A/N: Dedicated to those who get Hernandez. o3o

Alcohol wasn't enough. Tommy turned to the drugs sold by the dealers in a nearby alley. He found himself on LSD more often than not because it was cheaper than the other stuff and for every fifteenth hit he bought he got one free. And that shit was trippy.

One night a few days later Tommy found himself in a life-or-death chase from the Spinny Monster and would have crashed through his window if one of the Spinny Monster's kittens hadn't flown through the window and bit his pinky finger. A lot of his trips involved the Spinny Monster. The Spinny Monster looked sort of like a kaleidoscope but he couldn't ever really see it because everything was warped and colorful. Again, shit was trippy.

"Hernandezzzzz! Why you no Mexican?" Crash called out from the shadows of the alley. He knew cops patrolled this area sometimes but Crash just didn't give a flying fuck.
"Crashhhh! Why you no Bandicoot?" Tommy answered in turn.
"Boy, you funny, Hernandez," Crash murmured as the two exchanged goods. Tommy – or rather, Hernandez to Crash – glanced around making sure nobody saw. "You single?"
"Straight though," Tommy replied. He'd never actually had much of a conversation with the short man.
"Yee, I gots me a pretty girl you should meet. Loves the pretty guys," Crash poked Hernandez's shoulder. "Name's La'lisha. Related to Robert Plant."
"La'lisha?" Tommy repeated.
"Lindsay," Crash repeated impatiently.
"Hey, cool. When can I meet her?" Tommy actually felt a small burst of excitement.
"Tomorrow night. We's havin' a party. Kinda. Lots of drugs. You in, Hernandez?" Crash said.
"Yeah. Give me an address and I'll be there." Tommy smirked. Crash handed him a torn cover of Kerrang! with an address on it. He didn't recognize it.

The location of the party, apparently, was at Lindsay's apartment. She answered the door, dark fringe covering one of her lavender eyes dressed in nothing but booty shorts and a black bra.
"You Hernandez?" she spilled the contents of her red cup as she gestured wildly to the people behind her.
"Si," Tommy tried to seem friend.
"You speak Spanish? Aw, fuck, Crash. You crazy man! We no hablo Spanish!" She turned around and flailed her arms in Crash's direction.
"I-I was joking. I don't speak Spanish," Tommy crossed the threshold.
"AHH! HE CAME IN!" Lindsay screeched and ran back into the living room. "FUCKIN' MEXICANS!"
"She's kidding!" Crash smiled. His hair was dyed bubblegum pink and was combed over to the side. "We got a lot of shit to experiment with tonight and we might die."
"Fuckin' readaaaayyy!" Lindsay screeched and hugged Crash.

They sat around a circle of various drugs, snorting and injecting and swallowing. Tommy was freaking the fuck out and barely even used some crack before stopping. He laughed as Lindsay threw an acid tablet at him and accused him of being a party pooper.
"No, sorry. I don't want to dieeee!" He giggled and fell into her lap.
The party was short because Crash passed out mid-conversation and after Tommy's attempt to get into her pants, so did Lindsay. He tucked his phone number into her pocket and left. He liked Lindsay. She was quirky and adventurous in a mostly good way. Whether or not she would die from all these drugs by next year, he wasn't sure. She would definitely be a good fuckbuddy. Or even girlfriend. That would make Adam jealous…

Oh God, Adam.
The black haired man crossed his mind on his lonely walk home. How he wished that one night had never happened.

I'm really sleepy, he thought through the haze of confusion. A park bench was nearby and it sure looked inviting. He curled up on the right half and passed out instantly. Cars kept driving by even at three in the morning and it was cold as fuck without a jacket. But it was so much better than the sleep he'd get in his haunted apartment.

"Hernandez?" a soft voice whispered and something poked his side. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Talk about a hangover.
"Oh, hi," he wiped his eyes. Lindsay was standing in front of him, long hair done up, one lavender and one ebony eye staring down on him.
"Are you homeless?" she cocked her head to the side and dropped the stick she used to poke him. Her quiet, curious voice reminded Tommy of a little girl. He kind of wanted to hug her.
"Kinda," he answered. She gestured for him to go on. "I have a home but it's sort of fucked up back there so I guess I'm homeless for the next, like, week."
"You can stay with me. I only do drugs once a year other than Burning Man. Serious self control. Anyways, it's really fun at my house. You can watch me and my band practice. I play bass," she gave him a sweet smile. Tommy's heart melted.
"I play bass in a band too," Tommy got up and, cautiously, wrapped his arms around her. She smiled and hugged him back.
"What's it called?" she asked when he let go.
"It doesn't really have a name. I guess 'Adam Lambert's band'," he was too tired to give a fuck that she'd exploit him now.
"Oh, cool. Never heard of them. Mine's called The Heartbreakers," they walked aimlessly around the street. Nobody was out at this time except the occasional person who had to get to work by five in the morning.
"Like Tom Petty?"
"Shut up."

A/N: YOU ALL MADDDD? :D

Don't worry. It'll work itself out.

eventually.