Sup its ya boy back at it again at Krispy Kreme

The party was already underway when Japhet, Valerie, Pablo, and Zacharie arrived. While the couple took their sweet time getting out of the car, Pablo and Zacharie had both raced up the stairs in a mock competition.

Pablo 'won' by jumping in front of Zacharie after opening the door and throwing his arm out to stop the dash of his friend. Lights were off, music was blaring, and there was copious amounts of alcohol. Pablo pulled down the sleeve of his hoodie, a nervous habit whenever he thought someone could see the secrets buried in his wrists.

As always, he was in no danger at all, and Valerie gently reminded him that he would be fine. Japhet's arm was around Valerie's shoulders still, and the moment Pablo caught a glimpse of the tall French boy, he darted across the room. Zacharie tailed him to the kitchen.

Pablo's darting was more of a quick shuffle because of the high concentration of people in the house. Zacharie was lucky to keep track of his friend in the crowd- so many people turned up to this party, it was insane- and the blaring music didn't help matters. Pablo then went out the door to the backyard, where it was much less crowded. Somebody had jumped into the pool, but the most attention-drawing thing was the person standing by himself near the fence with a red plastic cup like the ones you see in movies.

"Look." Zacharie grabbed Pablo from behind by the shoulders and pointed at him. "Baseball guy."

"You seem to be correct. Though if I may add, I believe his moniker is 'Batter'."

"Like, 'hey batter batter, hey batter batter swing' Batter?"

"Perhaps."

"I'm gonna go ask him if he told on us. You wanna come with?"

A cheeky grin. "Of course."

Zacharie and Pablo walked side-by-side to Batter. Once he had noticed them, Zacharie shouted, "Hey batter batter, hey batter batter swing!"

"Why?" He was staring at them under the shadow of his hat, visibly annoyed by the reference.

"Because you're not dancing with everyone else and you're a baseball player."

"I don't dance."

"And there it is! 'I don't dance'! I told you, Pablo!"

"Why did you decide to come here if it happens to be that you do not dance?" asked Pablo

Batter took a moment to respond, since people who didn't often talk to Pablo often needed a second to get used to his way of speaking. "My girlfriend wanted to go."

"Oh." For some reason, Zacharie found himself slightly disappointed. He chalked it up to Batter being one of the few genuinely cute guys he'd seen in a while. "Dancing is easy, by the way. See- Pablo, come over here- how easy it is."

Without a word, when Pablo come into proximity the masked boy grabbed his hand, twirled him, and dipped him, leaving Pablo fairly flustered.

"Of course, that's a more formal thing," said Zacharie. "But see how easily I did that?"

"Yes. That doesn't mean I'm going to dance with everyone else," responded Batter.

Zacharie shrugged. "Suit yourself. Let's go, Pa- Oh! Before I forget, did you...? Pablo? Who are you staring at?"

Just before Zacharie was about to ask the would-be snitch about what he might or might not have done, he had caught Pablo staring and smiling just barely, a dreamy, forgetful smile at something- more likely someone- in the distance, his cheeks dusted with a light pink. Zacharie turned and followed Pablo's line of sight to find a well-known, charismatic brunette boy at the end.

"Isn't that Damien?" Zacharie asked, quietly enough so that only Pablo heard.

He nodded.

"Why are you staring? That's rude, you kn-"

And then it hit him like a brick. Zacharie steered Pablo away from Batter so his friend wouldn't be too embarrassed by what Zacharie was about to say.

"Do you... like Damien?"

"Well, I suppose, yet it depends on exactly what type of 'like' you mean." Pablo had averted his gaze, but the damage was already done.

"Like... do-you-have-a-crush-on-him 'like'. You know. Not that it would make complete and total sense if you liked him. Because it's not like you almost never come with me to parties and yet you make an exception for this one boy who, in my opinion at least, is good-looking and a bit charming when he wants to be. Because that wouldn't make sense. At all. It also doesn't make sense that there's a rumor he's bi. And he's single. Just in case you were looking to get with him. Which you probably aren't. But just in case."

Zacharie smirked underneath his mask as Pablo turned away towards the back door, but didn't move until he said, "Yes. That would make no sense whatsoever."

"Valerie is going to freak out when he hears about this, you know."

"Do not tell him. You, frankly, don't understand how awful little brothers can be. Especially when it comes to matters such as this."

"Pablo, you're twins. He's only a few minutes younger than you."

"And yet we have different birthdays."

"Ah, you got me there. Hey, want to get some drinks?"

"...Yes."

How long had it been? At least an hour, Zacharie figured. That would make sense, seeing as he probably couldn't walk in a straight line anymore. He had managed to get his hands on some vodka, but frankly gave up on drinking it in pursuit of the meaningless task of finding Valerie.

He had probably passed by the blue-eyed boy a thousand times in the crowd, but he was finally stopped just to look into those eyes. "Do you know where my brother is?!" he was shouting over the music.

Zacharie shook his head lazily and turned away, the meaningless drunk task fulfilled. The next task was to find Pablo, the suggestion in his mind from what Valerie had said. A nagging thought, the last of his sobriety, said that he had better find his best friend before some creep took advantage of him, seeing as the last time he saw Pablo, he had obviously been drinking and Pablo just about never got drunk.

That nagging thought was something Zacharie would never want to see happen, but was sadly a reality at giant parties like this one. Pablo wasn't exactly liked among the school's population- sure, there were people who didn't get what was wrong with him- but the majority of the current junior year disliked him. Most upperclassmen and underclassmen couldn't really care less about someone who wasn't in their grade. That last bit of his sobriety gave him a fleeting flashback of freshman year, with blood on the pavement, on that awful boy's knuckles, and a crimson wound on the side of a head with glazed-over golden eyes. Valerie's scream. His own shocked, strangled gasp. A nearly skeletal figure hiding in a mass of over-sized hoodies, smiles, and bandages. Meals that went uneaten. His best friend being cornered, forced onto the ground, and-

The last bit had all but disappeared, leaving Zacharie with an odd sense of having no idea what he'd just been thinking about. But it didn't matter, he'd found his friend- Pablo was leaning against the wall of the hallway which Zacharie presumed had bedrooms, numbly holding a generic red plastic cup that seemed almost empty. There was no telling what had been in there, from beer to that cheap wine that Pentel kid had dug up, to some of that vodka Zacharie had found earlier, to even that lean some other kid brought and was making. Pablo didn't look disheveled- at least, not any more than a normal drunk person would look like- and didn't look like he'd rediscovered the feeling of someone trying to have their way with him.

Or maybe Zacharie was a lot more drunk than he'd initially thought.

Pablo looked at him with dull, unfocused eyes, groaning and putting his head in his hands. He seemed to have gone past the point where it stopped feeling good and started feeling shitty. Zacharie, who seemed to be nearing that point as well, could understand the struggle. So, he took his friend by the hand and led him into a quiet bedroom. Pablo nearly tripped over his own feet as he followed.

Their eyes met.

The door closed.

They both slurred their words as they spoke.

One of them wound up on the bed. The tables were turned.

Inhibitions were lost.

And one thing led to another.

There went Pablo's hoodie. Across the room. The sight of it was humorous to Zacharie. And Zacharie's fingertips trailing on his sides was apparently humorous to Pablo; he was wiggling and snickering, after all.

Zacharie never took off his mask.

Pablo didn't try to kiss him.

Pablo also wasn't wearing a shirt under his hoodie. Just that black crop-top like thing over his chest.

There were so many scars on Pablo's arms. Of course, Zacharie had seen them all before, from the tiny, barely noticeable, horizontal ones to the gigantic, vertical, deep ones that didn't look like they would disappear any time soon.

The ones from that horrible day.

The day with too much blood and a note. Zacharie and Valerie in the hospital waiting room. Waiting for news on the friend who was wasting away into nothing. Having to readjust because the name they called Pablo wasn't the name Pablo wanted to be called.

A needy whine beneath him snapped him out of his thoughts.

Clothes?

Who needed clothes when he could be so warm with his drunk best friend, touching and squirming and moaning. When he was drunk too.

Where was his pants? Bah, who cares. He'd worry about that later. Now he had to deal with all this lust.

The figure beneath him mewled. Angelic platinum blond hair spread out on the comforter. Still had his mask on. Still no kissing. They weren't a couple. They were just two horny, drunk teenagers. Fucking in a stranger's bedroom. And not with said stranger. Skin on skin. Slow and fast, slow and fast. Fast and slow. Ah, there it was. Ow, Best Friend really should file his nails. Or maybe he just shouldn't dig them into Zacharie's back when he hit just the right spot. The spot that made Pablo gasp and whimper when Zacharie kept ramming into it.

There was buildup.

And as fast as it begun, it was over.

Well, guess Pablo wasn't a virgin anymore.

Zacharie slowly reached for his pants and couldn't find his sweater, drunkenly helping Pablo back into his clothes. Then they both passed out next to each other.

He groaned as he was shaken awake by a brunette boy. "Whaddya want...?" he whined, rolling over and realizing he was shirtless. And his head hurt. And it was really dark.

Oh.

Right.

Damien was saying something like, "Go home, the party's over. Also this is my room and I kinda want to sleep."

With barely realizing that they'd had sex in Pablo's crush's bedroom and were now being woken up by Pablo's crush, Zacharie shook Pablo, but he was already awake but barely awake, holding his head and looking horribly pale. Pablo was dressed, Zacharie needed his sweater, and it was unceremoniously thrown into his face by Damien.

Zacharie tugged on his sweater, grateful that the side of him that had decided to drunkenly hook up with his best friend had enough sense to not take off his mask.

Pablo promptly fell forward and threw up on the carpet, heaving out all of what he'd had that night. Damien helped him stand up. Zacharie stumbled a bit.

They both made their way out of the now-empty and trashed house. Standing out in the chilly night air was refreshing, but didn't help how shitty and tired Zacharie felt.

"I don't know how to get to my house," said Pablo. "Not from here."

He looked like he'd still be throwing up on Damien's carpet if there was anything left to throw up.

"Then let's go to my house," Zacharie offered.

They began to walk.

Zacharie wasn't sure how to explain the small bit of satisfaction he got when he saw that Pablo was limping.

He's limping because of me. Because of... us. I guess. And alcohol. I suppose drunk me can get rough. I hope it doesn't hurt too much. Ah, what am I thinking? That was good.

At least it was for me.

"I hope I didn't hurt you," said Zacharie.

"Why do you say that?"

So oblivious.

"You're limping."

Color returned to Pablo's cheeks, shaking his head at Zacharie and attempting not to limp but it did seem to hurt to walk without limping enough that not-limping didn't last for long.

"I swear, I'm going to have bruises tomorrow. Why did you have to grab me like that?"

Zacharie almost responded ('because you normally grab thighs or hips or something when you fuck someone the way we were') before he realized it was not meant to be answered. Imagining Pablo with bruised thighs and hips from his rough treatment had something oddly alluring about it, which was weird because Zacharie was not in love with Pablo.

Maybe Zacharie was just a kinky bastard.

"Are you okay?" he asked as Pablo started to look a bit sick again.

"I'll be fine."

They arrived at Zacharie's house soon. Zacharie walked in, not afraid to wake up his father, since the useless man had probably drunk himself half to death. As was the norm. Though he was cautious around that one particular creaking floorboard. Just in case.

He'd rather not finish the night with a black eye.

Zacharie's room was small and lousy, but the bed was big enough for both of them to sleep. Albeit, they would at least have to touch, but as they both laid down, Pablo proved himself to be feeling a bit clingy.

Zacharie threw off his mask. Pablo took a moment to stand, tell Zacharie not to look, take off that black crop-top-like garment, and set it on top of the mask on the dresser. Then he put his hoodie back on and flopped back onto the bed.

And they feel asleep next to each other in a close, warm embrace.

Valerie paced his room. His mother had given up on being mad at Valerie, since he did drink a bit at the party, for being worried about Pablo. Everyone in the household was aware of how the rest of junior year thought about Pablo.

Half of them would still call him 'Mirabel'.

Valerie, like his parents, was worried about his brother.

Because Valerie had witnessed firsthand what they did to him in freshman year.

He would never forget.

The blood. Skin and bones. "I already ate" and "I'm fine". So many tears. Torn hoodies. Bleeding through a bandage. Self-made scars. Hospital trips and begging for Pablo to stay and hoping for the best in a waiting room. Knowing that the best probably meant Pablo would be upset with Valerie, because he stopped him. Or it was the anxiety.

What was he thinking about again?

Right.

People often underestimated bullies. How they could go so far to ruin the poor victim's life. How they could turn a confident, smiling boy into a shivering, sobbing mess when they got their hands on him. A mess with choppy hair and a head wound from being bashed over and over. A mess with possibly thousands of scars because they hated him so much that he started to believe they were right. A mess who became a freezing skeleton, wearing a dozen layers because there was no more fat to keep in body heat, who became that skeleton because their comments about him never passing for a boy hit deep with a severely dysphoric teenager.

"He was lucky. He got here just in time."

"You saved him, Valerie. You're a hero."

Valerie had saved his brother's life.

But Pablo couldn't seem to care any less what he did what that life.

Batter barely drank anything at all. He'd rather not incur the wrath of his parents, thank you very much. After all, they would be mad enough when they found out how late he was out.

But they wouldn't find out.

Hopefully.

His bedroom was messy. He closed the window and fell into bed without changing.

It was quiet.

It was quite possible that everyone in the world was asleep right now, except for him.

Goodnight.

ooh la la, there was very abstract smut and then idk.