A/N: To be perfectly honest, I'm not quite sure where this is going any more. Well, I do have planned out this chapter and the next, but I don't know what'll happen after that. I was gonna end it with the next chapter, but now I'm not so sure I will. The title is subject to change at the moment, too, because 'Less Than Know' is sort of a stupid title if you ask me.

On another note, please let me know if I'm using the 'f' word too much. The guys I hang out with aren't exactly Jay-types, so I'm not sure if I'm overusing the word or not.

Less Than Known

By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun

I had already had too much to drink. At least I could think that without needing to stop what I was doing and just think. I could hear myself giggling, and realized I sounded like a fucking valley girl at the moment. I scowled and stopped drinking, dropping my beer on the white floor below me. Someone then offered me some cheap scotch, and I eagerly grabbed at it. Beer's too fucking weak anyway.

A girl passed by and I tripped her. I had been flirting with her earlier, but she had called me a lush and shoved me away. Stupid bitch. She was completely smashed now, and lay on the floor cackling like a hyena. Oh, yeah, I'm such a lush and you aren't...

I couldn't find Towerz. How could he have vanished so easily? It wasn't a big crowd... I turned around, my head hurting and feeling fucking confused. He was probably feeling someone up somewhere...

It hadn't been hard getting out of my house. I just told them it was a birthday party, and the queer couple let me leave. Something about me acting more responsible lately. What the fuck? I didn't think so, but didn't say anything to them. And all this stuff to drink and girls to grope and fuck? A reward for my failing to talk back for once.

But my drink was already gone. Fuck Towerz, he can find himself. I'll find more to drink.

I turn to stumble back to the kitchen, but Homochuk's right there. What the fuck? Why is he here? What's this fag doing here? I don't know. Wonder if he's drunk. I think I'm drunk. I like being drunk. The floor sways pleasantly, and I wonder if this is what riding on a boat is like. Boat, rock, water, sway, little canoe bouncing in the water...

I trip into him and scowl at him, pushing him away. Fucking queer, I don't want him touching me, "What the fuck are you doing here, Homochuk? Don't you have some fellow fag somewhere to be fucking, or is your bed- buddy already booked for tonight?" He doesn't say anything, and I don't know why. I just insulted him, why isn't the bastard replying? "Hey, didn't you hear me, you queer bastard? I said something to you!" Still no response... can't he hear me? I hate being ignored. I take a swing at his head with my fist, but something stops it. I don't know what, but I can't manage to bring my fist back to me. I can't move it, I can't hit him.

So I try with my other hand, but the same thing happens. (1) What the fuck? My head feels so heavy... and I slump forward, burying my face in his chest in the process. But I feel too sick to move. "Sick..." Even to me I sound whiny, but my head's too heavy, and my hands won't move, and I feel like I'm gonna fucking barf all over the place, and all I can do is remain slumped against Homochuk, who still hasn't said anything. (2)

Everything's too loud. But I'm moving now. I don't know how. Wait, Homochuk's here. And now we're in the bathroom. No... I'm not gay like you, get away and let me be sick alone... But he lifts the lid of the toilet and forces me in front of it.

It's amazing how fast my stomach is completely empty. Acid burns my throat, and the stench is enough to make me heave again. But there's nothing left to get rid of, so I just give dry heaves that hurt like hell. I don't feel sick any more, but every inch of me hurts, and the smell makes me want to fucking lie down and die.

I'm being guided somewhere else again. I think the toilet just flushed. I pass through the crowded living room, everything a mess of blurry colors, and outside into the chilly air. Fucking party. I'm fucking sick like a fucking junior high kid whose only taste of alcohol is watered down communion wine.

I'm shoved in a car, and I start to yell at whoever it was, but just getting out one syllable makes my head feel like it's being crushed by a rock. I put my head down on the seat, smelling the newness still in the fabric, and all the noise and images just fade into a grey mess. The car lurches forward, and I'm completely gone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In case it isn't obvious, Dylan caught both of Jay's fists because Jay's really too drunk to aim very well or put up much of a struggle.

(2) Dylan's been talking since Jay collapsed against him, but Jay can't make out individual noises because he's way too smashed (gee, really?) at this point.

(3) This chapter is a little too short in my opinion. Sorry it's not longer. .;