Disclaimer/notes: Still not mine. Also, I know this is out of character for Travis. And I never really would have pictured him doing that with someone he didn't love either... but that's a part of this story for a reason. :) Also, I'm not using her name, not because I want to let you fill it in, though you can use who you want for now, lol. It's purposely vague because this to him, she is The Girl. Also, don't focus so much on who he did the deed with. Probably it was just some random girl. ;) And because of some of the OOC themes, this is a future fic. Pretend they're all in college, yeah? Okay, on we go:

The night was cool, the air laced with the traces of winter blossoming, but the season was not quite there yet. Trees were bare, and leaves scattered amongst the earth here and there, occasionally kicked up by the wind. The sky was clouded over, patches of grey on a dark blue canvas. If he looked down, he could see his breathe puff out in front of him. Standing on the sidewalk, staring down the deserted street, no dog, no cat, no human in sight, Travis felt like the last man alive. Had it not been for the house behind him rocking and rolling with drunk and happy party-goers, he might actually have believed that true.

Sighing, he cast a glance at the bottle in his hands, eyeing the liquor disdainfully before taking a long swig. It burned going down, and left him feeling slightly nauseous, but he didn't cast it aside, as he knew he should.

He had never been much of a drinker in his whole life, but now he fell back on it, needing some way, any way, to chase the memory of the girl from his mind.

He knew he had upset her when he rolled out of bed, collected his clothes, and quickly dressed. That his "I need to go" was not an acceptable parting for the time they had just spent. It wasn't that he didn't care... he just had more important things on his mind.

More important things to try to drink away.

He chuckled briefly, and took another pull from the bottle he'd stolen from the stockpile the host had provided.

He suspected the girl would get over it quickly. After all, he was probably to her what she was to him. A nameless face, although an attractive one, sought out to talk, to kiss, to eventually fuck, releasing sexual tensions or unspoken desires, or something equally unimportant.

He laughed again as the liquor burned his throat. She was probably in there now, talking to another guy, laughing flirtatiously, letting her pretty pink nails rest on his leg, giving him that low, slow grin, and nodding toward the stairs.

Why had he gone with her? Why had he done that? Why had he told her he loved her? She may have been wasted, but he wasn't, and he should have shut his mouth.

Couldn't explain it. Or didn't want to try. What he could do was work on that last part. Drink away the memory of her skin, her kiss, her. Maybe trick himself into thinking he'd been trashed the entire night, the entire act.

The front door opened, storm door slamming shut, bringing him out of his thoughts, but he didn't bother to turn around. He focused instead on the tree down the street, counting the number of limbs.

"Travis?" a voice asked, making him blink.

He turned around.

Her.

"Hey," he said, clearing his throat.

"Rum?" she asked, her lips quirking upward. "You're drinking? Alone?"

"Thought it was time I joined my classmates in the wonderful world of getting trashed and partying all night," he said casually, tipping the bottle back and draining it of all liquid.

"Who helped you drink that, then?" she asked, nodding at the bottle.

"No one," he shrugged, tossing the bottle back and forth.

"Holy shit, Travis!" she said, reaching out to grab the bottle from him.

He tried to pull back, and as a result, the bottle fell to the sidewalk with a crash, shattering into tiny pieces.

"Fuck," he said, staring down.

"Swearing now, too, I see," she said grimly, bending down to examine some of the larger pieces.

He stood there dumbly, staring at the top of her head, taking careful note of the way her hair fell in a curtain across her face.

"Sorry," he offered.

She sighed and looked up. "Okay. Just, for future reference? When you're drinking for the first time, don't start with a freakin' bottle that big, okay? What was that, like, thirty ounces? Geez."

He poked a shard of glass with his sneaker. "Can't very well do that, now can I?"

"Why not?" she asked, standing.

"Cos then it wouldn't be my first time drinking. Right?" he looked to her for confirmation.

"Typical Travis," she said. "Could you stop over thinking everything and maybe tell me what prompted this?"

The best thing he could think of was, "You talk pretty."

This must have amused her, because she laughed. Really threw her head back and laughed.

When she finally calmed down, she shook her head at him. "You're one of a kind."

Was that a good thing? he wondered. He wanted to have said something deep, intelligent, philosophical. His mouth betrayed him. He hoped she didn't know where that mouth had been.

"So, spill," she said. "What's with the sudden drinking of a non-social variety?"

He stood there, hands hanging at his sides, feeling like the stupidest man alive, fumbling for an answer.

"I...don't know," he answered, aware of how lame his response was.

"Well, what do you know, Travis?" she asked suddenly fixing him with an intense glare.

I know I just slept with some girl I barely know. Some girl who probably has a boyfriend. Some girl who wasn't you.

"I..."

She smiled sadly. "You don't know, right?"

He shook his head.

"You know, for once you don't have something to say," she said thoughtfully. "No quote, no chunk of enlightenment, no explanation. No nothing."

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he say?

"I'm gonna head back inside," she said. "Why don't you come with me?"

He wanted to shout yes, take her hand, follow her inside, but something made him shake his head.

"I'm just gonna hang here."

"'Kay," she said, looking a bit disappointed. "Suit yourself."

He watched her go, until the front door was shut, and then cursed himself silently for the next few minutes. This time, he was dead set on blaming the alcohol.

With a sigh, he turned back toward the street, and began counting branches.