Summary: After Mitch gets dumped by his girlfriend, Jerome shows up at his house and practically forces Mitch to get in his car and go on vacation with him to take the pain off of his mind. What follows is probably the best impromptu vacation ever. Chaptered fanfiction with eventual Merome. Non-Youtube!AU with Mitch living in America.
Chapter word count: 1300
Note: I'm doing something that I haven't done in a while, and that is writing a chaptered fic. I also haven't written Merome in a while, so forgive me if they seem slightly OOC.
Jerome woke up with a splitting headache as the sun shone directly into his eyes. Great, he thought to himself, we didn't close the curtains last night. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and sat up slowly, fighting back the pangs of nausea. Maybe getting super drunk last night wasn't the greatest idea of all time, rule or no.
He took stock of his surroundings. The first thing that he noticed was that he was naked. The second thing was that the sheets felt sticky. The third thing was that Mitch was also naked. And the fourth thing was that his ass hurt like hell.
No. That did not happen. Jerome most certainly did not sleep with Mitch last night. Impossible. And yet the facts were all there. Jerome sank back down into the sheets and pulled the covers back up, managing to sink back into a doze for a few minutes, until he felt Mitch stir next to him.
"Jerome? Why am I naked? Did I get piss-drunk and sleep with a random chick last night? Mitch pulled the covers back off of the two of them. "No. Uh-uh." Jerome pretended to be asleep until Mitch violently shook his shoulder. "Jerome. This is important."
Jerome rolled over to face his best friend. "What?"
"I'm pretty sure we, uh, had sex."
"What?" Jerome feigned surprise.
"Yeah. I'm almost positive."
Jerome swore. "Damn. I was hoping there was another explanation. Well, I guess that's that. We slept together. What now?" He looked up at the other's face hopefully.
"I don't know!" Mitch ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know the protocol for situations like this! I've never slept with my best friend before!"
"Alright, we just need to calm down and think about this rationally and calmly," Jerome began, not calmly at all. "So we had sex. That doesn't matter. It doesn't have to mean anything."
"Really?" Mitch looked relieved. "Is that the fourth rule of vacation or something? Part of the best friend hand book? Because I never bought a copy."
Jerome gasped dramatically. "Mitchell Hughes! To think I called you my best friend for 21 years, and you didn't even have a copy of the handbook! But yes, actually. The Fourth Rule of Vacation states that flings don't have to mean anything. So, thank God in Heaven, we're off the hook."
"Phew."
The pair sat in silence for a few minutes.
Mitch cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, going to take a shower now." He got up from the bed and made his way into the bathroom.
"Oh, uh, good idea." When Mitch was gone, Jerome buried his head in his hands. I slept with my best friend.
When Jerome got out of the shower, he found a note on the bed.
Jerome,
I went for a run on the beach. I'll eat lunch at Palm Café and do a little grocery shopping for us and be back around 3. I just need some time to myself.
He crumpled up the note in his fist and then tossed it in the trash can before getting dressed and heading out of the room. If Mitch was on the beach, he'd go to the pool. Then he'd get lunch at Starbucks, since there was no way to tell when Mitch would be eating at Palm. Content with his plan to not see Mitch, Jerome made his way to the pool and ordered a cocktail. He sipped it languidly and closed his eyes.
Some time later, something landed on Jerome's head. Please don't be bird poop, please don't be bird poop, he prayed as he opened his eyes. Gray clouds had blocked out the previous sun and the air had a definitive moisture to it. Rain. Well, at least it's not bird poop. He ducked inside the building just as it started to pour. Only mildly wet, he grabbed an umbrella from the hotel gift shop (paying for it, of course) and started down the road to Starbucks. His nap had ended right around lunch time.
"Hi, yes. I'll have a grande caramel macchiato, please?" He rattled his order off to the bored-looking barista.
"Name?"
"Jerome."
While she made his coffee, Jerome stared out the window. There was something relaxing about the way the rain slid down the window pane, snaking like a -
Mitch. On the other side of the window. Jerome lifted his hand in a half-wave to his best friend, who averted his eyes and walked quickly away, pretending the encounter had never happened.
"Sir? Your drink." Jerome whipped around to see the barista holding his caramel macchiato in her outstretched hand.
He took it from her and lifted it to his mouth. "Thanks." As the coffee hit his tongue, he spluttered. "Hot!"
The barista giggled and Jerome left the building.
The downpour ended just as suddenly as it began, and the world sparkled under the new rays of sunlight. Jerome closed his umbrella and shook it, inhaling the fresh yet salty air deeply. It filled his lungs and lifted his spirits ever-so-slightly.
Instead of heading back to their room, Jerome went out onto the beach and laid down in the sand, not bothering to fetch a towel. The white sand was scalding, but the pain faded after a moment. With the sand warning his back and the sun warming his stomach, he felt perfectly content for a whole five minutes, until the whole 'Mitch sitch' popped back into his mind.
What am I going to do about that?
He took a nap on the beach (really, that's all he did nowadays. He supposed he was making up for the sleep he'd lost during the school year) and woke around dinner time. Brushing himself off, he made his way down the street to a restaurant. "Table for one, please."
"Window or bar?"
"Definitely window," he said with a humorless chuckle. That's the last time I sit near a bar for as long as I live.
"Right this way." The hostess led him to his table.
Jerome ended up ordering a ham and provolone melt on rye, and munched it thoughtfully while mulling the whole situation over. Okay. I had sex with Mitch. No big deal. Vacation sex doesn't count. It's in the official rules. Unless you want it to. I don't want it to. Does Mitch? Probably not. So why is everything so awkward?
Jerome stared out the window as he chewed. About halfway through his sandwich, Mitch jogged by. His shirt was wet and clung to his chest. He didn't seem to notice Jerome.
Why is he all wet? His shirt is basically skintight. It leaves nothing to the imagination. Although he's got a pretty good body, so it's not like he's got anything to be ashamed of. I suppose I found that out last night, though I really can't remember. He looked pretty good when I woke up this morning, though. And I was pretty sore, so he's probably pretty good at sex. I wonder what it would be like to do it again, sober, so I can remember it -
Jerome jerked himself out of his thoughts. "What the heck?" he asked himself quietly. "I am not attracted to Mitch. I am not." He payed for his sandwich and left, no more at peace than when he came in. If anything, he was more troubled than before.