Home Is Where The Heart Is

by ThestralSeeker17

After a day from hell, all TJ wants to do is kick back with a few beers and have quiet dinner with Cyrus. When one drink turns into several, he's more than a little tipsy. Enter Cyrus, who has no idea how to handle his loopy, drunk best friend. What's a 20-year-old to do, especially if TJ's looking this adorable with wide-eyes and a dopey smile?

Author's Note:

I'm not entirely certain if people are still reading stories for this fandom. Personally, it's been a while for me; I haven't read or written anything Andi Mack related for a long time. To be completely honest, I'm not sure if I'll continue writing for the fandom. I'll, of course, always have a love for it, but my motivation has certainly withered since the end of the show. In the meantime, I thought I'd post some of the stories I've already written.

I didn't have any intentions of posting Home Is Where The Heart Is on here, but after some thought, I decided to go ahead and upload it. This was originally posted to AO3; you may have seen it there. For those of you who haven't, I hope you enjoy this follow-up to Maybe You Were Looking, But You Weren't Really Seeing. While this can be read as stand-alone, I do reference specific details from MYWLBYWRS, so having that background knowledge is useful, though not necessary. OneRepublic's "Something I Need" became the musical inspiration for this story, so check that song out if you've got a chance.

---

Home Is Where The Heart Is

"If we only live once, I wanna live with you." -'Something I Need', OneRepublic

---

I had a dream the other night

About how we only get one life

Woke me up right after two

The song only made it to its third line before TJ blindly reached for his cell-phone to pick up the call, already knowing who was on the other end of the line.

Taking a moment to fully open his eyes and rub the haze out of them, he mentally kicked himself for not doing a better job of hiding the electronic device from Cyrus. The brunet had a habit of stealing TJ's phone when he wasn't looking to change his personal ring-tone. Last week had been Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody", and the week before that had been "Dancing Through Life" from the Wicked soundtrack. Honestly, TJ couldn't keep up with all of these changes. Had it been anyone else, he would have bristled with irritation and reprimanded them. But, he'd always had a soft spot for his best friend, no matter how crazy his antics were.

"Yes, Cyrus?" TJ yawned, rolling onto his side to gaze out of the window. Weak sunlight filtered in through the blinds, bathing the room in a soft glow.

"Judging from the way you sound, you're still in bed. Why aren't you up yet? You have your Italian Renaissance class at 8:00 and it's 7:45 right now!" Cyrus screeched.

TJ's eyes widened. "Shit!" he yelped, jumping out of bed.

Frantically, his mind tried to calculate how long it would take to accomplish everything and end up in his seat on time. He had fifteen minutes to make it to his class, located all away across campus. And unfortunately, this was the class with a professor who locked students out of the room if they were even a minute late.

Cursing under his breath, he pulled his phone away to press the speaker button. Tossing the device onto his bed, he clambered to the closet to randomly select a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie.

"You're on speaker!" he shouted at Cyrus, throwing his pajamas into the hamper and yanking on his outfit.

"I figured as much," came the echoed response.

"I must have forgotten to set my alarm last night. Fell asleep around 3:00 because I had to study for my Abnormal Psych mid-term." He paused to dash to the bathroom to quickly splash water on his face, brush his teeth, and tug a comb through his hair. "Anyway, why did you decide to call me this morning?"

Gaze drifting to his contact lens case, he almost reached for it, but shook his head, knowing that he didn't have enough time. Instead, his hands sought out the black, rectangular glasses perched on the vanity counter. Sliding them on, he cringed at his reflection in the mirror. With the contentious relationship he had with his glasses, he often avoided wearing them out in public. But, with the time constraint today, he had no choice.

Cyrus's voice broke through his thoughts, as he explained, "Actually, I was going to text you a reminder that I'm coming over tonight. We agreed that I'd bring Chinese take-out and we'd discuss your student teaching evaluation over dinner. But, knowing your proclivity to oversleep, I called to check if you were up and moving. Good thing I did that, seeing as how you would have missed one of your most important classes!"

"Yeah, yeah," TJ muttered, exiting the bathroom and grabbing his backpack from the floor.

With his shoes on and his phone in hand, he bolted out of his apartment and down the stairs. He started a steady sprint, but only made it few steps before Cyrus's words sank in.

"Crap, I have that evaluation today!" he groaned, throwing his head back.

"That's what I just said," Cyrus chided, clucking his tongue.

"I can't believe I forgot," TJ mumbled forlornly, continuing to pick up his pace. "It's been marked on my calendar for the last month and I've been constantly thinking about it for the past two weeks. How could I forget something this important?"

"You've been under a lot of stress," Cyrus murmured sympathetically. "You have too many things to juggle at once – your classes, student teaching, basketball, and a social life. It's natural to forget things here and there."

Sighing softly, TJ whispered, "You always know what to say. Thank you."

"Any time. That's what's friends are for."

"Best friends," TJ corrected.

"Yes, of course. Best friends," Cyrus amended, laughing.

TJ couldn't help but smile – Cyrus's laugh was one of his favorite sounds in the world. He would have been content to listen to it forever.

"How far are you from your class?" Cyrus asked, effectively changing the topic.

"A few minutes away. You know, I could be avoiding this whole mess if I hadn't decided to double major in history and education. I'm really questioning that decision right now."

Cyrus made an indignant sound. "You don't mean that and you know it. You love history. And you love working with kids. You're going to be an amazing history teacher someday, so don't you dare start doubting yourself."

"There you go saying the right thing again and making me feel better."

"I'm glad that my words can bring some comfort to you. Look, I just know you that well, TJ. At this point, if I didn't know what to say, that would be worrisome."

"True. To be honest, I don't think even you can fix today. The day hasn't really started and everything's already going to hell in handbasket."

"Take a deep breath, Teej. You'll get through this, I promise. You have to. Otherwise, how else I am going to get through four boxes of Chinese take-out?"

Despite feeling out of sorts and lightheaded from sprinting, TJ chuckled. "Good point. And thanks for calling me this morning. I appreciate it."

"Anything for you, Not-So-Scary-Basketball Guy. I'm going to hang up now, so you can focus on getting to class. See you tonight!"

"Bye!" TJ replied before shoving his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and making a mad dash for his class.

It was a good thing that he was in fairly decent shape – not only did he have to maintain his figure to endure his grueling basketball practices, but he often had to run to make to class on time (especially the ones in the early morning). Today, however, was definitely pushing it. Beads of sweat steadily cascaded down his forehead, while face flushed a deep red. With his last burst of energy, he propelled himself into the building and up several flights of stairs.

When he finally made it to the room, he shoved the door open, coming face-to-face with his professor.

"Mr. Kippen," Professor Labaron drawled, a deep scowl on her wrinkled face. "You're lucky. I was just about to lock the door." Based on the disappointment in her tone, she'd been looking forward to locking him out.

That thought alone irked TJ like no other, but instead of replying with a snarky comment, he opened his mouth to suck in as much oxygen as possible. His heart, he noticed, was racing so much that he thought it might jump out of his chest.

"If you'd like to stay and actually learn something, I suggest you get to your seat, Mr. Kippen," Professor Labaron ordered, brushing past TJ to slam the door and turn the lock. Just as she did that, a couple of students pounded on the door. The only acknowledgement they received was a shrug from the professor and a mouthed, "You're out of luck."

Turning, TJ slinked to the back of the lecture hall to settle in an area with a set of deserted chairs. He didn't catch their responses, but he could only guess that both students were flipping off the professor. That was what usually happened in these cases; students often flashed their middle fingers and shouted profanities through the door. It didn't get them very far, but it was entertaining to watch the chaos unfold.

Once Professor Labaron returned to the front of the room, she rubbed her hands together, flashing a Machiavellian smirk. Sinking lower into his chair, TJ internally groaned. He knew what that meant.

Cold-calling.

She always did this at the start of every class – cold-call on students about the reading assignment. Then, after lecturing, she'd cold-call again to check if everyone had been paying attention. If someone answered her question correctly, five points were added to that student's participation grade. If the answer was incorrect, five points were docked.

No wonder TJ hated this class. Among the dense and long reading assignments, the brutal papers and exams, and the professor's general attitude about teaching students, it was a complete nightmare. Given all of that, he would have immediately dropped the class, if it weren't for three reasons:

1) To complete his history major, he needed History of the Italian Renaissance.

2) It was only offered during the winter semester. And because Professor Labaron's entire academic career was centered around this topic, she was the only one in the department who taught it.

3) The material was fascinating. Granted, it wasn't as cool as Ancient History involving the Greeks and Romans, but it definitely captured and held his attention.

Despite having an immense desire to storm out of class and never return again, he always remained in his seat, trying his best to hide behind his laptop to avoid getting cold-called. Some days, he was lucky enough to walk out of class without having said a single thing.

Not today, however. The ominous glint in the professor's eyes said it all.

"Mr. Kippen," Professor Labaron called, lifting her gaze to the back of the lecture hall. "Why was Brunelleschi's work revolutionary during the Renaissance?"

Sighing, TJ's shoulders slumped forward, as he readied himself to answer the question. He could feel a hundred heads swiveling toward him, scrutinizing his every move.

Today is going to a long damn day, he thought bitterly.

---

Apparently, Professor Labaron had it out for him. Not only was he the first person to be cold-called for the day – he was the only one. Every single question was directed at him, one right after the other. Points were added and deducted so quickly that he had no idea where he stood with his participation grade.

As soon as he returned home from that hellish class, TJ stared longingly at his bed, wanting nothing more than bury his head beneath the stack of pillows and sleep for an eternity. But, alas, he had a schedule to keep to – one that required him to be freshly showered, dressed (sans glasses and with contacts in), and prepared to be evaluated for teaching a history class at Northwood Middle School.

A couple of hours later, after reviewing his lesson plan, he emerged from his truck. Walking toward the school's front entrance, he pushed open the set of double doors to find his supervisor, Linda Murphy, waiting for him in the atrium.

She frowned, eyes skimming over his frame to asses his attire. He had come to expect it at this point; Linda always had an expression on her face that indicated her disapproval of his clothing choices. She was the kind of woman who lived in a business attire – black pencil skirt, gray blazer with a white blouse underneath, a string of pearls around her neck, and simple black heels. So, the fact that he didn't constantly wear a suit was apparently quite off-putting to her.

He really didn't think he looked that bad – after blow-drying his hair and coifing it into its usual style, he selected a pair of classic black slacks and a midnight blue button-up. Overall, it was definitely a step up from the bed-head hair and the jeans-hoodie combo he wore earlier that morning.

"Mr. Kippen, are you all set for today?" she asked, shifting her attention from his outfit to address him directly.

"Yes," TJ answered, forcing a smile and hoping like hell that he sounded confident.

"Excellent. Lead the way to the classroom."

She turned to reach for her briefcase and clip-board, gesturing with her hand for him to proceed.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward and marched down the seventh grade hallway to Room 117. As soon as he crossed the threshold, all eyes turned to him.

"Mr. Kippen!" the students greeted, their smiling faces already putting him at ease.

"Hello, everyone," TJ responded cheerfully, eyes soft as he regarded the students. No matter how difficult his day was before coming to the school, he normally felt much better as soon as he had the chance to interact with the students. They were good kids, for the most part.

"Welcome, Mr. Kippen," Ellen Greenway announced, smiling warmly as she walked over to give him her customary handshake. "It's good to see you. The kids are looking forward to your lesson today."

"Wonderful, thank you."

Every time he stepped foot into the classroom, he was relieved to have been partnered with Ellen. Technically this was her classroom, but TJ took over teaching History of the Western Hemisphere each day. Even though Ellen normally taught five sections throughout the day, TJ was only required to teach one section. However, if he continued to fast track his program, then next year – which would hopefully be his final year — he'd have to select a history class to teach all sections of. If he chose to stick with seventh graders, he would default to teaching Western Hem again. If he chose sixth grade, he'd teach History of the Eastern Hemisphere, while eighth grade was American History. While he had some experience teaching the other two classes, Western Hem was still his favorite.

Suddenly, the sound of a throat being cleared called Ellen's attention away from TJ.

"Ah, Ms. Murphy. You're here for evaluate Mr. Kippen," Ellen stated, her voice cool.

TJ wanted to laugh at the obvious display of animosity. From the moment the women met, they disliked one another. Ellen found Linda way too uptight; Linda thought Ellen was too blasé. If TJ had to pick a side, he'd definitely select Ellen, but never in a million years would he reveal that out loud. As tough as Linda was, she still gave him decent scores – ones that were high enough to keep him in the program.

"Standard procedure as always Mrs. Greenway," Linda replied, keeping her tone neutral, though her cold eyes gave her away.

"Right," Ellen muttered, turning to her class. A few students began having side-conversations, but with an effective throat-clearing and foot tapping, she received everyone's full attention. "Some of you may remember Ms. Murphy." She waved a hand in Linda's general direction. "She's here to observe Mr. Kippen while he teaches, so please remember to be on your best behavior." She said this with a smile, though her voice held notes of firmness.

"Okay," the students chorused together, wiggling in their seats. It was clear they were ready to move past the adult discussions and into something far more interesting.

"The floor is yours," Ellen directed her comment to TJ before quietly making her way to her desk.

Linda took that as her cue to head to the back of the classroom, where a desk was already set up for her. She sat on the edge of the seat with her legs crossed. In front of her was her clipboard with a yellow legal pad attached, just waiting to be filled with detailed notes. With sharp eyes glued to TJ, she nodded to him, signaling the start of the evaluation.

With all eyes trained on him, TJ exhaled and launched into teacher-mode.

"Who's ready to learn about the Ancient Romans today?" he asked eagerly, placing as much passion and enthusiasm as he could into his voice.

There was only silence as twenty-eight pairs of eyes blinked at him.

Apparently, Ellen had played up their general excitement. With their glazed over looks and slouching postures, they resembled a bunch of zombies. It would have been easy to excuse their behavior because of the third adult in the room, but TJ was pretty sure that it wasn't Linda's presence that affected them. They normally paid her no mind when she visited.

Then again, this was just how today was going – everything had to be difficult.

Oh, boy, TJ thought with the loudest internal groan possible. Here we go.

For forty-five minutes, TJ valiantly tried to get his students to show some kind of interest in the topic. He presented the information through a standard PowerPoint while they took notes, then he facilitated a couple of games, broke them into discussion groups, and even sprouted some random facts, which, in theory, should have been fascinating.

None of it was working.

Despite the activities, they still seemed so flat. Unimpressed. So unlike themselves.

From the way that Linda kept frowning and scribbling furiously on the legal pad, TJ could tell she was not pleased. He didn't have a clue what she was writing, but he had a sinking feeling that the comments were far from positive.

Even though this wasn't his first evaluation, the stakes were much higher. He only had a handful of evaluations left before the end of the year. If he didn't earn decent scores on these next few, he'd fail out of his program. He'd been doing so well, but it was just that strict of a program – there was no room to mess up, even a little bit.

Maybe if he could turn the rest of this class period around, Linda wouldn't be so harsh in the evaluation. He only had fifteen minutes to wrap up the lesson, so he pulled out his last resort: re-cap questions.

"All right, what is the name of the water supply system that the Ancient Romans used?" TJ asked his class, attempting to smile encouragingly.

Silence.

He glanced around the room, but no one had instantly volunteered to answer the question. Swallowing, he tried not to fidget under Linda's judgmental gaze.

Taking a deep breath, TJ forced the smile to remain on his face, despite feeling it slip. Trying to stamp down the rising anxiety, he pushed himself away from the ledge of the whiteboard that he had been leaning against.

"No one wants to answer?" he teased, scanning the group of students.

After several long moments, a hand shot up in the air. The sight nearly made TJ groan. As much as he appreciated Cody's enthusiasm, it was usually about the wrong topic; it never had to deal with what they were actually discussing that day. TJ had spent nearly the whole year redirecting the boy, and it looked like he'd have to it again today.

"Can we talk about World War II?" Cody asked eagerly, flashing his teeth in a wide grin. "I want to learn more about D-Day and the Holocaust!"

A chorus of "Yeah!" echoed around the room. They all stared at TJ with hopeful expressions on their faces.

Great, TJ thought sourly. They choose now to be lively – right when class is about to end and it's the wrong topic!

In voice that was an equal mix of gentle and firm – something he reserved for the classroom - TJ explained, "No, Cody. I appreciate how excited you are about World War II. I promise that we will get to that topic in the future. But, we've been spending the whole class talking about Ancient Rome. The people during this time period were awesome, guys! In fact, some of the things that we have knowledge for today dates back to Ancient Rome."

"But, Mr. Kippen…" Cody whined, squirming in his seat. "Ancient Rome is boring."

Flushing, TJ had to silently bristle at the comment. He wanted to stick out his tongue and retort, It is not! But, given that he was a) an adult and could not stoop to a seventh grader's level and b) being evaluated for his teaching performance and demeanor in the classroom, he refrained. It just didn't seem that complicated – why couldn't his students see how amazing this era of history was?!

TJ was about to respond when someone beat him to it.

"You know what's not boring?" Another boy asked, smirking.

Oh, no. This could not end well.

Even though TJ was often frustrated with Cody, nothing could compare to the irritation he felt for Bradley. With a constant smirk on his twelve-year-old face and a dangerous, mischievous glint in his eyes, he was nothing but trouble.

Before TJ could properly react, Bradley pulled out a straw from behind the stack of books on his desk. At lightning speed, he raised the straw to his lips and inhaled sharply, sending a spit-fall flying at TJ. Right. At. His. Face.

He was so stunned that he didn't even move out of the way – the moist wad of paper brushed by his cheek before landing on the ground near his feet.

For a single second, TJ was completely speechless. He had no idea what emotion his face was displaying at the moment, but judging from everyone's reaction, it wasn't a pretty sight.

What ensued next was absolute chaos.

Stomping feet and hand clapping ricocheted off the walls, as the kids howled with laughter. Horrified at her students, Ellen rushed to TJ's side, immediately chastising them before calling to Bradley to pick up his things – he was going straight to the principal's office. Distantly, Linda's sounds of disapproval rang in TJ's ears, as she abandoned her seat in the back to approach him.

Honestly, TJ didn't know what happened for the remainder of the class. His mind had shut off at that point, and the next thing he knew, he was retreating to his truck with Linda in tow.

When he reached his vehicle, he turned to her.

"Whatever you have to say, please just tell me another time. I really don't want to talk about it," he stated, his voice croaky, like he hadn't used it in a quite a while.

He stood still, shoulders tense, waiting in anticipation for her next move.

She frowned, though her eyes reflected an emotion that looked eerily similar to sympathy. She opened her mouth to speak, but then quickly closed it, appearing as if she was considering her words carefully.

When she was ready, she kept her standard neutral tone, but if TJ strained his ears, he could detect a tiny bit of warmth underneath the surface.

"What happened in there was not your fault. The students were obviously struggling today. And it was clear that you tried to engage them as best you could. My comments reflect that you followed protocol and did just fine with that. You shouldn't worry, TJ."

Well, that was a first. She never called them by his first name. From the minute she had been assigned to him, he'd been referred to as, 'Mr. Kippen'.

Still reeling from her words, he remained frozen in place, eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

"Thank you," he managed to stutter when he could find his voice. "That's somewhat comforting," he added a second later, absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck, unsure of how to proceed with the conversation.

"Of course, you still have many things to work on. Your teaching performance needs improvement, but that's to be expected. Moving forward, you should take my comments and critiques into account, particularly for the next evaluation. My current plans are to complete the remainder of the evaluation this afternoon and submit it. I'll discuss the results with you, shall we say on Monday at 2:00 pm?"

"Yes, that works. The usual conference room?"

She nodded curtly, returning to her business-as-usual self. "Correct."

"See you then."

"Good day, Mr. Kippen." She waved to him before disappearing to her own vehicle.

As soon as she left, he slipped inside of his truck and checked the time before reaching for his cell-phone in the glove compartment. Punching in a familiar number and placing the device in its cradle, he waited in bated breath for an answer.

While the traditional dial tone started, he inserted the key into the ignition and began making his way to his apartment.

"Hello?" Cyrus answered on the fourth ring, his voice coming through the vehicle's speaker system.

"Hey," TJ responded distractedly, trying to shift lanes as more cars piled around him.

Of course, it was just his luck that no one was letting him in. He was about to roll down the window and shout some expletives when one nice person finally allowed him to slide into his desired lane. He waved to the driver, silently thanking the individual for being somewhat of a decent human being.

"Everything okay, Teej? How was the evaluation?" Concern laced the brunet's voice.

"It didn't go well," TJ replied truthfully, resisting the urge to thunk his head against the steering wheel. He forced a deep breath in and then exhaled loudly. "It was obvious that Linda wasn't happy with my performance. But, the kids were a disaster today! They're usually so energetic. I can barely contain their enthusiasm on most days. Today, though, they just seemed flat and uninterested in anything I had to say. That wasn't even the worst part – a kid shot a spit-ball at me! A spit-ball, Cyrus! I didn't even know kids did that anymore!"

"Whoa, back up, there! You had a student actually shoot a spit-ball at you?" Cyrus asked, the disbelief clear in his voice.

"Yes," TJ groaned, chewing on his lip.

A beat passed. Then another. No sound came from the other end of the line. Furrowing his brows, TJ tapped on his screen to make sure the call hadn't disconnected.

"Cy, you there?" he wondered.

It was quiet at first, barely audible. But, then it increased in volume.

Laughter. The cheeky little shit was laughing at him!

"Cy!" TJ whined, unconsciously slamming his foot on the accelerator. He lurched forward, narrowly missing hitting the car in front of him.

Fuck, he thought. If I get into a car-wreck today, I swear I'm gonna…

His thought was interrupted when Cyrus burst out with an apology.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Cyrus gasped between fits of laughter. "I'm not laughing at you, I swear! But, c'mon, it's hilarious! Even you have to admit that."

"It's not funny," TJ pouted, jutting out his bottom lip. "It was humiliating! Cyrus, you're supposed to be my best friend and comfort me. You're doing a really lousy job of that, by the way."

"I'm sorry," Cyrus wheezed, trying (and in TJ's opinion, failing) to steady his breathing after laughing so hard.

"Are you done?" TJ snapped, flicking on his blinker to prepare to turn down the street where his apartment complex was located.

Once he reached the parking structure, he quickly pulled into his designated spot. Rolling down the windows, he turned his truck off and sat silently in his vehicle, waiting for Cyrus's answer. He could hear Cyrus forcing a deep breath out on the other end.

"Yes, I'm done." Cyrus paused, sounding like he was collecting his thoughts. After a moment, he continued, sincerity ringing in his voice. "Please don't be mad, Teej. I swear I'm not laughing at your misfortune. It's just…the thought of you losing your perfectly controlled composure, even for a second, is humorous. You're normally so confident in everything you do that it almost seems that nothing can phase you. Little things like this remind me that you're human, too. If anything, I find you even more endearing. Look, I've had so many embarrassing things happen to me over the years. I get it – I really do. You learn to just laugh it off, no matter how humiliating or awkward the situation is. It's better than over-analyzing and stressing about it, trust me."

Startled at Cyrus's declaration, TJ didn't have an immediate response. He had to admit that Cyrus was really good at apologies – he always had been. Then again, TJ hadn't actually been mad or irritated. It was Cyrus, after all. No matter how hard he tried, he could never be truly upset with the brunet. He always knew he was done for as soon Cyrus pulled out those puppy dog eyes and that soft voice filled with warmth.

"You're doing it again," TJ murmured, leaning back in his seat.

"Doing what?" Cyrus asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Saying the right thing. Making me feel better. Being a good friend."

"Best friend," Cyrus corrected, echoing TJ's earlier sentiment.

"You mean to say I've reached the same level of friendship as Andi and Buffy?" TJ gasped, his hand flying to his heart in mock-surprise.

"Oh, please," Cyrus scoffed. "Don't pretend like you don't know. You reached that level years ago, way back in middle school."

"I know, Underdog. Just wanted to hear you say it." Even though he knew that Cyrus couldn't see him, he smirked.

"Whatever, Not-So-Scary-Basketball Guy. Are you feeling better now, at least?"

"Yeah, I am. Thanks for talking me off the ledge."

"No problem – that's what I'm here for. We can continue with this conversation when I come over tonight for dinner. Would you like me to pick up the usual order for you?"

"Yes, please. Oh, and before you go, there's something I wanted to ask you."

"Okay. I'm getting ready to meet Andi and Buffy for coffee, but I have some time to spare. What's up?"

TJ hesitated. It wasn't like he was asking the world of him, but there was a chance that Cyrus would say no…

"You're being quiet all of a sudden. Out with it, TJ," Cyrus insisted, using a tone one would use when disciplining a rambunctious puppy.

Almost bashfully, TJ mumbled, "Will you stay overnight?"

Rather than answer his question, Cyrus quipped, "You want to drink, don't you?"

TJ could lie, but what was the point? He hardly hid anything from Cyrus anymore.

"Okay, you got me. Yes, I'm planning on drinking. We both know that I'm not normally a big drinker, but it's been a long day, Cyrus. I'm usually okay to drive after a couple of beers, but with the way the day's going so far, I'm probably going too out of it to drive you home."

"You do realize that I could ask Buffy for a ride, or get an Uber back to my dorm room, right? It's not like I would make you drive me."

Even though Cyrus couldn't see him, TJ waved his hand in the air to dismiss the thought.

"Yes, I'm aware. Look, it's not just about driving. I could use the company, okay? Honestly, I don't really want to be alone. And you're the only one I want to spend the evening with."

"All right, I'll stay," Cyrus answered, sighing. "I must say that it's good thing that I'm so fond of you, TJ Kippen. I wouldn't do this for just anyone."

"I feel honored. And for what it's worth, I pretty fond of you, too," TJ cooed, grinning widely.

"Oh, hush," Cyrus shot back. TJ was positive that if they were face-to-face, Cyrus would have swatted his arm.

"Hey, don't act like this is the first time you've spent the night. You literally have a drawer full of clothes and other things at my place. And I gave you a key! If we're counting here, I'd say your visits have definitely increased since your drinking incident earlier this school year."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Cyrus complained. "Worst decision ever. I can't believe I thought going to that stupid party was a good idea."

"It worked out in the end, if I remember correctly. I was the big and strong basketball player who swept in to rescue you from that creep."

"You know, I still see him around sometimes. As soon as he catches sight of me, he runs the other way. It's probably because he remembers your threat of eviscerating him if he tried to make any more moves on me."

"I keep my promises, Cy. That guy is dead if he dares to even get within a few feet of you."

"Oh, my hero," Cyrus drawled in an accent similar to Scarlett O'Hara's.

TJ huffed a laugh under his breath – he always loved when Cyrus switched into a ridiculous accent to prove a point.

"And you don't forget it."

Chuckling quietly, Cyrus agreed. "Hey, I'm about to leave, but I can still talk while I walk there."

TJ could hear the slam of a door and the crackle of static, as Cyrus exited his dorm room and began walking.

"Okay, sounds good," TJ answered, rolling his stiff shoulders and neck. "By the way, did we agree on a time tonight? I honestly can't remember if we did."

"Nope, not yet. Does 7:00 work?"

"Yeah. Say hi to Andi and Buffy for me."

"Will do. Speaking of the ladies, I'm warning you in advance that Andi's planning on dragging you to her pottery club next week."

TJ rolled his eyes. "Again? She made me go last month! Why am I the one who always has to accompany her to pottery events?"

Patiently, Cyrus explained, "Buffy and I aren't artistic, nor do we want to learn anything about visual art. We zone out when she describes something artsy to us. Plus, it's your fault that you mentioned you have an interest in it."

"A mild interest. And that was years ago! I made an off-hand comment about pottery being cool and look where it's gotten me! I've had to paint pottery with her on several occasions, sit in on her pottery class, and join her for pottery club."

"You shouldn't have made that comment then," Cyrus retorted, his voice holding a teasing lilt.

"It's apparently come to bite me in the ass." He paused for a moment before surrendering, throwing his hands in the air in defeat. "Fine, I go. Tell her to text me the details."

"I'll let her know. You're the best, Teej."

Rolling his eyes again, he sighed, "Yeah, yeah. If we're following old patterns here, I know that when Andi has a request, so does Buffy. So, out with it."

"Man, you know our friends so well," Cyrus whistled, sounding impressed.

"That's your fault. You dragged me into this circle of people."

"And I have no regrets. Anyway, Buffy wants you to attend a basketball social gathering with her."

"Whyyyy?" TJ grumbled, drawing out the last letter. "Why can't you go with her? She's your best friend!"

"Oh, come on. Don't pretend she's not one of your closest friends. And let's face it, I'm not the best choice to attend athletic social events. I wouldn't have a clue how to talk to those people. Plus, she's insisting that you to come because a) you know basketball lingo, b) you can distract her from having to engage with people she doesn't like, and c) she would like to spend time with you since she hasn't seen much of you lately."

Snickering, TJ couldn't help the smile that spread across his mouth. "Option C is only true because she misses roasting me."

"There may be some truth to that."

"Remind me why she can't take her actual boyfriend with her?" TJ countered.

TJ didn't have to see Cyrus to know that the brunet was glaring at him.

"You know that Marty is up north at Michigan Tech – it's too far of a drive for him to come for this alone. And they already agreed that he'd visit in three weeks. The event is next weekend."

"All right, fine – I'll go with her. It wouldn't be fair to do something for Andi and not reciprocate for Buffy. Those two are a damn package deal, after all. Black tie event, I assume?"

"Yes, indeed." His tone turned playful as he said, "Cheer up, Teej. The night won't be a total bust. You're so good with social gatherings – you'll schmooze and impress people like no other. If you get bored, you'll have Buffy to entertain you the whole time. She told me that one of Ann Arbor's fanciest restaurants is catering the event, so you'll get free food and it'll be tasty. And I know for certain that you're going to look very dashing in a suit. It'll be hard for any man to keep his hands off of you."

Snorting bemusedly, TJ shook his head. "Good points, except for the last one. I actually have standards, Cy. I don't date guys I meet at social events, especially sports related ones. They're never looking for anything serious, and I don't do causal hook-ups or relationships. When I decide to be with someone, I'm fully invested. You know that."

"I do. It's one of the reasons why I think you're going to make someone really happy someday. But, I also think that there's no guy out there who will ever be good enough to deserve you."

Hearing Cyrus's sentiment, TJ's cheeks warmed and his stomach clenched in a familiar way. Long ago when he didn't understand what that stomach tightening meant, he was alarmed every time it happened. Now, it was just familiar. Safe. Comforting. And as the years went by, more and more intense.

The sensation was far too intense to be called 'butterflies.' Sure, back in middle school when TJ first experienced the stirring in his mid-section, he had labeled it as such. But, now…butterflies didn't even cover it. How could they when the sensation was so powerful that it nearly knocked him over at times? It was…exhilarating – the perfect combination of terrifying and out-of-this-world amazing.

"I feel the same way," he murmured affectionately. "No one will ever be good enough for my Underdog."

There was a slight pause before Cyrus whispered, "Teej?"

"Yeah?"

There seemed to be hesitation from the other end. It sounded like Cyrus wanted to say something, but instead, he softly sighed, "Never mind."

TJ furrowed his brows in confusion, wondering what was on Cyrus's mind.

"You sure?" he pressed gently, giving Cyrus the room to speak, if he wanted to.

"Yes. I'm almost there, so I'm going to let you go now. I'll let myself into your apartment with my key, so don't worry about that. See you at 7:00, Not-So-Scary-Basketball Guy."

"You sure will. Bye, Underdog."

Cyrus echoed the farewell before hanging up, leaving TJ in a bit of daze in his vehicle.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed, nearly making him jump out his skin.

Warily, he glanced at the screen and saw that Ryan, one of his teammates, sent him a message.

Ryan: Dude, don't forget that we have practice in an hour. It's gonna be twice as long because of that cancelled practice earlier this week. Make sure you're pumped for it!

Staring at his phone for a minute and processing the information, TJ's eyes widened before he face-palmed. Damn it! He had completely spaced on that as well. How could he forget practice of all things?!

He reached for his phone to quickly type a response to Ryan, thanking him for the reminder.

Jumping out of his truck, he rushed inside to prepare his things for practice. As he threw his clothes and water bottle in his gym bag, he bemoaned the fact that he couldn't scarf down some Cheese Puffs and drown his sorrows in beer before taking that nap he so desperately craved at the moment.

Thirty minutes later, he was ready and heading out of the door again. "The Universe is trying to kill me today, I swear," he hissed to himself, striding back over to his vehicle.

---

Given the day he was having so far, TJ really shouldn't have been surprised that basketball practice turned out to be absolute torture. It still didn't mean he enjoyed being yelled at up one side and down the other. The second he stepped onto the hardwood floor, Coach Wells started screaming and cursing at him.

"Kippen, what the hell are you doing?!" Coach barked from the sidelines, blowing his whistle.

TJ whipped around at the sound of his name, nearly colliding with Ryan. He managed to shoot Ryan an apologetic look before grabbing the ball just in time before it was flung across the court.

With the ball in his hands, he frowned. "Running the play you wanted me to," he shouted in response, genuinely confused as what he was doing wrong.

"Kippen, that's not what I told you to do! Everyone here knows what you just pulled was amateur shit. What are you – a middle school basketball player? Get out there and show some real skills!" Coach growled, his face flushing with anger, as labored breaths escaped him.

TJ stared at him helplessly. What did he mean by amateur? He ran the play exactly how he was directed!

After a moment, Coach blew his whistle again. "Everyone but Kippen take five!" He pointed a finger at TJ, his mouth twisting into a scowl. "You're on the bench for the rest of practice, Kippen. Watch the team execute the play correctly – you may actually learn something."

Hanging his head in defeat, TJ shuffled to the stands, hauling himself up there. For the remainder of practice, he watched another teammate run the exact same play with no negative commentary from Coach.

The only thing keeping him there was the fact that if he fled the area, Coach would have severe words with him. He couldn't jeopardize his spot on the team, no matter how much he wanted to punch out his coach.

Needless to say, as soon as practice concluded, TJ bolted out of the room as fast as he could. Driving straight to the grocery store, he purchased a giant bag of Cheese Puffs, a couple bags of teriyaki flavored beef jerky, a six pack of Blue Moon, and bottle of Jack Daniel's (his guilty pleasure – not that he'd tell anyone that, of course).

When he finally arrived home, he kicked off his shoes, pulled out his contacts, slipped into the shower to quickly rinse off the sweat and grim from practice, tossed on a pair of sweats and a comfy T-shirt, and flung himself on the coach. In his hands was a bowl of Cheese Puffs, a bag of jerky, and a Blue Moon. Raising the bottle to his lips, he took a hearty gulp, tasting the familiar citrusy flavor. He normally enjoyed his beer, but today… it tasted like absolute heaven.

Sighing happily, he downed the first bottle and started on the second, all the while shoving his face full of cheesy and beef flavored goodness.

It didn't take long before the six pack was gone.

"Whisky time," he giggled, nearly tripping over his feet on his way to grab the bottle and pour a few shots. Taking a hold of each of the shots, he knocked them back like they were water. The pleasant sting of the liquor burned down his throat, making him shiver.

If TJ had been in his right mind, he would have quit after his second beer. But, alas, he wasn't. So, it wasn't too shocking that Cyrus found him on the couch an hour later, completely blissed out.

---

Juggling the large paper bag of Chinese take-out, a can of blueberry iced-tea lemonade, and his backpack stuffed with overnight essentials, Cyrus ascended the stairs to TJ's apartment. When he reached the familiar door that read 208, he located the correct key on his lanyard. Smiling to himself, he briefly thought of the time when TJ presented him with the key, wrapped neatly in red ribbon.

Technically, the blond had violated a rule when he sent the key to the shop to be copied. His lease directly stated that under no circumstance was he allowed to copy the key and give it to someone whose name wasn't on the lease. At first, Cyrus hesitated to even take it because, well, rules. But, after a bit of pleading from TJ and a helping of some freshly baked chocolate, chocolate-chip muffins, he finally relented. Plus, it was easier this way – he could come and go as he pleased.

Twisting the knob on the door, he shuffled inside, heading straight to the kitchen table to place his belongings and their dinner on it.

"Teej, I'm here!" he called out.

No response.

Furrowing his brows, he continued moving until he reached the living room.

The sight that greeted him was TJ on the couch, stretched out, with his hands behind his head.

The blond turned his head, his lips lifting into dopey grin.

"Cyyyyyyy," he slurred, adjusting his position so that he leaned against the back of the couch.

"Oh, good grief," Cyrus sighed, rushing to him. He gripped TJ's face in his hands, checking him over. The dazed look in those green eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"You couldn't have waited to drink until I got here, you moron?" Cyrus groaned loudly, removing his hands to place in his lap.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiii," TJ announced, blinking at Cyrus, that dopey grin stretching farther across his mouth.

"Hello, TJ," Cyrus replied, trying hard to sound stern, but drunk TJ was honestly kind of adorable. Shaking his head, Cyrus's voice turned a bit sharper when he said, "Given your current state, we're clearly not going to discuss your evaluation tonight."

TJ cocked his head to the side, appearing as if he was a dog listening to a strange sound.

"What evaluation?" he asked, looking utterly confused.

"Your student teaching one that you had earlier today," Cyrus gently reminded him.

"Ohhhhhhhh, that one. Yeah, that was bad." TJ nodded severely, emphasizing his point.

"I gathered that. Well, enough of that for now. Let's get some food in you, all right? Maybe that will help to temper your state of drunkenness."

At least, he sure hoped so. This definitely wasn't Cyrus's area of expertise. He'd only had too much to drink once, and TJ had known exactly what to do to take care of him. Then again, TJ had always been the one to physically take care of Cyrus, while Cyrus was the one to emotionally support TJ. That was their dynamic – their thing.

"Wanna stay here with you," TJ mumbled, curling into Cyrus, despite his six-foot-four frame. Tangling their legs together, he burrowed his face into the side of Cyrus's neck. His warm, alcohol scented breath brushed against Cyrus's skin, tickling him.

A deep blush bloomed across Cyrus's cheeks, his heart hammering out its customary BA-BOOM, BA-BOOM, BA-BOOM rhythm. Despite the years he'd spent around TJ and the amount of times his heart carried out that tempo, this was new. Right now, with TJ leaning against him, he felt like his heart could quite literally leap out of his chest.

It didn't help matters that with their close proximity, Cyrus only had to twist his head a fraction to inhale TJ's intoxicating scent. Silently, Cyrus cursed his best friend's love of all things citrus scented. TJ couldn't go anywhere without smelling like a mix of lemon and orange. It drove Cyrus absolutely insane, to the point where he had to resist burying his nose against TJ's skin and hair.

"Okay, apparently you're a cuddly drunk," Cyrus mused, chuckling softly to himself. "I should have known. You're normally so physically affectionate that this isn't surprising."

"So warm and comfy," TJ answered, wiggling his body until he found the correct position. He locked Cyrus into an embrace – one that he couldn't easily get out of.

As much as he wanted to remain in his best friend's arms for the rest of the night, Cyrus had more important matters on his hands.

"Teej, you need to eat," Cyrus tried again.

"Later," came the muffled response.

"Fine, desperate times call for desperate measures."

Pulling his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, Cyrus clicked on one of his contacts, switching to video-chat mode.

"Cyrus!" Buffy exclaimed, smiling at the image of her best friend before shifting her focus to the person who was currently wrapped completely around Cyrus. Her smile faded slightly, as she arched an eyebrow. Judging from the gelled hair, she knew exactly who it was. "Why is TJ clinging to you like a koala?"

Cyrus sighed, carefully running his hand along TJ's back, which drew out a purr of appreciation from the blond's lips. Cyrus's cheeks flushed at the sound, mentally filing it away. He liked it far more than he cared to admit. "He's drunk. Majorly drunk, in fact."

Silence. And then, "He's drunk?!" Buffy screeched, the pitch so high that Cyrus had to wince.

"My ears," Cyrus complained, scowling. He glanced at TJ, who didn't seem to have even noticed Buffy. His eyes were closed, as he steadily breathed against Cyrus. With the way his breaths were evenly spaced, he sounded like he was on his way to falling asleep.

"Let me get this straight: TJ Kippen – Mr. Perfectly Composed, Controlled, and Always Aware of What People Think is drunk off his ass?" Buffy reiterated, her brown eyes sparkling with mirth.

Cyrus nodded, already anticipating Buffy's next move.

He was right; in the next instant, Buffy let out a hysterical laugh, clutching her sides as she doubled over.

"This is golden! Please film him for me – I wanna be able to tease him about it for as long as I can."

"C'mon, Buffy. Don't be rude," Cyrus scolded. "He's clearly vulnerable right now. I'm trying to get him to eat dinner, but he's refusing to leave my side. What should I do?"

Scoffing, Buffy rolled her eyes. "You're asking me like I've had experience with being drunk, which I haven't."

"I know that, but you probably have dealt with more drunk people than I have."

"Fair point. A lot of my teammates like to drink. Not going to lie, I've had to get their sorry asses home before. And Marty – the idiot that he is – likes to party, so he's been sloshed before."

"See? You've had practice! So, what do I do?" Cyrus practically wailed, his voice taking on a tone of desperation.

Her answer was simple. "Toss him in the shower."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You've got to be kidding me," Cyrus snorted, mouth hanging open.

"I'm not. The second time Marty got drunk around me, I threw him in there, turned on the water to the coldest setting, and watched him suffer."

"And he's still with you?! That boy must be a masochist."

"He sure is. For some unfathomable reason, he still loves me, despite the shit I put him through. And I love him, even when he's being a complete dumbass."

A sudden thought struck Cyrus, making his cheeks flush once again.

"Did you…leave him fully clothed?"

Smirking, she shook her head. "No. He needed to feel the full effect of what he had done. And it worked. His scream was so loud that it woke up my roommate, who normally sleeps like she's dead. Since then, he hasn't gotten drunk around me."

"But…but you're dating Marty, so it's not weird when you see him without clothes on. TJ and I aren't…" Cyrus trailed off, his cheeks reddening further.

"You've seen him without a shirt on, haven't you?" Buffy interrupted, quirking an eyebrow.

"I mean, y-yeah," Cyrus stuttered, feeling the pace of his heartbeat increase ten-fold, while perspiration collected at the base of his neck. "He's changed shirts in front of me before…"

"Did you enjoy the view?" Innocence rang in her tone, but the gleam in her eyes was purely wicked.

"Buffy!" Cyrus shrieked, squirming and wringing his hands anxiously.

The jostling motion must have stirred TJ; green eyes suddenly blinked open, looking unfocused but affectionate at the same time. Cyrus's heart melted, just a little, at the sight.

"You okay, Muffin?" TJ breathed, running his nose along the column of Cyrus's neck and trailing his fingertips lightly over his collarbone.

"Fine," Cyrus squeaked, shivering from both the sensation of TJ's touch and the use of a new name. TJ had never called him Muffin before. It sounded way too much like a pet name one would use for a romantic partner. And deep down, Cyrus found that he didn't mind. That was probably the most alarming part, in his opinion.

"You guys are so cute, it literally makes me want to vomit," Buffy remarked, making gagging sounds.

"Shut up!" Cyrus hissed.

TJ shifted slightly, noticing that Cyrus was speaking to someone. He raised his head, eyes roving over the screen before he waved enthusiastically, blurting out, "Oh, hi, Buffyyyyy!"

"Yeah, he's definitely wasted," she snickered at Cyrus. Turning her attention to TJ, she cooed, "Hi, TJ. How are you?"

"I'm good. Really good, actually," he answered, another dopey grin on his lips. "Just by sitting here and closing my eyes, I feel like I've solved all life's issues, you know? Like…right now, I think I could cure cancer, or solve world hunger, or even stop global warming from happening!"

Buffy's eyes widened, her hand flying in front of her mouth in an effort to stifle her loud cackles.

"Cyrus, please let me tease him about this forever! This is too good," Buffy commented eagerly.

"Not now," he urged, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Okay, okay," she sighed, though the laughter was still apparent in her voice. "TJ, that's awesome that you feel so good. How about you follow Cyrus and he can help you with those plans? After all, two heads are better than one when it comes to planning."

Rubbing his chin, TJ appeared to think that over. "Okay," he replied a moment later, untangling himself from Cyrus. He stood, stretching his arms above his head. Wandering over to the dining room, he started to poke at the paper bag that contained their dinner.

"Thanks," Cyrus muttered at Buffy. He lowered his voice, so that TJ couldn't easily pick up on what he was saying. "Anyway, I'm not removing any article of clothing from him. I guess I'll just put him in there and hope for the best. Do you have any more advice?"

"I'd say toss him in the shower first to see if that sobers him up. Then, feed him, give him lot of water, and probably some headache relief medicine. He'll thank you later for that, trust me. Depending on how much he had to drink, he might throw up. Let him do that and be there in case he hurts himself. Make sure he changes his clothes and brushes his teeth after that."

"Ew, gross." Cyrus wrinkled his nose at the thought. "Let's hope he doesn't have to expel all of that alcohol. I've never been good around vomit."

Buffy snorted. "I've been to Adrenaline City with you. Trust me, I'm painfully aware of that."

"Okay, I think I've got it all," Cyrus stated, re-directing their conversation. "I should go before he does anything stupid."

"Please film it if he does!"

"Not going to happen, but nice try." Cyrus rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. "Thank you for the help. You're the best and I love you."

"Love you, too, Cyrus. Talk tomorrow?"

"Of course."

As soon as he hung up, he hurried to the kitchen to find TJ sitting at the table staring, transfixed, at the paper bag.

"Hey, buddy," Cyrus called softly, hoping not to startle him. He moved to sit beside TJ at the table.

"Hi," TJ mumbled, pointing eagerly at the bag. "Dinner?"

Cyrus nodded. "I thought you wanted to talk about your plans to save the world first?"

TJ shrugged. "That can wait. I'm hungry and whatever is in the bag smells awesome."

"I got you your favorite – General Tso's Chicken and Mongolian Beef from China Palace. Before we eat, though, there's something that I think we should do first." Cyrus bit his lip, hoping that his nervous tone wouldn't give him away.

Luckily, in TJ's inebriated state, it didn't seem that he had the brain compacity to argue with Cyrus.

"Okay," he agreed, standing up and holding out his hand for Cyrus to take.

Grasping his hand, Cyrus tugged him along to the bathroom.

On the way there, TJ blurted out, "You know, while you were talking to Buffy, I was thinking that if you moved in here and we were roommates, we could have take-out, like, all the time. And we'd have so many adventures, even more than we do now! Wouldn't that be so cool?

Cyrus froze, dropping TJ's hand like it was on fire.

"What did you just say?" he asked, the blood rushing to his face, as his heart fluttered wildly.

TJ ignored him in favoring of chirping, "Hey, we're next to the bathroom! Are we gonna plan to save the world from the bathroom? Oh, we're totally gonna do that! I bet my lair is in there. I've always wanted a lair, like Batman! Hm, maybe I should get something to ride around in, like a Batmobile. I wonder how much those cost?"

He's still completely soused. He has no idea what he's saying, Cyrus concluded, trying desperately to calm his body from having a heart attack. He shook his head, intending to put that whole moment behind him. Of course, he knew TJ hadn't been serious, but even the thought that they could live together…

Well, there was no use in pondering it. It was too far-fetched of an idea, no matter how appealing it sounded to Cyrus.

"Y-yes. All of our…planning has to take place in h-here," he stammered, taking a hold of TJ's hand again and steering him through the doorway.

Once inside, Cyrus flicked on the light and released a breath, attempting to stamp down the guilty feelings that were threatening to rise inside of him.

This is for his own good, he reasoned internally.

"Sorry about this," he grunted, using all of his strength to push TJ into the shower stall.

"Whaaaa?" TJ uttered before Cyrus twisted the shower knob, blasting his best friend with freezing cold water.

He stepped to the side, taking in the sight of TJ, who looked very much like a drowned rat.

"CYRUS!" TJ shouted at the top of his lungs, as the water continued to pelt him.

"Sorry!" Cyrus yelled. "Blame Buffy for that – it was her idea!"

"Don't care, you're the one who followed through with it! You are so dead!" TJ jumped out of the shower, chasing after Cyrus.

Hm, so he can run, despite being drunk out of his mind, Cyrus mused, trying his best to dodge all of the things in TJ's apartment in an effort to get away.

The next thing he knew, he was soaring through the air and landed on the couch with an "Oof!", having the wind effectively knocked out of him after TJ's tackle.

"Why did you toss me in the fucking shower?" TJ growled, his lips brushing the shell of Cyrus's ear.

Despite the harshness of the words, he didn't seem all that angry. Actually, if Cyrus looked hard enough, he could see a bit of amusement swimming in those green irises.

"To sober you up," Cyrus gasped, struggling to breathe under TJ's weight. He grimaced, feeling his own clothes dampen from being pressed against the blond. "Did it work?" he wondered a second later, skimming his fingers across TJ's face.

Breathing heavily, Cyrus felt the air crackle with spine-tingling tension. For a split second, he could have sworn TJ glanced at his lips in a way that was anything but platonic. But, as quick as that happened, the moment was gone. Before he knew it, TJ leapt off of him and sprinted to the bathroom.

The sound of retching, unfortunately, echoed in his ears in the next instant.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, following his best friend. "Good thing Buffy warned me."

He found TJ hanging over the toilet seat, looking like an absolute mess, and babbling about some ridiculous thing or another. With a frustrated sigh, he tried to plug his nose the best he could while maneuvering the blond to the opposite side of the room, so that he could clean up.

Thirty minutes later, after changing into their respective sleep-wear and freshening up, both men sat at the dining room table, scarfing down their dinner.

"Sorry about all of that," TJ mumbled around a mouthful of Mongolian Beef.

Cyrus shrugged. "Sorry for blasting you with cold water."

"I probably needed it." TJ reached for the tall glass of water beside his plate, downing it in one gulp. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he slumped down in his seat.

Raising an eyebrow, Cyrus asked, "You're not mad?"

TJ cracked a tired smile. "I could never really be mad at you. In fact, I'm impressed that you had the guts to pull that off. Most people would be too intimated to take me on like that."

Lazily looking over his best friend, Cyrus drawled, "I'm not most people. You don't scare me, TJ Kippen."

"No? Not even a little bit?" TJ pouted, the disappointment evident in his voice.

Cyrus shook his head, his eyes crinkling with warmth. Gently poking him in the side, he quietly said, "You're soft, Not-So-Scary-Basketball Guy. You were the minute you helped me get that muffin all those years ago."

TJ rolled his eyes, trying to hide the full blown smile spreading across his mouth.

"You and your puppy dog eyes. I should have known then that I couldn't say no to you."

"Mhhm," Cyrus hummed in agreement. Glancing at his watch, he noticed the time.

"Hey, it's getting kind of late now. After the day you've had, you deserve a peaceful night of sleep. I think it's time we get ourselves to bed. How about it, hm?" Cyrus cajoled, using a soft, persuasive voice.

TJ bit his lip in thought. "Can we watch a movie before we go to sleep?"

The responsible part of Cyrus's brain was telling him to say no, but one look at TJ, and his will broke.

"Okay," he sighed. "Movie first and then bed, got it?"

Nodding enthusiastically, TJ grinned. "Can we watch my favorite?"

Cyrus snorted. "You have two – which one do you want?"

His answer was immediate. "Shrek."

Chuckling, Cyrus nodded. "All right, Shrek it is. Living room or your room?"

"My room, please."

"Sounds good to me. But, first, let's get you some headache relief medicine and another glass of water."

Cyrus stood to fetch the necessary items for TJ, who took the pills without any arguments. Within the next few minutes, they were both tucked into TJ's bed, leaning against one another, as the opening of scene of Shrek played on the TV that was mounted to the wall.

Throughout the film, TJ remained silent, resting his head on Cyrus's shoulder. Cyrus didn't mind – having the extra weight was comforting, in a way. They snuggled closer into one another, while Cyrus lightly traced patterns across the back of TJ's hands.

It didn't take long for TJ's eyelids to begin drooping and his breathing to even out.

"Teej, you're falling asleep," Cyrus murmured into his ear, gently nudging him.

"Movie's not done. We haven't even gotten to the best part yet," TJ whimpered, raising his head to look at Cyrus. "Please stay until it's finished?" he softly pleaded, curling his hands into Cyrus's shirt.

How could he deny TJ anything when he was being this vulnerable and endearing?

"Okay," he breathed.

Smiling, TJ returned to his previous position. The comfortable silence continued to linger, and it was times like this that Cyrus was grateful that they didn't need words to convey the tranquility and intimacy between them.

By time the credits rolled, TJ was snoring softly, dead to the world.

Carefully, Cyrus pushed TJ to the other side of the bed so that he had more room to stretch.

Eyes falling on his best friend, Cyrus's heart leapt into his throat. He'd always thought TJ was handsome, but now…with the delicate lighting from the beside lamp and the vulnerability that came from being asleep, he was more than just handsome – he was beautiful. As Cyrus's eyes swept over TJ's face, something deep inside of him ached. Something that he couldn't identify, but it was there, prodding and pushing at him. At this revelation, he released a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding in. With trembling hands, he brushed back a lock of golden hair that fallen over TJ's forehead.

"Goodnight, TJ," he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips against TJ's cheek. "See you in the morning."

As quietly as he could, he tip-toed out of the bedroom, having already turned off the TV and lamp. He made his way to the other room in the apartment – TJ's office. Flicking on the light, he located the closet where TJ kept the extra pillows and blanket. He grabbed the supplies and headed back to the couch to set up his make-shift bed for the night.

When he was all tucked in, he allowed his eyes to drift close. Even though he could feel exhaustion seeping into his bones, sleep did not easily come. Instead, he lay awake, his mind wrapping itself around a set of words spoken earlier:

"If you moved in here and we were roommates…"

Oh, if only you knew the weight of your words, Cyrus thought forlornly, telepathically aiming his comment at TJ. If only you knew how much I'd want that.

For the last six months or so, Cyrus longed to leave his dorm room. He hadn't admitted this to his friends or family, but he regretted his decision to return to dorm life after the first year. It was fine when he first entered college, but now that he was nearly finished with his second year, he was ready to part from the small, cramped space that he shared with Kyle, his current roommate, who spent most of his time getting high and sleeping with his fling of the week.

Recently, Cyrus had started searching for apartments, taking time to visit each one to see if the real places lived up to advertisements he'd been skimming through. He had visited several and rejected each one for a different reason: one was too expensive, while another wasn't located in a safe enough area, some had crappy appliances and amenities, and others had no roommate matching programs so he'd have go in blind (been there and done that – that's how he ended up with Kyle in the first place). Overall, his options so far were major disappointments.

He hadn't spoken a word of this to anyone, mainly because he didn't want to make it a big deal. If Buffy and Andi found out, they'd insist that he'd move in with them. They already shared an apartment on the east side of campus, and really, adding his name to the lease wouldn't be a hassle. While the idea of living with them was appealing, he was aware how much they loved having the space to themselves. He couldn't impose, no matter how easy that choice would have been.

Of course, when thinking about living situations, his mind also turned to TJ. The truth of the matter was that the blond had a spacious dwelling space that didn't cost a fortune, was in a safe area, and had fairly decent appliances and amenities. TJ would have been an obvious choice, but the blond had never mentioned wanting a roommate, so perhaps that offer was off the table. Well, until tonight, that was.

Who am I kidding? He didn't mean any of it. He was drunk out of his mind. By tomorrow morning, he'll have forgotten he even said anything.

Frowning, Cyrus rolled over, pressing his face against the back of the couch. Releasing a groan, which was thankfully muffled by the fabric of the couch, he realized he had go back to the drawing board. Come Monday morning, he'd keep on researching and visiting apartments.

Damn you, TJ Kippen, he mentally scolded. Why'd you have to dangle that offer in front of me like that?

His question was left hanging, as he finally drifted off to sleep.

---

The next morning, the aroma of bacon drifted through the air, rousing TJ from his deep slumber. Once his mind fully registered that Cyrus was making him breakfast, his stomach growled, urging him to head toward the heavenly smell. Smiling at the thoughtfulness of his best friend, he carefully sat up, already feeling the effects of last night's drinking episode.

Clutching his head in agony, he moaned at the pressure blooming behind his eyelids.

"Fuck, I'm never drinking that much again," he muttered to himself.

His phone buzzed then, alerting him to the monster who dared to speak to him at this hour.

Wearily, he reached for the device, letting out a groan when he saw he who had messaged him.

Buffy: Morning! Heard you got smashed last night :P How're you feeling, big fella?!

Rolling his eyes at his nuisance of a friend, he typed a response that (in his opinion) got his point across.

TJ: *Middle finger emoji* Stop being such a pain in the ass, Driscoll.

Despite the flare of irritation he felt, he couldn't help but grin when she flung her reply back at him.

Buffy: Never. Don't deny it – you secretly like when I annoy the hell out of you.

Shaking his head, he sent her the face-palm emoji, before tossing his phone aside to slowly emerge from his bed.

Trying not to scream at the constant pounding of his head, he made his way to the bathroom to appear slightly more presentable. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he picked up his glasses and shoved them on. He didn't care that Cyrus saw him with his corrective lenses; after all, he'd been there when he selected the frames.

With a sigh, he left, heading in the direction of kitchen. When he reached his destination, he found Cyrus at the stove, his back to him. Approaching quietly, he tapped Cyrus on the shoulder.

"Hi," he croaked, giving the brunet a tired (and pained because Jesus, his head was fucking killing him) smile.

Cyrus turned, greeting him with a warm smile.

"Good morning, Sleepyhead. How are you feeling?"

"Not great. My head hurts," TJ admitted, grimacing.

Switching the dial on the stove to turn it off, Cyrus shifted his body to face TJ, his brown eyes swimming with sympathy.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well. I was hoping the headache relief medicine would help alleviate the pain, but I guess not. Here, let's have breakfast and then we can stay in today while you recover from your hangover."

"Okay," TJ answered, taking a step forward and pulling Cyrus to his chest to envelop him in a hug. Resting his chin on top of Cyrus's head, he breathed, "Thank you for making me breakfast. That was really sweet of you."

Cyrus returned the hug, squeezing him gently before backing away.

"No problem. I figured you'd be starving when you woke up. But, since you eat out all the time, you hardly had anything in your fridge." He pointed a finger at TJ, lightly jabbing his chest as he glared at him. "While you were still sleeping, I snuck out to pick up some ingredients, so that I could prepare breakfast."

Gesturing to the two plates next to the stove, he explained, "I made you three sunny-side up eggs, home-fries, and bacon. I roasted the potatoes because I know that you like your home fries crispy. And I decided to candy the bacon by drizzling maple syrup over each strip." He chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "Hopefully it all tastes okay."

TJ blinked at him in awe. "You did all of this for me? Why?"

Shrugging, Cyrus turned away to wipe his hands on a kitchen towel.

"You're my best friend," he mumbled, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Is it really that surprising that I wanted to do something nice for you?"

"Hey," TJ whispered, trying to get Cyrus's attention. When the brunet didn't immediately respond, TJ used his hand to tilt Cyrus's face back toward him. Without bothering to think of the consequences, he bent down to softly press his lips against Cyrus's forehead.

Chancing a glance at Cyrus, TJ could see a vibrant blush blossoming across Cyrus's entire face. The sight was so damn beautiful that TJ had trouble catching his breath. His mid-section began fluttering so much that it felt like his stomach housed a wandering albatross, the bird with the largest wingspan in the world.

Standing there, staring at Cyrus, TJ realized he wanted to say so much in that moment. A million and one thoughts ran through his mind: You're amazing. Easily the kindest, most patient person I know. You make me ridiculously happy. Please never leave me because I can't ever imagine my life without you in it.

But, words had never been his forte. He usually couldn't find the right ones, and even when he did, he stumbled over them, effectively ruining the mood and the message he'd intended to convey in the first place.

So, rather than look like a complete fool, he settled for placing all of his gratitude and appreciation into a simple, "Thank you, Cyrus. This means more to me than you'll ever know. You mean more to me than you'll ever know."

Cyrus stood in his spot, opening and closing his mouth, but no words came out. With the way his eyes kept widening, he wasn't used to people rendering him speechless. Shaking his head in frustration, he motioned for TJ to continue talking.

"It's okay," TJ soothed. "Sometimes it's enough to just be. If I've learned anything about life so far, it's that you don't always have to have words."

"You're right," Cyrus sighed, the unease slowly draining from him. "Thank you for reminding me of that."

"Any time, Underdog. Any time."

Suddenly, an obnoxious growl from TJ's stomach interrupted their moment.

"Breakfast time!" they laughed in unison, grabbing their respective plates.

Settling down with his plate and a glass of orange juice, TJ dug in, practically inhaling his meal.

"I take it that you like my cooking?" Cyrus wondered, quirking an eyebrow and taking a delicate bite of his eggs benedict with smoked salmon.

"Do you even have to ask?" TJ grunted, shoving more food in his mouth. "Everything's incredible."

"Why, thank you, Not-So-Scary-Basketball Guy."

Pausing to gulp some more juice, TJ announced, "You can cook for me for the rest of my life and I'd be totally fine with that."

Cyrus chuckled, waggling his eyebrows. "I may take you up on that, as long as you agree to bake me sweets."

"Deal. You'll just want chocolate, chocolate-chip muffins anyway."

Cyrus grinned impishly. "Well, they are my favorite kind of dessert."

TJ shook his head, a competitive gleam in his eyes. "You can't say that – not until you've tasted my molten lava chocolate cake, or my chocolate silk pie."

"Is that so? Well, then you must make those for me so that I can make a fair comparison."

The edge of TJ's mouth lifted into a smile. "Okay."

Despite the light-hearted moment with Cyrus, TJ could feel his head begin to throb again. Rubbing his temples, he tried to force some of the tension away.

"Head still bothering you?" Cyrus asked worriedly.

"Yeah. It'll go away in a while. Just got to give it time."

"I'll take your word for it. But, in the meantime, I'll get you some more headache relief and water. Also, leave the dishes – I'll do them later."

"Cy, you don't have to…"

Cyrus shushed him with a pointed look. "I want to. Now, go sit on the couch and que up Netflix. I'll be there in a minute."

TJ saluted to him. "Yes, Sir."

He followed Cyrus's instructions, wandering over to couch and flipping on the TV. Since Cyrus preferred comedy shows, he selected Season 4 of How I Met Your Mother. True to his word, Cyrus joined him with a glass of water and two pills.

After taking the medication, he stretched out on one side of the couch, while Cyrus was on the other. Tangling their legs together, they aimed their attention toward the hilarious adventures of Ted Mosby and his friends.

It wasn't until three episodes later that TJ quietly said, "As much as I love your company, you know you don't have to stay, right? If you've got other things going on, I'd understand. I'll be fine on my own."

"I know," Cyrus murmured, hand reaching for the remote to pause the episode. "I actually have a free day, so I was planning on spending it with you. I don't have a lot of homework this weekend and what little I do have, I can complete tomorrow."

"Are you sure? You're okay with just chilling out today?"

"I'm positive."

Patting Cyrus's knee, TJ smiled in relief. "Thank you."

"No problem."

Cyrus was about to push the button to unfreeze the screen when TJ couldn't help himself – he blurted out something that had been on his mind since he had woken up.

"Last night...while I was drunk…did I do anything majorly stupid?" Biting his lip, he tried to gear himself to hear the bad news.

Cyrus hesitated before explaining to him – in pretty graphic detail – all the non-sense he babbled about, his episode in the bathroom with both the shower and the toilet, and quieter part of the evening involving dinner and Shrek.

Throughout Cyrus's recap of the evening, TJ cringed, hoping desperately that his best friend would forgive his actions.

Noticing TJ's distress, Cyrus chuckled. "It's okay, you know. I'm not mad or anything. Actually, it was nice to find out that you're a cuddly drunk."

Heat immediately flooded TJ's cheeks. "Um…"

"Don't be ashamed – I thought it was cute."

Embarrassed, TJ tried hide his face behind his hands. "Did I do anything else?"

"Well…" Cyrus paused, making TJ remove his hands.

Cocking his head to the side in wonder, TJ raised an eyebrow at Cyrus, urging him to keep going.

"You implied…that you'd like me to move in and be your roommate," Cyrus eventually coughed out.

"Oh."

As soon as the word left his mouth, TJ wanted to slap himself. That wasn't what he wanted to say!

Cyrus's face fell, the disappointment clear in his eyes. Quietly, he reasoned, "You were drunk. I know you didn't mean it." He looked away, his lips curving into a frown, as he fiddled with the loose threads of the couch.

Sensing the considerable shift in mood, TJ knew had to fix this. Luckily, he had the right words this time.

"Cyrus," TJ began, hand poised over Cyrus's to stop him from picking at the couch. Weaving their fingers together, he gently tugged Cyrus closer to him.

"What?" Cyrus replied, his tone taking on a waspish edge.

"Even though I was pretty out of it last night, I meant what I said."

Cyrus blinked once. Twice. Three times.

Taking in his best friend's confused state of being, TJ clarified, "Move in with me. Be my roommate."

"You're serious?" Cyrus gasped, eyes widening.

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it for a while. And it makes sense, doesn't it? You have drawer and you have a key. You practically already live here."

"You've never talked about wanting a roommate," Cyrus countered, a slight grimace on his lips.

TJ shrugged. "When I first moved in, I liked having the place to myself. Two years later, I realize that it's lonely without a constant presence here. Plus, next school year, the landlord's jacking up the rent. I can't afford this place by myself, so I was going to look for a roommate anyway."

"Really?" Cyrus asked eagerly, perking up at the news.

TJ nodded. "I was going back and forth about asking you. The only thing keeping me from doing it was that you seem pretty content with your dorm room –"

"I hate my dorm," Cyrus interrupted, making sure to place extra emphasis on 'hate.'

TJ was taken aback. This was the first time he'd ever heard anything negative from Cyrus about his living situation. Cyrus must have caught onto his confusion, for in the next moment, he launched into an explanation, using fingers to tick off his points.

"My roommate is a lunatic; the space is incredibly cramped; the walls are paper thin, so I have to listen to my next door neighbor playing his bass guitar at three in the morning; it stinks in there from all of the mold and grime; I have to shower in the communal bathroom that's down the hall; and the dorm food is atrocious. The only reason I decided to return this year was because it was convenient, and trust me, I seriously regret that decision. That's why in my spare time, I've been visiting apartment buildings to see if I could find a place for next year."

"Given everything you just said, end your search early and move in with me already!" TJ insisted, shaking his head in exasperation.

Sighing, Cyrus didn't say anything at first. Instead, he allowed silence to stretch between them.

Finally, after several long, agonizing minutes, Cyrus glanced at TJ underneath his lashes and breathed, "Do you really mean it? You want me here with you?"

There was absolutely no hesitation as TJ answered honestly, "Yes. There's no one else I'd rather live with than you."

Cyrus smiled at that. "If I agree to this, I have to know – where will I sleep? I can't crash on the couch forever, you know."

"We'll take my office space and turn it into your bedroom. It'll be a piece of cake."

A crease appeared between Cyrus's eyebrows as he thought that over.

"That doesn't seem fair. I wouldn't want you to lose your office space for this."

Shrugging again, TJ pointed out, "It's not a big deal, Cy. My bedroom is big enough to fit the desk, bookcase, and gaming chair inside. As you know, there's not much in that room, other than those three things. They're easy enough to move down the hall to my room." He paused to give Cyrus a pointed look. "What other questions do you have before I let the landlord know that your name's going on the lease?"

Cyrus arched an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "You're being a bit presumptuous. I haven't even said yes yet."

"But, you want to. I can see it in your eyes."

Groaning, Cyrus lightly tapped his face. "Curse my face and its inability to hide anything."

"Hey, I find it amusing. All right – what's your next question?"

Chewing on his bottom lip, Cyrus appeared deep in thought. A second later, he asked, "How will we split the rent?"

"Easy. Rent's jumping to $1400 per month, so we'd each pay $700. That does include all utilities."

"Okay, $700 is within my budget, so that's fine. I just have one more question."

"Shoot."

"Will you bake me sweets whenever I want them?"

TJ threw his head back to let out a laugh. "Yes," he promised. "If you move in, I'll make you as many desserts as you want, as long as you agree to cook on a regular basis."

Pushing his hand forward, Cyrus looked at him with a solemn expression. "I think that's a deal. Ready to shake on it?"

Automatically, TJ grasped Cyrus's hand in his, giving it a firm shake.

"Hi, Roommate," he murmured, eyes soft as he regarded Cyrus.

"Hello," Cyrus whispered before leaning forward with a wicked grin. "Can I go scope out the room to figure out where I should put my stuff?"

"Of course. The room's all yours."

"Yay! Be right back," Cyrus chirped, jumping off of the couch to race to the room.

He gave Cyrus a head start before following. When he reached the room, he leaned against the door frame, silently watching Cyrus sketch his plans on some scrap paper. Smiling at the sight of his best friend, he felt the fluttering sensation in his stomach again.

I can't wait until he moves in, TJ thought, before taking a step into the room and joining Cyrus at the desk to help him with his plans.