Chapter Text
Exhaustion tugged at Coy’s eyelids as he miserably sipped at a can of beer. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been dragged to that night’s party in the first place— sure, he enjoyed the thrill of drinking occasionally, watching his friends drunkenly make a fool of themselves and aimlessly chattering with strangers, whose intoxication would undeniably make them affable to any sort of awkwardness Coy tended to radiate. The aftermath, though, was entirely different; without fail, the sun’s arrival would accompany a piercing headache, seemingly endless nausea, and some form of teasing from his roommates at his disorientation.
Still, tonight he wasn’t entirely inebriated, and while he was sure he’d be grateful for that fact tomorrow morning, Coy felt that his sobriety was, to put it lightly, completely inappropriate for his surroundings. Having lost his friends pretty early on, he’d been quickly drained without any proper distractions.
He winced as a comically ecstatic boy yelled in his ear, only to immediately fluster and offer an apology, swiftly hurrying off to find whoever he’d mistaken the loner for. The aforementioned grimaced and reached for his phone. Maybe he should find Anthony, or any of his friends for that matter. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to convince any of them to come home with him, but Coy was incredibly eager to escape the feeling of suffocation.
Coy aimed to toss his beer in the trash, missing by an astonishingly embarrassing longshot before simply ignoring it. Maybe he’d go to hell for littering, but then again, maybe he was already there. He pushed through the crowd of attendees, earning a few drunken side eyes and grumbles as he determinedly searched for a familiar face. His mood lightened up as he caught wind of Hanbon, the brunette chatting with a few friends, an arm loosely draped around another slouching figure, who seemed completely out of it—
Oh, shit. That was Anthony.
“Bon!” Coy exclaimed, rushing towards her and offering an apologetic glance to somebody he’d nearly crashed into. Hanbon’s attention turned to Coy, grinning as his lanky figure came into view. Anthony just barely registered her sudden movement, only directing his gaze beyond the floor it had previously been glued to when Coy greeted him with a hey, Ant. To Coy’s surprise, his tense mood immediately shifted.
“Coy,” Anthony breathily slurred, smiling at the taller as he shifted to nearly topple over his frame, gracelessly abandoning Hanbon’s grip. Coy let out a shaky breath as he weakly held onto an abnormally docile Anthony. In any other context he’d be mortifyingly euphoric, but he soon snapped back to reality at the cruel reminder they had an audience. Perplexed, he turned to Hanbon, whose giggles at the spectacle broke him out of his daze. “Bon,” he started, “how much did he have to drink?”
“I don’t know, Coy, but if I were you, I wouldn’t be complaining much!” She wildly gestured at the two, and Coy processed just how the sight could be misinterpreted, not aided much by the way Anthony clutched Coy’s chest as he murmured a tipsy greeting to him. He sighed. If anything was an indicator of just how wasted Anthony was, it’d be this clinginess that he tended to reserve for an audience, anything to be passed off as nothing but a bit.
“I was looking for someone to come home with me. Should I just–”
“Damn, Coy! You finally took the hint, huh? Never thought I’d see you be so bold,” Hanbon elatedly slurred the last two words, and Coy flushed a vibrant shade of red, finally registering the way her friends were knowingly staring at the pair. One girl in particular whispered something to Hanbon, who, in response, snickered, muttering something along the lines of god, I wish before turning back to Coy, patiently awaiting a response.
“Not in that way, Bon!” He shouted in a shrill voice, keen on clarifying the situation. Anthony, who’d been previously oblivious to the banter, seemed a bit startled at his sudden change in tone, and looked up at Coy with tears forming in his eyes. Coy shook his head and ran an unsteady hand through Anthony’s curls, hoping his sluggish effort of biting back a smile would be concealed. The act earned him a lazy grin from the man beneath him, and Coy avoided his gaze. “I think I’ll just take him home with me. Are you and Will alright to, like, Uber?”
Hanbon nodded. “Yeah, I think Will’s with his girlfriend right now, so he’ll probably be with her. I’ll get a ride back to my place. You just,” she gesticulated vaguely at them, and Coy felt a familiar heat rise to his ears, “you know, get home safe!” Her emphasis on the last word felt all too suggestive for Coy to properly handle, and he flipped her off before offering a quick side hug as retribution, readjusting Anthony in his arms as they awkwardly stumbled out.
It took the two a while to escape the unfamiliar house, with Coy’s struggles at navigating the area only being exacerbated by Anthony’s lethargic motivation and snide comments. Occasionally, Anthony would doze off, and Coy would be met with a daunting silence before he’d suddenly wake up and worriedly ask Coy where they were. Each time, Coy would say they were heading home, and Anthony would relax enough to doze off again. By the time they’d made it halfway to their place, he had barely sobered up, yet this change was accompanied by a foreign form of chattiness.
He listened as Anthony rambled on and on about whatever had happened at the party, how he’d been dragged into a game of beer pong by Will and suffered a “quite frankly, undeserved loss,” how he’d gotten bored and wandered off, quickly getting dragged into an awkward encounter with a stranger who he’d feigned recognition for and had quickly had to abandon due to the realization he had absolutely no clue who she was. Coy snickered at the stories and offered commentary that Anthony had laughed obnoxiously loud at before moving on.
“So I was looking for… looking for Hanbon, and she saw me and took a photo and dragged me to hang out with her. And then Bon saw her friends, ‘nd we were dancing to some shitty song you’d hate, and I was like, Bon, where’s Coy? ‘Cuz you know, I missed you, but she… she didn’t know.” Anthony let out an erratic breath, and Coy shivered as it brushed against his neck. He bashfully attempted to restore his fading composure, glancing down at Anthony with a flushed face.
“Aww, did you miss me that much? You know I was like, right there,” he teased lightheartedly with a toothy grin, fully expecting Anthony to swiftly deny the accusation. To Coy’s shock, he felt a tear drop against his shoulder, and he immediately turned to look at Anthony. He was met with what could only be described as a pitiful sight, eyes locking on Anthony’s piercing blue eyes, filled with tears as his lip quivered. Before he could react, Anthony hugged Coy, heat forcing itself onto both of their faces at the former’s sudden boldness.
Coy stumbled backwards into the sidewalk, hesitating to return the drunk’s gentle embrace. He felt a strange form of giddiness and anxiety, though he quickly reminded himself that Anthony was absolutely not in his right mind. Yet, he couldn’t help but indulge in his intoxicated affections, burying his face in Anthony’s dark curls as he was enveloped in his frame. When his gentle sobs began to subside and Coy’s body felt all too warm, he gently pushed Anthony off. Against his better judgement, Coy held Anthony’s face in his hands and gently brushed away a stray tear, desperate to ignore the heat radiating from Anthony’s face.
“You are really stressing me out, you know,” he mumbled, eliciting a sniffle from the other. He went on. “We’re almost home, Anthony. Just a few more steps,” Coy whispered, placing a hand on either of Anthony’s arms to help him up. The latter’s face paled as he dizzily stood up. He feebly glared at Coy before grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers, leaning his head up against his shoulder in the process. Coy prayed that his anxious swallow would go unheard.
As the two approached their porch, Coy suddenly let go of Anthony’s hand to search for their house keys in his pocket. He fiddled with them to unlock the door, oblivious to Anthony’s scowl as they were engulfed by the cool breeze of the air conditioner. Coy quickly took off his shoes, turning to face Anthony who, while admittedly sluggish in doing so, had managed to take his own shoes off without staggering too much. Coy offered him a smile.
“I’ll take you to your room,” he offered, taking off his jacket and tossing it to the side. He stretched out a hand for Anthony to take, and he immediately accepted the offer with a grin, before promptly gagging.
Fuck.
Coy scrambled to rush Anthony to the bathroom across the hallway, whispering a few curses under his breath as the latter struggled to hold it down. The second Coy flicked the light on, Anthony’s head was keeled over the toilet as he spewed out the remnants of cheap alcohol. Coy grimaced at the sight, though his slight repulsion was quickly replaced with sympathy when Anthony struggled to keep his composure. He knelt down beside him.
“Come on, you’re almost done,” he gently whispered, rubbing circles on the curly-head’s shoulder as he began to sob for what seemed like the millionth time that night. He watched as Anthony shamefully placed his head in his hands and rubbed harshly at his eyes.
“‘M sorry, Coy,” he hiccupped between tears. “I’m so gross.” He’d stammered slightly at the last word, as if he were confessing some sort of transgression. Coy took his hands and attempted at a smile, though the setting made it difficult to offer any meaningful comfort.
“You’re not gross Anthony, I mean, it happens to the best of us. It’s better than if you puked all over our front lawn, because Will and I probably would’ve beat the shit out of you if we woke up to that,” he joked. Anthony looked up at him as if he were an idiot, to Coy’s utter confusion. The silence in the bathroom seemed to be screaming at the two.
“You couldn’t beat the shit out of a fly. And it’s not that,” he muttered under his breath, and before he could elaborate, he stood to clean up what was left of his intoxicated haze. Coy lingered at the doorway, watching as Anthony languidly washed his hands. He desperately wanted to know what Anthony had meant, but he knew any further questioning would likely fall on deaf ears. By the time Anthony was sober in the morning, he himself would probably lack any sort of explanation and just deflect from that night all together. Coy wasn’t sure whether that thought was cruel or comforting, but before he could dwell on it any longer he was broken out of his thoughts by a tap on his arm.
“Done?”
Anthony nodded.
Coy carefully slung an arm around his shoulders, turning off the bathroom light as the pair stepped out of the bathroom. He noted, with a sort of feverish admiration, that Anthony’s shoulders were a lot broader than his own. His ears burned, and he tried not to dwell on the thought, especially once Anthony’s glazed eyes caught a glimpse of his embarrassment and he was shot a questioning look. Coy focused on getting him up the staircase.
As they ascended, his devotion to avoiding Anthony's persistent stare dissolved just as quickly as it had formed, as numerous times blurry vision and dizziness would prevail, and he'd have to catch Anthony by the waist to avoid any injury. Each time, their faces would flush similar shades, and Coy would swiftly return his focus to the way their footsteps aligned. As much as he tried to avoid contemplating, he wondered what Anthony was thinking, and decided to believe that his thoughts were merely dedicated towards drifting into a deep slumber.
For once, he was grateful that the aggression thrust upon by a hangover could distract from their situation.
Once they’d approached the door of Anthony’s room, Coy paused, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. “Well, this is you. Do you… need anything before I go?” At his words, Anthony suddenly grabbed at Coy’s shoulders, his previously somber attitude fiercely changing. Coy felt a trickle of cold sweat run down his neck, and prayed he’d be skilled enough at concealing whatever the fuck this was making him feel. He bit back nervous laughter and stared dumbly at Anthony’s resolute expression.
“Don’t leave me here. Please.”
The grip on his shoulders tightened as Anthony’s calloused hands pleaded with him to stay. Coy was well aware that staying with Anthony would be anything but rational, yet he found it so incredibly difficult to resist his sudden vulnerability. In his exhaustion, he concluded that it’d be a problem to face once dawn forced itself upon his eyes. After all, Coy was used to brushing off anything that happened with Anthony.
He shuffled, grabbing Anthony’s wrists to coax his hands off of him, silently urging him to enter his room. Anthony meandered slowly towards his bed, letting Coy follow closely behind before nearly collapsing onto it. Rather than fall asleep, as Coy had hoped, he swiveled his head towards Coy, who’d been stiffly awaiting further command, and in a swift movement grabbed his arm and dragged him onto the mattress, just centimeters away. The latter yelped in shock, feeling a fervent crimson paint his cheeks as he laid on the mattress, nose touching Anthony’s.
His embarrassment struggled to fade, and while he’d held onto the hope that Anthony’s obliviousness could prevail into this encounter, it was obvious that wasn’t the case, as Anthony’s brows furrowed in distress, clammy hands reaching up to gently caress Coy’s jaw. This did nothing but worsen Coy’s dwindling conviction, and he felt frozen in place as Anthony started to ramble. “Coy— shit, did I get you sick?” He slurred, fingers scattering all over Coy’s mortified figure as the boy in question struggled.
Coy began to sit up, and his futile attempts were shut down by the other, who proceeded to pin him down and straddle his hips to prevent his escape. Trapped by a hand on either of his wrists and a weight on the lower end of his body, Coy suddenly felt dizzy as he blinked in bewilderment. God, he wished he were sick. That fact would be less humiliating than the reality of his current predicament.
“Fuck, Coy,” Anthony huffed. “You should’ve just gone home without me— your face is so red and you’re heating— you’re heating up. I should’ve just stayed with Bon back there.” Coy wasn’t exactly sure how Anthony hadn’t realized the misdirected correlation between his fluster and Anthony’s overindulgence, and he couldn’t tell whether or not to be grateful for that fact either, especially as he gazed up at the miserable sight above him, completely incognizant of the mental state he’d left Coy in. He gaped as Anthony worriedly rambled on and kept frantically checking over Coy. The situation was ridiculously overwhelming, and once Anthony began to inch his face closer to Coy’s with the goal of “inspecting him,” he decided to finally intervene.
“I’m not sick Anthony, you just— you startled me.”
At those words, Anthony visibly relaxed, face flushing a relieved hue. He let out a content sigh, and Coy didn’t know whether or not to mourn their little game of doctor yet. He felt a heavy weight against his shoulder as Anthony collapsed on his chest, and he began to murmur against his skin.
“‘S good. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make someone I like so much feel like shit.”
Coy immediately shifted, careful to not agitate Anthony as he gently pushed him off, stunned. The loss of contact elicited a whine from the curly-head, and Coy could barely collect his thoughts together before finally working up the strength to ask:
“What did you just say?”
Anthony offered him a confused glance before responding, “Why would I want to make someone I like feel like shit?” His words were thickly coated in a sense of artificial certainty, almost accusatory, and Coy’s heart sank as he attempted to hide the way his eyes were glazing over. He knew that Anthony was really fucking drunk, and that not a word that escaped his lips could be considered real. And still, he really wished he could convince himself that this was the truth. When he failed to acknowledge what Anthony said, the sound of quiet sobs flooded his senses.
Coy suddenly felt nauseous, and wished he had it in him to act so irrationally, so similarly intoxicated to give into Anthony’s feelings. If he were drunk on anything right now, he’d be drunk on Anthony. He was addicted to him. But Coy knew that Anthony wouldn't want to bring this up, he knew that Anthony would feel so ashamed if he knew just how vulnerable he’d been with Coy that night. And Coy knew that Anthony’s words were anything but the truth, and it’d be so detrimental to everything if he gave into what he wanted the most.
And so Coy cradled Anthony’s face, feeling the cold glaze of a tear over his knuckle as he quietly consoled the figure hovering over him. His hand was shaky as it covered Anthony’s mouth, the drunk staring at him with an odd sort of infatuation. It took everything for him to drag his lips towards Anthony’s ear to finally whisper a quiet, but empty promise.
“When you’re sober.”
Anthony gazed back at him with that wonderful expression, unchanging as he took in Coy’s words. A familiar weight collapsed itself onto Coy as Anthony’s senses finally came to relax at his words, leaving Coy’s obtuse gaze directed at the ceiling as their limbs entangled, gentle snores echoing throughout the night.
God, maybe he should’ve just gotten drunk.