy scared him. 

Winnie was very, very excited about the fact that Augustine was supposedly coming with him. 

In fact, Augustine would even say that he was reliant on it, as the blonde had told him multiple times that Augustine was his ‘safe person’ and that parties didn’t feel okay without him. It was such a heartbreaking admission, one that Augustine would definitely never make had the roles been reversed, yet Winnie stated as if it was just a fact. 

As if the knowledge that Winnie felt safe with him, the knowledge that even after all they’d been through, Winnie still trusted him to that level, wouldn’t impact Augustine at all. 

Would make his heart beat in weird, unfamiliar ways. 

Idiot. 

Winnie kept looking at him expectantly, that smile still so bright, as if going to the party would also be the only thing that Augustine cared about in life at that moment. 

We’re not the same person, Winn…

He hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to the party—actually, scratch that. It was just that he didn’t want to go to the party. Or any other party ever, if he could help it. Stand around awkwardly in a room for five hours and something minutes, talking to people that would probably only ever view him as ‘Winnie’s shadow’, while his best friend ran around like a maniac, laughing and talking and grinning in all the ways that Augustine could never? Hell no. It was too hard not to feel like a burden in those events, just someone who sat in the corner and avoided eye contact, someone who took Winnie out when things got too much, who drove Winnie home if he got too drunk, to do this and that for Winnie like a servant. 

A servant or a burden, all he would be. 

Yet Winnie still looked at him like that, with those eyes, the ones that Augustine was convinced could make him do or believe anything. Before Winnie, he never thought it was possible for blue eyes to feel so warm, yet it seemed that everything Winnie looked at, he treated almost like a pet dog, caring and loving. Before the car crash, that thought probably would have been off-putting for Augustine. 

The idea that Winnie might view him as just a dog, a thing he ‘loved’ but still an almost mindless thing that seemed to always follow him around, brainless as a hound. But Augustine knew Winnie didn’t really look at him like that. He learnt the distinction between adoration and appreciation, and god when he did everything just felt…more. Every glance from Winnie's eyes that held as much love or affection or what-ever-he-felt-about-Augustine had him almost melting. 

How could he possibly say no when Winnie was asking him like that?

He couldn’t. He couldn’t, and he knew it; he just had to figure out how to accept that fact, that if he wanted, Winnie could have him doing anything. 

He sighed. “And you want me to come?"

Winnie's eyes widened, smiling impossibly wider. “YES!” He blurted, grabbing Augustine's shoulders momentarily before coughing, pulling back and looking down bashfully. 

Sometimes, Augustine wished Winnie wouldn’t pull back. 

Even more times, he wondered why he kept feeling so…weird about his best friend. 

After a second, Winnie met his eyes again, his blue orbs once again shining. “Sorry, sorry—Just got excited!” His expression softened into something so warm that Augustine was convinced he would melt if he looked at it for much longer. “But…I know you don’t like parties much. And I know you're trying to stop drinking, so it’s probably not the best idea—”

God bless Winnie, if God existed in the first place. 

“Winn…” He interrupted, looking dead in those heart-stopping eyes. 

“Yeahhhhh…?"

Augsintine winced. Ugh, this was about to sound cringy as shit— “I—you—you said I made you feel safe, when I’m around, right?”

Winnie looked at him, slightly confused. “Uh—Yes? But, it’s ok—like, Charlotte's going to be there, I guess. She and I are friends, so it's going to be okay! I know you don’t like parties…”

Winnie was going to rely on Charlotte?!

Oh, fuck that. 

Augustine was not about to let this Charlotte character steal Winnie away from him, comforting him when it got too loud as Augustine had been doing for years. 

How long had she even known Winnie for? Not thirteen years, he bet. Maybe one, maybe two. Nowhere near as long as he had, that’s for sure. Charlotte didn’t know Winnie like he did. 

He would not let some nobody that Winnie trusted take his best friend's privileges. 

Augustine sighed. Well, if he wasn’t convinced before, he definitely was now. Shame that it took jealousy to sway him, like it always did, but he knew there was probably no changing that. It would be pointless to try to be better. 

He couldn’t change. 

He sighed yet again, something he properly did way too much to be healthy. “Nah, I'll come.”

Winnie lit up, as expected. He smiled brighter than the sun, at such a small sentence. His stupidly pretty eyes tracked up to meet Augusines, and holy shit. 

Of course, Winnie would get excited over this. It was Winnie. He got excited at seeing a duck at the pond for fucks sake. And Augustine knew he would get this happy, so really, he should’ve expected it.

So why did he feel so on display and vulnerable, all just because Winnie looked at him a certain way?

Well, maybe that was underselling it. It wasn’t just a look. It was—oh my god. 

He was stunning. His eyes were lit up with so much joy that Augustine found himself smiling as well, despite dreading the upcoming party. His hair bounced around gracefully—Augustine hadn’t even known that hair could look so graceful before that, but he guessed he was all too happy to be proved wrong. And Winnie's eyes were directly on him.

Him.

Augustine. 

No one else. 

He made Winnie feel that way. Winnie was looking at him that way. Winnie smiled at him despite everything. Him. His stomach did a flip, his eyes widening as he stared back at Winnie. 

The fuck?

Why was he getting butterflies?

Fucking butterflies?

Get a grip, Auggie. Come on. Your a eighteen-year-old dude, not a ten-year-old girl fangirling over a celeb. 

You're meant to be past feeling weird about Winnie. 

How would he act if he found out that just him looking at you could make you feel like your insides are on fire?

You’re meant to be mature.

Fucking act like it.

Brown eyes hit the floor instantly, red, hot, embarrassing heat which he refused to admit existed crawling up his neck. 

“Ugh—yeah—d-don’t worry about it.” He spluttered, still not meeting Winnie's eyes. 

“Um—Ok!—uh. Are you ok, Auggie?” He said, his voice growing soft again, so soft that even Augustine knew he didn’t deserve it. He flinched back as a cold hand reached for his, turning away so Winnie couldn’t see the effect he was having on Augustine.

“Yeah—I’m fine. Just a bit hot.”

Winnie giggled. “Yeah, I’ll say!”

Augustine choked on his breath. 

Winnie said stuff like that so casually. Like it wouldn’t affect him. He tried to convince himself that that meant it must mean nothing to Winnie as well, that he must just think it was normal if he said stuff like that so casually. 

But still. Winnie’s giggle, his puppydog eyes, his endless compliments…

God, save him.

The room already stunk of liquor. It was tempting, to just give in to the alcohol, but Augustine promised himself he’d stay sober for Winnie.  Only two hours in, and everyone was yelling and running around like two-year-olds on a sugar high. Some teens they were.

Augustine Orlov was beginning to remember just how much he hated parties. 

Too loud, too chaotic, too many people. They kept looking at him weirdly, as if he were out of place. 

Hell, he probably was. 

The brunette had never fit into the popular groups. There had been one point, when he was probably considered popular, back in year one. But it had been just artificial smiles, a constant competition of always being the best. He only got friends because he had been the best at hockey back then, and he would’ve had to stay the best at hockey if he wanted to keep them. 

Another thing Winnie had stolen from him. 

Except that wasn’t the truth. It was far from it. It was the twisted, distorted truth that he had pushed himself to believe. 

The actual truth was that Augustine had convinced Winnie to try to learn skating. 

Augustine had taught Winnie the rules of hockey. 

Augustine had told him about how amazing it was, 

And Augustine was the one to ensure that he got a spot in the team. 

He couldn’t blame Winnie for being good at a game, not when he had only even started playing because Augustine was the one who convinced him it would be a good idea. 

It was his fault, not Winnie's. He just needed to learn how to accept it. 

Regardless of how it happened, the fact still remained that over time, every one of Augustine's friends had migrated over to Winnie. He couldn’t really blame them. Winnie was the better of the two, almost objectively. 

And it wasn’t that he minded. He liked being alone, and the only company he really needed was Winnie. So he kept to himself, he kept quiet, because it was easier than trying to convince more people that he deserved to have him as a friend. 

The result? No one really knew Augustine. 

They knew Auggie, the guy that Winnie constantly praised, but they didn’t know him, not the way Winnie did. 

So he stood in the corner, feeling like he wanted to jump out of his skin, so uncomfortable. Why did Winnie have to like this? Why?

It’s not Winnie's fault that you said yes. 

He asked you so many times. 

Your fault, Augustine. Stop trying to blame Winnie for everything. 

At least Winnie was here. Keeping him company. Staying by his side. 

Augustine appreciated it a lot more than he would ever admit. 

Even with all his friends around him, with neon lights and alcohol and hook-ups and the like, he never left Augustine's side, just chatting with some rando (at least it wasn’t Charlotte) by his shoulde—

Wait. Augustine’s brown eyes caught on the seat beside him, the regrettably and painfully empty seat beside him.

Wait.

Where the fuck was Winnie.

…

WHERE THE FUCK WAS WINNIE?!

The seat beside him, the one that had been occupied by the blonde this whole time, was empty. He stared at it, as if he could just manifest his best friend back, as if Winnie would just come back for him. 

He didn't, of course, and Augustine found himself staring at that stupid, heartbreaking empty seat for way longer than necessary before he realised that Winnie was gone gone, lost-at-the-middle-of-a-crowded-party gone, and that, for the first time that night, Augustine had no idea where he was. 

Holy shit. 

HOLY SHIT—

Oh god, this was bad. Like, really bad. 

Like Winnie was pretty known for having breakdowns in the middle of these loud parties and events, and Augustine was meant to be the one comforting him, his Winnie, and his Winnie was missing—

Ugh. 

Not the time for panicking.

He stood up from the dry red couch, pushing through crowds. 

Tens of sweaty bodies stinking of wine, all moving, squishing together, shit, how did Winnie survive these?

“Out of my way!” He said, but his voice was soon swallowed by the music, booming so loud that half of him wanted to steal Winn’s headphones. 

Someone to his left nudged him, spilling gross, sticky wine on his orange hood. Stupid fucking alcoholic. Something Augustine almost never wanted to touch again. 

Something that he wished Winnie would never touch again. 

You can’t control him.

Don’t think you can, idiot.

He got pushed this way and that, utterly overwhelming, until the crowd parted like the dead sea, seemingly realising that it was him that was trying to get through. The weird hokey freak who lashed out too often, that ghosted The Winnie, that feisty kid that no one liked. 

He got glares that he was used to, vulgar language that could only be expected when everyone was this drunk, and the occasional snicker behind his back. 

Not that he could find it in himself to care, though, when he finally got an opportunity to pass somewhat quickly without getting thrown around like a pinball. 

He rushed through, pretending not to care how everyone else all looked at him. 

“God, is that Augustine?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Damn, why's he so upset? Doesn’t he know how to have fun?”

“To believe that we used to be friends.”

“Dude, you were friends with him?! Didn’t he like, punch a kid for missing a ball in hockey?!”

“Yeah, bro was WILD.”

Stupid fucking people that there stupid fucking opinions. Talking about him behind his back like he couldn’t hear, like he couldn’t—

“What about his friend, though?”

“Who, Winnie? I mean, he isn’t bad…”

“But like…"

“He's a bit..”

“”Clingy””

“Especially to that Auggie kid.”:

“RIGHT?! Like, oh my lord. I told him the other day it's a bit, you know…”

“Gay.”

“Mhm. Told him and I swear, it looks like it broke his fucking heart, like dude. Chill.”

“Yeah, he is pretty emotional. Like, not that I'd wanna not be his friend though.”

“Yeah, same. Sometimes I just feel like he doesn’t really understand that he’s eighteen, not seven, you know.”

“Yeah, I get ya.”

…

Augustine froze. 

White-hot rage flew through his veins.

No one insulted his Winnie like that. 

No one. They were his friends? His FRIENDS? And what did they do? They made fun of him. Teased him behind his back. 

You could make them pay. 

No.

It would be easy enough. 

Just go over there and hit them. 

I don't do that anymore. 

They hurt Winnie. They deserve it.

"Ya know what, though? He IS fun. I'll give him that." 

"Yeah, for real. Much more fun than his little shadow." 

Laughter.

"He's like, super drunk right now, heh. Anyone else would get embarrassed, and pull out, but I dunno if it's the alcohol or if it's just Winnie, but bro is NOT holding back" 

"Definitely fun enough for friendship." 

"Def"

Augustine blinked, the anger leaving his veins instantly. 

Shit. 

Winnie was drunk?

WINNIE?

Winnie hadn’t gotten drunk before. Winnie had barely drank before. Had always been too scared to try.

Vagly, he could process his feet hitting the ground, could sense that he was walking towards where the crowd thinned. 

He didn’t notice, his heas too caught up in overthinking Winnie being drunk and what that entailed. Sure, he always promised to stay sober just in case, but he never thought…well—

What he thought didn’t matter. 

Augustine rounded a corner to the kitchen, eyes scanning rapidly to the room, until they halted on the bar where—

Where—

Holy shit.

Winnie was…

Holy shit, Winnie was stunning. 

Not that he wasn’t normally stunning, but well—

It was almost like every inch of Winnie that felt embarrassed about being so clingy, or being too much, or showing too much affection had just obliterated. His face rested on the kitchen bench, head resting on his hands, eyes half lidded and foggy. A small permanent smile rested on his lips, and good lord, Augustine didn’t think he had ever seen Winnie look so peaceful. His hair was resting almost angelically on top of his arms, his face flushed, and his skin ethereal. 

Augustine felt something deep within him, a weird urge to go over and say hi, to hug Winnie and pull him home because he looked so out of it that he may as well be asleep. 

And that was before Winnie looked over at him. 

He had always known, from about twelve years old, that for whatever reason, Winnie’s eyes had a hold over him. Would catch himself just…staring at the blonde's orbs for what felt like hours, with no apparent reasoning. Well, there was reasoning—Winnie’s eyes were simply so deep and breathtaking that they literally took Augustine's breath away. 

But there was something…more about drunk Winnie’s eyes. Something so much more that the brunette found himself completely frozen to the spot when Winnie finally looked up.

The blonde went from soft tiredness to complete and overwhelming joy as soon as they made eye contact. His eyes lit up like a hundred suns, warming up Augustine way too much, until he swore his heart was on fire from their glow. His smile was so big that it didn’t look possible, and it was all for him. 

Winnie smiling that big for him didn’t seem possible. 

Winnie's eyes doing…that for him didn’t feel likely.

It was a lot, so much, too much, and Augustine almost forgot how to breathe, completely frozen and blue-screening from a mere look. 

Winnie hadn’t even done anything yet, good lord. 

He’s just your best friend. 

Why are you just standing there gawking?

Scold himself as he did, he couldn’t take his eyes off Winnie. His perfect face and his perfect eyes and his perfect smile and his perfect hair. Winnie was just perfect, he thought. 

Breathtaking, stunning, heart-warming, captivating. 

So captivating, in fact, that Augustine hadn’t mentally processed the fact that Winnie was rapidly getting closer, that, before Augustine could register it, Winnie was already right in front of him, grinning like he won the lottery. 

“AUGGIE!!” He gushed, and before Augustine could catch up to what the fuck was happening, Winnie had wrapped his whole body around him, burying his head in the crook of the brunette's neck. 

Oh. 

Oh..

Oh.

Oh shit. 

Winnie was…

Winnie was being even clingier than he thought possible, somehow. He had wrapped himself around Augustine, hugging so tight that he could barely breathe, so tight that every breath, every contraction and expansion of his chest just reminded him that Winnie was there, every breath filled with the scent of Winnie’s vanilla-flavoured conditioner. Yet somehow it felt right in every single way possible. His breathing was hot on the side of Augustine’s neck, tainted with cheap beer and bad decisions, his weight resting almost entirely on the others. 

For not the first time that night, Augustine found himself completely and utterly frozen. His heart was beating way too fast for the situation, his hands sweaty as he half heartedly tried to pull Winnie off him.

Why was he getting so worked up over a simple hug?

Winnie sighed into his shoulder blade, pulling himself to almost lay on his best friend. “Mmm Auggieeee!” He said, half excited and half utterly exhausted. 

Augustine sighed, giving in and wrapping his hands around the blonde in response. “Hey Winn…”

Winnie giggled, music to Augustine’s ears. “Mmm, I missed you so much!” 

The brunette rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t even gone for that long.”

Winnie’s grip loosened for half a second before he sighed and pushed himself somehow closer than before. “Yeah..but…'ll always miss you…”

Augustine gulped. He could feel that horrible, traitorous blush crawling up to his face, threatening to give him away completely. Winnie was so close that he felt like all his limbs were on fire, or at least every part that they touched. 

Shit, Winn. What’re you doing to me?

“Winn—you can’t always miss me—”

“Yeah, I can...” He was whispering now, his lips ghosting over Augustine's ear, breath still way too hot. “I miss you all the time, Auggie, you don’t even know...” He began rubbing small, calming circles into Augustine's shoulder. “I miss you whenever you’re not near me. I need you all the time…I miss you when I wake up ‘nd you’re already gone, miss you when you go to the…the bathroom, I miss you when you go away…” His breath tickled his ear, so here and so real it made the entire party seem fake and unimportant in comparison. 

“I—miss you all the time..Augustine…to a worrying level, I think...”

Augustine practically shuddered in Winnie’s arms. 

He’s drunk. He probably doesn't mean any of it…even still. The idea of being needed that much by Winnie, the idea of Winnie needing him of all people…

Holy shit, that did things to him. 

“Winn—”

Winnie only rested his head on Augustine’s shoulder, sighing. “‘Nd s’mtimes I..I thin’ you don’ wan’ me…or you might leave…”

“Winnie, I'm not going to leave.”

Winnie whimpered, pulling himself closer still. “Are you sure? Because…cos…You left me…at the stair-”

Augustine's gut dropped. The silence hung in the air for a second too long, uncomfortable and confronting. At last, Augustine spoke, his voice almost hoarse.

“Winnie, I won't ever leave you again, okay?” He spoke almost forcefully, as if it could hide the fear he knew was in his voice. 

Winnie still remembered. 

How would he not?

You abandoned him. Betrayed him.

He has every right to be angry, and you know it. 

Don’t pretend to be the hero. He fears you. He fears you’ll leave, just as you did before. 

But the blonde just collapsed in his arms, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Pinky promise?”

Augustine half-smiled. “Pinky promise.”

“YAYYYY” Winnie celebrated, grinning a smile as if it could fix everything. As if a simple promise could heal Augustine leaving Winnie at the bottom of the stairs, as if a few words could mend Augustine almost leaving Winnie for dead. 

If only the world worked like that.

“God, how many drinks did you have?” He chastised.

Winnie smiled, his eyes hazy and beautiful, but still scarily drunk. “A lot…? Hehe. You want some?” 

Augustine took one look at Winnie, drunk out of his mind and hanging off him like a clingy monkey, and decided that, as much as it hurt, letting him continue this path wasn’t going to do him any good. 

“Come on, Winn, we gotta get going…”

Winnie practically sank. “Awwww pleaseee, Auggie, just five more minutes?” And, that bastard, he looked up at Augustine with those eyes, the ones he could never say no to. 

Except he would have to, just this once, because it would be unhealthy for both of them to stay any longer. 

So, hardening any empathy he had left, he shook his head. “Come on, Winn, you’re too drunk.”

“FINNIEEEE..”

Winnie’s house was cold. Winnie’s house was always cold, and it always managed to give Augustine the chills for more reasons than one. There was the fact that he had the aircon cranked up to fifteen degrees constantly, sure, but that wasn’t all.

It was the memories.

Blue and white-tinted dreams.

This house, but so, so wrong. Snowing, in the past.

Boxes against the wall as if Winnie had just moved in.

Except he hadn't. He hadn't. It was just a dream. Just a weird coma.

It didn’t stop the familiar twinge of guilt whenever Augustine stepped into Winnie’s freezing abode. Didn’t stop him from remembering the horrible things he'd wanted to do to his best friend.

The things he had almost done.

Winnie could have died.

Had they never talked, Augustine would have been happy.

Thank whatever deity had trapped them there that things hadn't ended that way.

It was different this time, though, because this time he was practically carrying Winnie. The blonde had given up walking a long time ago, seemingly content to drape himself across Augustine and let himself be guided wherever.

Which was...

Well, it was something.

He had given up trying to convince himself that anything he felt for Winnie was normal, but putting a name to it only made it scarier, so he let it be.

Eventually, he managed to wrestle Winnie up the stairs and into his room.

“Alright,” Augustine sighed. “Bed. Now.”

Winnie gasped dramatically.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Noooo.”

Before the blonde could launch into whatever drunken argument he'd cooked up, Augustine simply grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him toward the mattress.

Winnie flopped face-first onto it.

Immediately, he went limp.

Augustine stared.

“You were fighting me on this thirty seconds ago.”

“M'tired.”

“You're unbelievable.”

“Mhm.”

The brunette rolled his eyes and pulled the blankets over him.

There.

Mission accomplished.

Now all Augustine had to do was leave before Winnie said something else that made his heart attempt to escape through his ribcage.

He turned toward the door.

“Stay w' meeeee.”

Augustine froze.

“No.”

“Pleeease.”

“No.”

“Auggie.”

God.

That voice should've been illegal.

Augustine looked back. Winnie was already half asleep, eyes drooping shut, one arm sticking out from under the blankets toward him.

“Stay.”

For a moment, Augustine considered standing his ground.

But Winnie gave him those eyes again, and pouted. “Auggie…you said you would never leave me…”

Fuck, Winnie.

How do you make me change my mind so quickly?

And just like that, all resistance evaporated.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Winnie's face immediately brightened.

Augustine hated how much that affected him.

Grumbling under his breath, he kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the opposite side of the bed.

The second he settled down, Winnie shuffled across the mattress like a heat-seeking missile.

“Winn—”

Too late.

The blonde had already attached himself to Augustine's side.

Content at last, Winnie sighed happily and buried his face into Augustine’s shoulder.

“Night, Auggie.”

Augustine stared at the ceiling.

His heart was beating far too fast.

“Night, Winn.”

Augustine couldn’t sleep. 

Some time had passed. Too much time. 

Originally, he had planned to just wait until Winnie fell asleep and then sneak out, but with the way the blonde was clinging to him, he was sure that wasn’t going to happen.

Winnie was too close to him. He could feel his cool skin against his own, could feel the gentle press of his head in the crook of his neck, his breath warm and cold at the same time. Their limbs were tangled so impossible tight that Augustine wasn’t sure he could pull away if he tried, Winnie's death grip reminding him that although Augustine was the stronger of the two, Winnie was still very much capable of holding him down if he wanted to. 

He wasn’t sure why that thought made him blush the way it did.

He could hear his own heartbeat, way too loud, way too fast. It was meant to just be a platonic cuddle, not meant to devolve into something that meant more. 

So why was he so worked up?

Why was his face so hot and his insides on fire as Winnie reached to grab his hand? Why did he feel like he was melting as Winnie rubbed soft circles into his palms? 

Holy shit, Winn. 

What’re you doing to me?

Why does it feel so damn good?

And then it had to get more, although Augustine was almost sure that nothing could get more than this. Winnie shifted, aligning his head to Augustine’s ear, and the brunette shivered on instinct, almost certain he knew what was coming. 

“Mm, you're so good, Auggie,” Winnie breathed, so soft and alluring it made Augustine want to claw out his heart for how painful it started beating. 

“So amazing. The best….friend I could ever ever dream of…Auggie…” He sounded almost asleep, like these were just passing thoughts and not enough to make Augustine forget how to breathe. 

“I just wanna lie here with you forever…wanna hold you…Can I hold you?” He asked, as if his hands weren’t already all over the brunette, as if he wasn’t already tangled with him. 

Augustine gulped. Part of him wanted to snap Winnie out of it, to move before things got really embarrassing for both of them. 

Another, more prominent part of him wanted to see how far Winnie would go. 

“Winn, you’re already holding me…”

Winnie sighed, the breath sending a shiver down Augustine's spine. “No…well, yes..But I want to hold you forever.”

Augustine gulped. “T-that’s not very practical, Winnie—”

Winnie shifted impossibly closer, pushing himself into the curve of Augustine's body. “I know…you’re just so handsome though..”

He’s lying.

“So strong…”

He doesn’t mean it. 

"So muscly..."

No one could. 

“You-your hair’s so pretty”

He was just trying to make you feel better.

“You’re so warm and safe—”

You’re just using him. 

"So fierce and loyal and caring"

He’s drunk, and you're blushing over him like a creep.

“I..wanna. I wanna…ki—”

“Winnie. Stop.” He broke, his voice calm and decided but breaking on the inside.

Winnie looked up, and lord those eyes. They were sad. Augustine had made Winnie sad. 

Winnie was never sad.

He’s faking. He couldn’t like you that much. Not after what you did to him.

Augustine swallowed, hard, not truly prepared to break Winnie’s heart, but even less prepared to let Winnie swoon over him like that, not when he didn’t deserve it.

“You don't mean any of that, so don’t—”

“—what?” And his voice, too. So sweet and hurt and sad that it broke Augustine's heart further. He kept looking at Augustine with puppy-dog eyes, as if it would make him cave.

He wouldn’t.

“You can’t mean that shit, so don't say it.” He choked out, not meeting Winnie's eyes. 

The blonde was scarily silent, and for a heartbreaking moment, Augustine was convinced he had broken Winnie completely. 

But only for a moment, because before he could think, Winnie had separated himself slightly from his side. “Do-Do you really believe that?” His eyes were so hurt it almost broke Augustine. 

He opened his mouth to say that yes, in fact, he did believe that, because why on Earth would someone like Winnie be hanging out with someone like Augustine if it wasn’t fake, but suddenly he felt the bed beside him dip. 

It creaked softly as Winnie rose to his knees, locking eyes with Augustine for a second before, before—

Before—

Oh. 

Oh..

Oh shit.

Winnie had moved from being curled up next to him to…being straddled on top of him. 

Augustine almost forgot how to breathe. 

He could feel Winnie’s weight on him, real and grounding, a reminder that no, this wasn’t a dream. That, yes, everything was real. His cold hands brushed the hair out of Augustine's face, creating a blazing trail of fire as they touched his skin. 

Augustine didn’t think he had ever been more flustered in his entire life. 

Winnie looked down on him—down on him, because for once, Winnie was the one in power—and his eyes were so full of sadness that they made Augustine want to eat his own words. 

You did that. 

You made Winnie—Winnie, who smiled after you tried to kill him, Winnie who laughed when he made it out of the car crash, Winnie who always grinned that big, warm, smile of a hundred suns—you had made that Winnie look this sad. 

This heart broken. 

Even when they had made up, he still only made Winnie sad. 

This is what he always did wrong. He was a bad friend. 

Come on, Augustine, grow up for once. Be a decent person, fucking idiot. 

He gulped, pushing himself up to rest on his elbows, trying to keep the idea that he was still in control. He wasn’t; he wasn't, and he knew it. But his heart was beating too fast, and his cheeks were flushed, and he just wanted some prospect of control. 

“Winn—What the fuck—”

Winnie only frowned from on top of him, one finger gently pushing him back to lie down, pressing a single cold finger on his lips. 

“Shhh, no talking, just taking, ok?” He cooned, brushing his finger along Augustine’s lips. 

The brunette completely froze. He was convinced that his nerve endings were broken by now, as his face flushed an ungodly colour at the feeling of Winnie's cold digit over his lips, not forcing but showing. 

And in the stupidly vulnerable position, where Augustine would have tackled literally anyone else who could have been on top of him, he felt himself instead just melt into the bed, unsure whether he found controlling Winnie ridiculously terrifying or ridiculously attractive. Maybe both. 

Either way, he found himself with a deep, odd and almost alien sense of trust for Winnie. Trust he hadn't felt since before they first fought, trust that stemmed deep in his core and travelled all the way to his fingertips, until every bit of him was warm with content. 

He trusted Winnie. 

He trusted Winnie so goddamn much. 

“Hey, look at me, ok?” He spoke softly, too softly for Augustine to deserve. Still, he wordlessly moved his eyes up to level with the taller’s big, beautiful, blue glass balls. The pale finger on his lips slowly made its way to caress his face, rubbing small circles that were slowly turning from spikey fire to comfortable warmth. 

“Auggie. I mean every single compliment I give you, drunk or no.” He breathed, his eyes quickly turning from sad to something that Augustine couldn’t describe with any word other than ‘loving’. 

“Mmk?” He said, shifting slightly on Augustine's body. “I mean it when I say everything.”

He locked eyes with Augustine, and dear lord, those eyes almost made him believe Winnie. 

Believe that he was worth it, or at the very least that Winnie believed him to be. Almost.  

“Everything?” He whispered, holding his will as hard as he could to not lean into Winnie's cool touch. 

Winnie's eyes met his once more, so intense, so sad and hopeful that they stole Augustine's breath for the umpteenth time that day. “Everything.” He said, darker, more serious. 

His hand rose to Augustine's hair, mindlessly playing and massaging his brown locks. It was a simple gesture, yet for some fucking reason Augustine's mind decided that it felt better than anything anyone had ever done to him, and fought the urge to melt into Winnie's caring hands. 

“Want me to show you how much I appreciate you?”

Augustine shuddered. “Y-yeah..”

Winnie smiled, soft, real, heart-melting. “Ok..”

His hand slipped from Augustine’s hair, now brushing over his arms. Augustine shivered. “I like your muscles…I think they’re hot and cool, and I like the idea of you protecting me.” Winnie began, and Augustine went bright red. 

He’s only just started, and you’re already folding? Pathetic. 

But there was something in his eyes, something so true and honest that Augustine began to believe him, that maybe his muscles weren’t just a scar of his brutality and volatility, that maybe they were ok.

His body was good.

Winnie hummed, his fingers brushing ever so lightly over his skin as he went to take Augusine’s hands. “I like how protective you are,”

He shone, and Augustine looked up with starving eyes. “I like how you care for me, even when I get overly emotional,”

A warm sense of happiness, unlike much he had ever felt, flew up his spine. 

His personality was good.

“I like how you seem really tough on the outside, but are really just so sweet on the inside.”

Augustine rolled his eyes, trying not to react as Winnie's hands travelled up to his hair. “I am NOT sweet.” He scoffed. 

Big mistake. 

In an instant, Winnie's hands were off him, his voice silent. Winnie's eyes were off him as well, now examining nonexstent nail polish. It felt so weird, without Winnie touching him, without the comfort. Auggie spluttered. “Wha—”

“Thought I said no speaking, Augustine.” His eyes snapped back onto him immediately, except they were…different. Colder, stiffer. Devoid of the warmth that Augustine craved so much. He froze under their cold gaze, shutting his big mouth and once again lying down flat, eyes on the floor, muttering a quiet ‘sorry’.

Winnie hummed, ghosting his hands on Augustine's face, just close enough for him to feel it, and far enough for him to crave the contact. And boy, did he crave. He craved Winnie’s hands all on him, craved Winnie loving him, caring for him, teaching him, doing whatever he wanted with him. 

Shit, he was so screwed.

But Winnie didn’t touch him. Not yet, not enough. Only ghosted his hand over Augustine's hot skin, never giving him enough. “Mm, look at me, Augustine.”

Who was his idiot? Thinking he could just come here and boss Augustine around like that, as if Augustine would ever do what he sai—

Brown eyes snapped to blue faster than he could control. For a second, Winnie stared down at him, almost surprised that it actually worked. Only for a second, though, before Winnie’s hands were on his skin again, caressing his face and fluffing his hair in every way that Augustine needed.

The brunette blinked, colour rushing to his face.

The relief was immediate.

Violent.

Embarrassing.

The second Winnie's fingers returned to his hair, Augustine felt his shoulders loosen despite himself.

What.

The fuck.

Was that?

His stomach twisted.

Because that wasn't fair.

Winnie wasn't supposed to have that kind of control over him.

Winnie was supposed to be the clingy one. The needy one. The one following Augustine around like some lost puppy.

Not this.

Not Augustine, finding himself desperate for a single look.

Not Augustine sitting there like an idiot, hanging off every scrap of affection Winnie decided to give him.

The realisation landed like a punch to the ribs.

Winnie could take it away.

At any moment.

One disappointed look and suddenly Augustine was apologising. One cold glance and he was practically bending over backwards trying to earn back a smile.

It should've annoyed him.

Honestly, it should've pissed him off.

Augustine hated being controlled.

Hated being told what to do.

Hated feeling weak.

Yet the second Winnie withdrew his attention, all Augustine could think about was getting it back.

Pathetic.

Absolutely pathetic.

Worse still, part of him couldn't decide whether the whole thing felt insulting or intoxicating.

Because this was Winnie.

Sweet, emotional, hopelessly affectionate Winnie.

The same Winnie who usually looked at him like he'd hung the moon.

The same Winnie who always gave and gave and gave.

And now, somehow, he'd flipped the entire situation on its head.

Now Augustine was the one waiting.

Wanting.

Watching Winnie's face for any sign of approval.

Auggie's jaw tightened.

He should've hated that.

Instead, he found himself hoping Winnie would touch his hair again.

“‘N’ I love your hair…so fluffy and soft,” Winnie continued, now playing with his hair fully with both hands. 

Augustine melted like candle wax. 

Winnie didn’t think his hair was messy, ugly, and unruly. He trusted Winnie, Winnie was always right. 

Augustine's hair was good.

“And…” Winnie drawled, hands coming down to brush his cheekbones. “And I like your face…” 

The blonde was blushing now, though Augustine wasn’t sure if it was him or the alcohol. He knew that Winnie's blush would probably be pale in comparison to his. “I..”

He trailed off, moving to lie on top of Auggie instead, pushing their torsos together flush.

Shit, his face was close to Augustine's. To close. He was certain Winnie could hear his heartbeat by now. “I like your face…Hope you know you're very handsome…” He trailed off, blue eyes dropping from brown ones onto Augustine's lips. 

The shorter felt his heart stop. “And..."

Winnie's finger brushed over his lips, slow and tentative, allowing Augustine to pull away if he wanted to. 

He didn’t.

“An’ I think your lips are…warm…” He said, brushing them more confidently now, and it took all of Augustine's willpower not to just jump up and kiss him already. “And pretty…” He leaned closer, so closer until Augustine could feel his breath on his lips.

“Mm, just wanna kiss you..” he murmured, almost to himself, and Augustine shivered at the thought of Winnie's perfect lips against his own. 

Winnie looked up to him, his eyes so full of desire and want that it made Augustine choke on his breath. “Can I? Can I kiss you?”

The brunette froze, his breath coming too heavy. He wanted to say yes. The realisation hit him like a bullet, heavy in his chest. He wanted this. Wanted Winnie to kiss him, to hold him, wanted to be more than ‘just friends’.

“Y-yeah..”, he choked out, lost in the other's eyes.

Winnie smiled that warm smile, leaning forward, so close, too close. 

So close Augustine could feel his breath, so close he forgot how to breathe. And for a single, heart-stopping second, he met Augustine's eyes, his so big and blue and gorgeous that Augustine realised that he might just be in love. That, realistically, no ‘best friends’ did this, that this was a thing lovers did. 

Was that what they were? Lovers? Winnie was drunk. But drunk people were more honest and—and—

And oh. 

Oh shit.

Augustine didn’t get any more tantalising seconds of desire and second-guessing before Winnie's lips were finally on his.

God, he was in heaven.

And fuck, if they weren’t the most cold and smooth and amazing lips ever. So soft, careful, as if Augustine would pull away. Despite their position, Winnie was still letting him bail, never pushing too far. Not that Augustine would ever bail on this. 

Not that he would ever want this feeling to end. 

Winnie melted into him, resting his entire weight on Augustine, his lips so loving that Augustine was convinced he was in heaven. Winnie kept pushing forward, deepening the kiss until their tongues were dancing and Augsuine could taste the liquor on his lips. 

“Mmm Auggie…” He hummed, the vibrations sending a shiver down the brunette's spine. “...Love...you so much…so beautiful, so good for me…mhm wanted to do this for so long...” 

Augustine, who previously prided himself on being immovable, unflusterable, a rock in the face of love, found himself butter on Winnie’s lips.

His insecurities were still there, and he knew that they wouldn’t go away that easily. But Winnie, amazing Winnie, who he trusted with his whole soul, who he thought was always right, who he would do anything for, Winnie thought he was good. Winnie looked at his messy, self-loathing trash and thought he was beautiful. 

And if Winnie believed it, then he would try. 

He wrapped his hands around Winnie's waist, pulling him closer, craving the contact between them. They kissed and kissed until they were both melting and forgetting to breathe, until all Augustine could think and feel was Winnie. Winnie around him, Winnie on top of him, Winnie on his lips. He wanted to hold Winnie here forever and just exist together. 

But alas, they could only go for so long until they needed air, and Winnie broke away eventually, flushed and panting. “Shit, Aug..” He breathed, so much love and admiration in his eyes that Augustine felt he could get drunk off it. 

He brushed dirty blonde hair out of his…friend? Lover? Off Winnie's eyes, hand lingering for a second longer than needed. “Love you too, Winn..” He murmured, once again utterly lost in the other's blue eyes. 

Winnie lit up, looking like a six-year-old kid who just got an ice cream. “Really! Yes! Yay! Auggieee, I love you so much!!!” He swooned, collapsing on Augustine, resting his chin on the brunette’s chest. 

The blonde laughed, before sighing, content and at peace. “Auggie…are we boyfriends now..” he said softly, as Augustine ran a hand through his hair. 

“If you wanna be..”

Winnie sighed. “Yeah…when I wake up, Auggie..” He shifted, getting comfortable on Augustine's chest. “Can you ask me out..?”

Augustine blinked. “Wha-?”

“‘M drunk, Aug,” he giggled, “I dunno how much I'll remember of this…so if I wake up and ask you what we’re doing last night…ask me out, okay?”

Augustine blushed. 

“Promise I’ll say yes..” Winnie insisted, softly kissing the hem of his shirt.

Augustine blushed more, pushing him away. “Okay, Winn. Good night, now.”

Winnie smiled, his breathing slowing. “ ‘g’night, ma love…”

“Night, Winn. Love you too.” 

Augustine sighed, content for the first time since that Winter, so long ago. 

For once, he was grateful for alcohol, teen parties and bad decisions. After all, that had brought him Winnie and..

God, he thought, he might be the luckiest person alive that night.