It is almost a comfort, that no one sees what Freed does.

He knew it was a mistake, accepting Cana's challenge. Everyone else did, too; between Bickslow's frantic headshaking and Evergreen's snickering, he had plenty of warning even outside his own slightly impaired judgment. But the room was warm, and loud with laughter, and Freed is celebrating his own reunion, even if his bridges somewhat less than seven years.

By the time Bickslow gets him balanced against the wall and has extracted a promise from him to not drink anymore tonight, the air has gone from warm to hot, in weird waves of euphoria and dizziness that leave Freed blessedly free of nausea but incapable of any real focus. The corner is shadowy, though, and after Bickslow leaves him it's relatively quiet, or at least free of the bustle of the rest of the space. Freed stares out at the mass of people, the rumble of sound, and reflects idly on what it says about him, that he's more comfortable watching than in the midst of it, until a figure detaches and reforms itself into the only face he really wants to see anyway.

Freed tips his head, to the wrong side so his hair falls away and clears both his eyes for a minute, and when he smiles it's warm and easy and too wide, though he can't remember why he should restrain himself. "Laxus."

Laxus pauses in front of him, staring down at the other man, and something in Freed's head murmurs about the poetry of being in Laxus's shadow, how he's happier here than in the direct light. Then the other man shifts, comes in closer, and Freed works through the excessively complicated motion of turning himself in towards the blond so by the time Laxus has settled on the bench next to him he's reoriented himself towards the other.

"You okay?" Laxus's shoulders are still facing out, towards everyone else, but he turns his head so he's watching Freed, so the other man can see the faint smile at his mouth. "Drinking with Cana was a dumb move, you should have known better."

Freed shrugs, the movement drawing excessive and melodramatic before he can restrain the action. "Well. 'S a party, right?"

"Wow." Laxus looks away, chuckles, dips his head. "You really are drunk." When he looks back up he's grinning properly, Freed can see his teeth catch white in the light.

Freed's still watching Laxus's mouth when his own laugh startles him. "Huh. Yeah, I am." Everything is spinning again, the gravity in the room is starting to drift to the left, and Freed is just leaning to try to compensate when a hand closes on his shoulder. He knows who it is, just from the burn of the contact even through his coat, even before his eyes or his thoughts have come back into focus.

"Hey." Laxus is frowning, now. Freed doesn't know why but his own smile evaporates, he tries to force his vision to clear so he can determine and remove the cause of Laxus's unhappiness. "You're gonna fall over. You should be in bed, if you're this bad."

Freed reaches out to catch himself on something, grabs at Laxus's arm as the steadiest thing within proximity. His hand lights up as hot as his shoulder, his fingers draw tight and more desperate than he ever lets them when he's sober, and Laxus comes into focus as the rest of the world spins out of control. That's okay, though, that's all Freed really needs anyway.

"'M fine," he says, but his breath turns into a hiccup and chokes him halfway through. "I'm okay, just lemme stay here."

"I can't leave you on your own," Laxus points out. He's still holding Freed's shoulder, his touch is bleeding warmth like electricity firing Freed's skin into secondhand recklessness. "You'll pass out or puke or both."

"Don't leave," Freed hears himself saying, his words echoing at a distance. "Don't, don't go, stay with me."

Laxus's frown smoothes out, evens into neutral confusion instead of judgment. "What?"

"You only just got back," Freed manages. His other hand comes out, forms into a fist in Laxus's shirt. When he pulls he drags himself in closer instead of Laxus to him, jars his fragile balance until he topples in and lands heavily against Laxus's chest. "Don't leave me alone again."

Laxus isn't moving. He's so perfectly still Freed can't even hear his breathing, though his own inhales are dragging sharp and desperate and heavy with tears even to his own ears. After a long moment he speaks, slowly and carefully like he's not sure his words have the same meaning they usually do. "You weren't alone. You had Bickslow, and Evergreen -"

"They're not you," Freed chokes into Laxus's shirt. Even his clothes are warm, they smell like smoke and sparks and all the warmth Freed can't muster alone. When he lifts his head there's darkness at Laxus's shoulder, the evidence of tears Freed is only just realizing he's shedding. When he looks up the other man is staring at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open around stalled words.

"They're not you," Freed says again, and leans in to crush his mouth against Laxus's.

Freed swears he can feel a jolt run through his entire body at the contact. His vision blanks out, so thoroughly he's not sure if his eyes are shut or he's just stopped paying attention to anything but the feel of Laxus's mouth under his, the faint gust of the blond's startled exhale against his cheek. His shoulder is blistering, his hands are closing into desperate fists, and when he tries to breathe out through his nose some of the air escapes into a whimper against Laxus's lips. He's not even holding himself up, he's leaning all his weight on Laxus and -

Laxus isn't moving. Laxus has gone perfectly still against him, like Freed's kiss has frozen him in place and he's wholly incapable of reacting at all. All the heat in Freed's veins goes icy, turns to cold horror as the intoxicated corners of his brain catch up to what he's doing, what he's already done past the point of any saving. He thinks he should pull away, he should let Laxus go, but he can't make himself move, and then a hand comes in against the back of his head. It's weirdly gentle, a caress and then fingers pressing in against Freed's scalp, and when Laxus does move he's tipping his head to the side, so slightly Freed thinks he might be imagining it, opening his mouth just enough for a momentary flick of his tongue against Freed's lips, a test more than a promise. Then the hand turns into a grip, and Laxus is pulling away, and in the first haze of shock Freed's memory starts to slip into doubt of his own senses even before Laxus says, "You should go to bed."

It takes some effort for Freed to even bear to open his eyes, more courage than he thought he had to meet Laxus's gaze. The other man is still holding him steady, forcing him upright in resistance to the sway of gravity under them; when Freed meets his eyes Laxus looks away first, drags his gaze sideways and down as the tan of his cheeks goes darker than Freed can account for.

"You're drunk," Laxus says without looking up, and the fingers at the back of Freed's head draw tighter for an instant before they let go and pull away. "We can't do this."

"I want to," Freed says, but it's more last words than a plea, he can see the end coming for him. "I do, even when I'm sober, I always do."

Laxus's skin goes even darker for a moment; then he's pulling away, getting to his feet so fast Freed struggles to track his movement. By the time he looks up the blond is facing out towards the party, his shoulders hunched like he's bracing for a blow.

"Not when you're drunk," he says, like it has some meaning beyond rejection, and Freed doesn't have a response before Laxus has moved off into the crowd.

He would follow if he had the equilibrium to do so. As it is he drops his hands to the bench, clings to the wood like it will grant him the stability he lacks, the stability he needs to process what he has just done. When he dares a look at the rest of the guild, no one is so much as glancing at him. Freed's head is still pounding with the magnitude of his actions, his mouth is still warm from Laxus's lips, and if the quantity of observers were enough to absolve him, he would be free of repercussions immediately. It's almost as if it never happened at all, but for the two of them.

Freed falls back against the wall. When gravity jerks again and pulls him sideways he capitulates, slides down to fall across the bench so his fingers trail across the floor.

It doesn't matter how many people didn't see, not when the most important person did.