"I'm gonna go look for him," Dean announces, as if his whereabouts matter to Roman. He proceeds to hunt around the apartment, looking for Seth, until he finds him, unsurprisingly, in the bathroom, on his knees in front of the toilet, puking his guts out.

"See, this is what you get," Dean says as he approaches Seth, bending down and gingerly pulling his hair away from his face. "When you try to out-drink me. You're a lightweight. It doesn't work."

"Fuck you," Seth mutters weakly, pressing his forehead against the rim of the toilet bowl once everything in his stomach has apparently expelled itself. "'N fuck off. 'S your fault anyway."

"How is this my fault? I didn't tell ya to drink a shit ton of heavy shit, did I?"

"You invited me. I needed strong shit to put up with you."

"No you don't. You're just bein' a pussy. You can deal with me without havin' to resort to excessive alcohol consumption."

Seth tries to slap at him, missing horribly.

"You can do better than that," Dean goads. "C'mon. You wanna hit me? Hit me."

"Dean," he hears from behind him, a sharp reprimand. Of course Roman has to come in and separate them. It's like he has a fuckin' parent now. "Stop irritating Seth. Seth, stop blaming Dean."

Roman comes up beside Dean, rubbing a hand lightly over Seth's back, but Seth curls away from his touch. Dean sees something he can't really identify flicker across Roman's face, something like hurt.

He has no idea why Roman would be hurt. Seth's always a little bitch, it seems; it's only natural for that to be more prominent when he's massively hungover.

"Do you need anything, Seth?" Roman asks gently. Dean's actually surprised (and a little jealous, but he snuffs that idea out immediately) at the amount of genuine care in his tone.

"Sleep," Seth croaks out, his voice raw. "And water." Peeking at Dean briefly, he adds, "And for Dean to go the fuck away."

"Hey!" Dean protests, frowning. "What did I do?"

"Exist," Seth murmurs. Roman sighs, looking at Dean helplessly, with a shrug, as if he's saying sorry. Dean just folds his arms across his chest, displeased.

He thinks he likes Seth better when Seth's drunk; he's all warm and pliable, happily doing whatever Dean asks of him, clinging to Dean like Dean is his lifeline.

Dean likes that; likes to pretend that he's needed, wanted.

It's always just a fleeting illusion, but he enjoys it while it lasts.

But now, he's angry, and a little upset, and he doesn't know why. The feelings he's currently experiencing bother him; they feel wrong. He doesn't even know what they are, and they feel foreign to him, making him just uncomfortable enough for it to be bothersome, and he doesn't like it.

He watches in silence as Roman helps Seth up, watches in silence as Roman helps Seth back into the guest room to sleep off his hangover.

When he's sure neither Roman nor Seth is paying attention to him, he leaves.

Just like that; wearing solely stolen boxers, with his feet bare, because he doesn't fucking care. It's not even cold outside, anyway; it may be the middle of December, but it's Orlando and it's probably about noon, so it's just cool enough for him to feel the slightest chill as he walks outside.

At first, he intends to just go outside and clear his head, but as he sits outside with his back against the building's wall, wishing he had a cigarette, he finds himself only growing angrier.

He just needs to get away from here. Just for now. Everything in his head is screaming wrong, wrong, wrong, he doesn't belong here; he doesn't belong around people like Roman and Seth.

He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into his hands, hoping desperately that it'll shut his head up, but it only gets worse, and when he lifts his head, his hands are wet.

He smiles as he wipes his hands dry on the fabric of the boxers; it's a bitter, self-deprecating smile.

Because he can't believe he ever thought he was worth anyone's time.

So he gets up and walks away. He walks across the parking lot, across the grass by the street, and onto the sidewalk. He stops once he hits the sidewalk, and turns around, staring at the apartment building looming over his head.

He wonders if he should come back, if Roman, or even Seth, is looking for him, worrying about him. He wonders if he should come back and tell them he just went for a walk, 'because the weather's so nice.'

And then he remembers that Roman and Seth don't give a fuck about him, could never possibly give a fuck about him, because he's not worth giving a fuck about.

He knows, deep down, that they're better off without him around.

So he turns away again, and he keeps walking.