A/N: I do not own the characters; they belong to CP Coulter and to Fox. The italics...which set the scene, are the song "Last Week's Alcohol" from Tales of the Bad Years written by Kerrigan & Lowdermilk. i.e. it's not mine.
Happy drunk, grinding to a German techno beat. Shots all around. I'm drafting you a text. I'm typing sorry. I'm sleepy. Another night. Sad face ox.
The party sucked. Everything sucked. He wasn't supposed to be miserable. He wasn't supposed to be the one suffering by pulling the plug on whatever pseudo-relationship that he had been in. Derek didn't like men. He had fucked Sebastian a few times – mostly to shut him up. But Derek didn't have feelings for him.
The shitty music was pulsing throughout the house as Derek nursed a beer, decidedly slowing down as he could feel his eyes glaze over.
He wouldn't text Sebastian.
He wouldn't.
To Seb [1:06am]: I'm sorry.
To Seb [1:10am]: I'm sleepy.
To Seb [1:13am]: :( ox
Vodka flows into any mixer you can find. Mini skirts shift. I see the lift of her ass. My pocket vibrates. I won't look. It's you again. And you're not here. She makes a pass. Screw the phone. Screw you and all your stupid rules. Are you alone? Are you dancing by yourself? Cause I'm out here, alive here. We're dancing here. Chugging from the bottom shelf.
There were girls at the party – tons of girls. They wore short skirts and high heels, alcohol coursing through their veins, their standards dropping. Derek could have any of them. Derek could have all of them. His eye caught by a tall brunette standing in the corner. No, not standing in the corner, she was walking towards him now – her eyes locked on his, a small smirk playing on her lips.
Brown. Luscious brown eyes. And a smirk in a skirt. Derek could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, but he ignored it because Sebastian – no, not Sebastian – was walking toward him in a skirt. No, not Sebastian. She looks like Sebastian. Good enough. He could pretend she was Sebastian.
"Hey" she cooed in his ear, nibbling it lightly. He tried to smile. He tried to reciprocate.
She smelled like alcohol and perfume.
Derek felt nauseous. He sat there, very still, as she kissed up his jaw. After a few moments of being unresponsive, she spills her drink onto Derek's lap and stumbles off.
Sebastian would have been more graceful in getting Derek out of his pants.
Derek got up from the couch, stumbling towards the bathroom to wash to stain out. To get away from the swirling of people – none of which he cared about.
The music changed to a thrumming hip-hop song, the bass pounding throughout the house, shaking the walls. It was their song. Long ago. Or not long ago because they've only known each other for a few months, but the alcohol makes everything feel slower. Like time stands still. Like they were together for so much longer than a few weeks. Because Derek doesn't want to develop feelings after a few weeks.
Or even to a guy.
This is how it feels to fall in love. This is how it feels to fall. The weakness, the sadness, the sirens, the madness. The pounding in your chest, like you're racing the streets in an ambulance. I'm watching you. I'm watching me. I'm watching us fall. Fall...