The music pounded in Murphy's ears but he couldn't quite make out all the sounds as they blurred together. The room was spinning and he couldn't keep his balance as everyone danced in a pulsing sea of sweat and disorientated movements. Murphy swam his way out recklessly, stumbling into people and stepping on feet to reach the end of the crowds. The flashing, rainbow lights were distracting and he went in circles a few times before he could find himself. His body was exhausted from the day's festivities and he wanted to go throw up somewhere.
He stumbled over his own feet, eyes darting over the hills pin cushioned with tents. They all looked the same to him and he couldn't find his own, but his feet continued forward with a mind of their own – leading him to the edge of the woods.
He could smell the strong scent of weed, filling his nose with the foul odor. It was nauseating and he bent against a tree to retch.
"Whoa!" a group of kids shouted as Murphy almost spilled out onto their shoes. They were leaned against trees, joints in hand.
"Check out this asshole!" a young girl laughed, pointing at Murphy from a tree branch.
"He's too drunk to find his own tent!" a young man added. The group laughed hysterically, angering Murphy – even though he wasn't sure what they were saying.
"Fuck off," Murphy sputtered as he spit the remaining vomit from his mouth.
"Guys, leave him alone," another young man – older than the rest of the group – pulled himself away from the tree he was leaning against and went to Murphy's aid.
"Hey, what's your name?" he asked kindly, bending down to meet him at eye level. He laid a hand on his back gingerly.
"Leave me alone. I don't need your help," Murphy snapped at him, straightening up. The young man made to help him up but Murphy aggressively brushed him off and started back toward the tents.
"Yes, you do. You're lost and drunk – a bad combination in the wrong company," he declared, glaring darkly at his friends. Murphy began to cry in embarrassment and mumbled inaudibly.
"What?"
"My name is Murphy," he forced the words out.
"I'm Bellamy. Now what does your tent look like?"
Bellamy smiled sweetly at Murphy as he put an arm around him and tucked his hand into Murphy's pit to support him.
"I-I don't…I don't remember," Murphy frowned.
"Alright, well, why don't you stay in my tent? We'll find it in the morning," Bellamy suggested.
"But I don't know you. H-How can I trust you?"
"You're just going to have to have a little faith in me," Bellamy struggled to keep Murphy on his feet, dragging him across the ground.
"I don't have any faith," Murphy spat miserably before tripping and falling to the ground.
"Watch yourself!" Bellamy shouted after him as he was taken down with Murphy.
"Sorry," Murphy replied sheepishly.
"It's alright," Bellamy faked a smile this time, getting a little annoyed. He pulled Murphy back to his feet, "My tent is this way. We're almost there. C'mon."
Bellamy wrapped Murphy's arm around his shoulders and the two struggled to make it there as Murphy began to get drowsy, letting his heavy feet drag across the ground with every step. His eyes were heavy as they drooped closed and quickly snapped back open. Bellamy ducked them into his tent – the scent of weed mixed with rusty body odor wrapped Murphy up in a warm blanket of comfort.
"Mmmm," Murphy smiled – for a moment, unaware of Bellamy's presence. He was sat down on the ground onto a sleeping bag which Murphy curled up into a ball in. Bellamy sat down beside him and took a swig of water from a canteen that sat in the corner of his tent. He decidedly lay down beside the inebriated young boy. He looked so calm and gentle now in his tired stupor. He propped his head on an arm as Murphy turned over in his direction, smile still plastered across his stupid face. Bellamy's eyelids felt heavy and the thought of sleep beckoned him. His arm eventually slipped and he found himself wrapped in Murphy's arms. The distant music still pounded with echoes across the fields of tents but could not pierce the veil of their comfort.