The cloudiness of sleep is starting to thin out and I blink my sore eyes rapidly to get them adjusted to the lighting of whatever place I'm in. Eventually enough consciousness grows in me to realize that I'm in Spencer's house- his bathroom to be exact- but before I can even attempt to recall the events that left me here I wince at the stiffness of my muscles and cracking of my joints as it seems I spent the night on the ground right beneath the toilet. I bring my hand up to rub my throat which burns a bit, probably from vomiting throughout the night, hence the bathroom. My mouth tastes like ass. Much to my achy body's protest I sit up and lean forward onto my knees. I'm still wearing my costume though it's more disheveled, the t-shirt and jeans clinging to my skin uncomfortably and my belt digging into one of my hip bones. I rub my temples to ease the low pounding that's happening in my head, my entire left arm feeling tingly and numb from sleeping on it wrong.

Looks like Spencer gave me a pillow and a blanket which has tangled itself with my limbs. Everything is still sore as hell despite his best efforts but that's my fault. I really don't remember too much of last night but something draining looms over it and I vaguely know why I must've taken it to a blackout.

I use the edge of the bathtub to lug myself up and walk woodenly over to the mirror. I look like shit. My skin waxy, hair oily and matted, lips chapped, and eyes puffy. Standing over the sink, I stare back at myself through the mirror, the sight sharpening some fuzzy memories from last night with its similarity making my stomach churn. Curious, I push myself to dig up more memories but I reach one and instantly regret pushing myself. I grow conscious of the stickiness that lingers on me, becoming more and more inhibited.

I thought we were getting better, Brendon and I were making this work. I wish I hadn't walked into that bathroom; I should've just stayed with the others and played their stupid party game. The worst thing that could've happened would have been that a few people would be forced to do something sexual and maybe someone would get upset because of a question that was answered truthfully. But, no. I was just wasn't feeling up to it. Couldn't be inconvenienced. And so I saw what I saw and I can't help but feel that something like this was bound to happen. I know how Brendon feels about me on a physical level and I-I don't know. Maybe I was stupid to even indulge my desperate self with his friendship; maybe that was too much- no, fuck this- it's fine- I'm fine. I know I can't have him but I don't think I can lose him- even as a friend- again. Fuck.

The me that's in the mirror isn't making the same facial expressions that I think I'm making. A vacant expression stares me down, visually void of the building internal ordeal that keeping everything under wraps has become. I stop looking at myself in the eyes. It's not even entirely about Brendon now. Hiding just never felt so... dirty.

I rub my face with both my hands trying to get a hold of myself. I haven't even been awake for ten minutes and I'm already this close to falling apart. My stomach grumbles again, feeling kind of sickly but mostly from being devoid of any food. I wash my face and run some water through my hair with my hands to fix it a little. I instantly cringe when I get a whiff of myself so I exit the bathroom to Spencer's room and strip myself of the ripe clothes. The only pants I could find from his drawers that fit me are his large pair of old middle school-issued gym shorts, which I pair with a random sweatshirt to beat the chills I'm still getting. It has 'COLORADO' on the chest in big worn-out yellow letters, most likely from visiting the rest of his family.

Halfway down the stairs, a loud roaring buzz rattles the shit out of my still throbbing head and I respond to it with an irritated yell the same pitch as my speaking voice. When it stops I descend a few more steps and the kitchen comes into view where I see Spencer through the breakfast bar window, smiling at me with his hand on the buttons of a blender. Still watching me he turns the blender back on and snorts at my visual discomfort. He shuts it off again and I can finally hear his laughter at me. "What the fuck are you doing?" I yell out once I enter the kitchen, knowing his parents have already left the house.

"Breakfast smoothies," he chimes while struggling to remove the pitcher from the blender base, "All we had was a bunch of fruit and I assumed that your stomach wouldn't be up for digesting too much."

The wooden chair makes a hollow screeching sound against the floor as I plop myself at the table. I rest my body weight on the tabletop and cradle my forehead in my clammy hand, my body too depleted of energy to hold it up on its own. "Sorry for crashing at your place, Spence." I push some of my hair up and out of my eyes to look at him. Man, I still really need a haircut.

Spencer just smiles at me, "Ryan, don't be stupid, you stay over like all the time."

"Yeah, but I don't remember anything of us getting here last night so I couldn't have been that fun to deal with."

"Oh- yeah- you were fucked." Spencer calls out over his shoulder while getting some glasses from the cabinets, "But you didn't do anything stupid at Beckett's house, Hayley just informed me when she thought you needed to get home before you did do something stupid. She was right, I got you to the toilet just in time."

"Hayley?" I ask, disregarding that last part.

I take the glass that Spencer now holds out to me and he drops a crazy straw in. I raise an eyebrow at this but he continues, "Yeah, Hayley even helped me bring you here," Spencer pauses to sip some of his smoothie, "She seemed pretty concerned about you last night. She stayed here for a bit and we talked while I poured water in your mouth."

I think back to last night and have a distinct memory of shivering and fixing my eyes on Hayley's star-shaped wand as part of her Rosalina costume that was lying in her lap as she held me on the floor of the upstairs bathroom. "Oh, man." I pinch the bridge of my nose feeling guilty.

"I know, dude. With the amount of water I poured down your unconscious throat, I would've thought that your hangover would be half what it is now. Then again you are a lightweight."

I pretend to shoot him a glare, "Damn you and your high alcohol tolerance." I suck some of the smoothie up the straw, tastes okay and I feel a bit better getting something in me.

"Well, I also didn't go as hard as you, which even to me is quite surprising." Spencer's cheerfulness falters slightly, "Ry, is everything alright?"

I set down my smoothie, starting to feel some nausea coming back. "Yeah," I say nodding and shrugging, way too much enthusiasm to be taken seriously though. "Why do you ask?"

Spencer looks at me earnestly, "I don't know, you just seem a little off. I mean you don't normally get like that, you know?"

"Shut up," I lightly laugh it off, "I'm fine, Spence." He nods at me not entirely convinced but convinced enough to drop it and change the topic to the girl he was talking up last night. I only half listen, the other half of me focused on the guilt and pain I feel. I keep lying to my friends and it hurts. It just feels like there's so much more at stake. Unlike the rest of my friends, Spencer knows and I have to lie even to him. And I hate myself for admitting it in its entirety, but I still have feelings for Brendon and I can't just try to deny that; I don't have the energy to lie to myself on top of everyone else anymore. Brendon seems fine though-- which is great-- that's what I told him I wanted then... but I didn't know I would have to see it.

I finish off the rest of my smoothie as Spencer ends his story with him making out with the girl but then dipping because apparently, she was a firm supporter of communism which I agree is a very large red flag. He lets me take a shower and my hangover is starting to feel more bearable so I gather up my shit, giving back the sweatshirt because it's hot as balls outside, and tell Spencer to give me a call tomorrow or something to hang out.

Once outside I'm left with my thoughts again, which isn't great. I start walking to my house trying not to think too much now, detracting myself by looking at my surroundings and nature and shit. It's no use though because my surroundings and nature is actually fucking awful and dry and lifeless. Stupid fucking Las Vegas.

California was beautiful. It might have had some of its own gross spots and dry areas but it felt more lively. Where we were, on the coast, was amazing. One of the days we spent in L.A. we all went to Santa Monica Pier because Audrey wouldn't have us miss a seaside amusement park. Brendon and I snuck away from Spencer and Audrey in the arcade section to go to the very end of the pier just before the sunset. We crept past the restaurant at the very end of the pier that made the best view exclusive to guests and walked down some creaky wooden steps to an empty lower level of the deck. The sky was vibrant shades of orange, pink, and purple and the sun was this huge red ball. We watched it just slowly fall into the glassy ocean, the air around us just calm. I remember feeling so stupid because this was the first California sunset that I had actually enjoyed on this trip; Spencer and I were always doing other things. People often brag of a desert sunset but when they do they are definitely not talking about Las Vegas, Nevada. The sky turns a pretty-ish color but most of it is swallowed up by the light pollution from downtown and you don't even see it go down all the way because of the fucking mountains. But this was so incredible because there was nothing in between you and the setting sun since you're at the edge of the continent, facing the waters of the Pacific Ocean. I could not contain an amazed smile from spreading on my face. I noticed that Brendon wasn't looking, he was just watching me, and so I turned to him thinking he was crazy, "Why aren't you watching this?" He gave me a wide charming smirk and said, "I see sunsets like this all the time, but I don't get to see anything as beautiful as that very often," he gestured to my face and even though that was an unbelievably corny thing to say he said it with absolute sincerity. I could feel my face heat up because how can you not blush when someone so insanely gorgeous as Brendon calls you beautiful and also chooses you over the sun. I kissed him there.

Before I'm entirely aware that I'm doing it I have my phone up to my ear, waiting as it rings. My skin pricks up a bit when Brendon's groggy voice answers, "Hello?"

"Um, hey, are you busy right now?" I feel like a dumbass calling him but if I can't stop myself from thinking about him I might as well just talk with him. I also want to know if he knows what I saw.

I hear some shuffling on the other side, "Oh! Hey Ryan, uh, no I'm not busy. What's up?"

I honestly don't know. "Wanna do something?"

"Sure."

---

I get to Brendon's house which is apparently only a 15-minute walk from Spencer's place. He answers the door wearing an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants even though it's midday but he looks cute. He squints at me and I can tell the light is hurting his eyes. Brendon ushers me in and we properly greet each other. He lowers his voice before we move further into the house, "Okay, so my mom thinks I'm just sick so don't blow my cover." I laugh then mimic zipping my lips shut. I spent the entire walk over here sort of panicking about how I was going to act normal around him. This is the first time we've hung out alone because I was scared something might happen and I'd get screwed again but I don't know, sneaking around things is tiring and he's the only one I can talk to without having to lie.

I follow Brendon through the living room and to the stairs in the kitchen where, who I'm assuming is his mom is. She stops momentarily to give us snacks and warn me to be careful around Brendon since he seems to be coming down with something.

I don't know what I'm expecting when I enter his room but I like it. The walls are white but there's plenty of stuff on it to keep it from being boring. Postcards, polaroids, and drawings cover them and on one of the walls hangs two guitars, one acoustic and one electric, as well as a ukulele. In the corner is a small wooden turntable, next to it two crates placed sideways on top of one another holding an impressive vinyl collection. At the foot of the navy blue bed are two forest green bean bags and in front of them, a T.V. shows a paused Mario Kart game. Once he closes the door I walk up to look at some of the photos and drawings. The polaroids are of mostly Brendon and Audrey and some of their other friends, a few of which I vaguely recognize. The drawings are really really good; some are in regular pencil others in colored. They're of people and the ocean and the city. "Did you do these?" I finally ask.

"Oh, no. I can only draw stick figures," Brendon walks closer to the pictures where I'm standing and looks up at them reminiscently, "Audrey did these. She's really an amazing artist."

"How's Audrey doing anyways?" I kinda miss her. Definitely not as much as Brendon probably does.

Brendon sighs, "She's okay. We talk for like two hours every day over the phone and she's planning to come visit during Christmas break but her parents aren't up for her spending the holidays with her friend in Las Vegas instead of her family so we're still figuring out how to see each other."

He doesn't seem to want to talk any more about that so he just gestures over the bean bags and we sit down. Brendon cancels his game and starts a new two-player. We don't say very much, exchanging insults every once in a while because the red shell is bullshit. After he kicks my ass for the tenth time I remember one of the reasons why I wanted to come over here and talk with him, and it nearly sends a chill down my spine. I clear my throat, "Sucks, man. We barely saw you at all last night." I try to be casual about it and watch his face carefully for any sign of anything.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from the screen as he sets up another game, but he smiles a bit laughing lightly at himself, "Yeah, sorry, to tell you the truth I didn't see much of myself last night either. I don't really remember, well, anything. Vicky woke me up in Williams place this morning and helped me out a bit since I was still a little drunk."

I immediately relax into the bean bag. Thank the fucking lord. But then lets an abrupt groan out and slumps over, puts his face in both palms. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Ryan."

"W-What. About what?" I jolt right back up to his quick change in demeanor.

He looks like he's caved in on himself and I try to put my hand on his shoulder but he stands up and walks to the side of his bed. I walk to the opposite side and just wait, my mouth dry.

He turns around and he's not crying or anything like I thought he was for a second but he does look extremely distressed. "I remember you," I blink at him, "last night," Brendon forces out. I feel like my lungs shrivel up just then. I don't say anything back because I don't know what to say. I don't have to because Brendon goes on quietly, "I was really fucked up and there was this guy and the moment you walked in I should have done something. I-I should have stopped and done something. You're in a really stressful place and I understand that and you asked me to leave you alone and I wanted to respect that but I fucked up." I've never seen Brendon like this. His eyes are huge with guilt, he's shaking, "Ry, I just really missed you and in the moment I didn't think you were actually there standing in the doorway, I thought I was picturing you in my head, because-- well-- I do that sometimes and-- fuck, I'm making this worse." Only now does it really sink in how wrecked he's been this whole time; he's been hiding just as much as I have.

Reacting to my non-moving response he curses to himself and turns probably waiting for me to desert him out of anger or something. But I'm not angry, I don't like seeing him upset and I don't know if I'm thinking clearly but I'm on my way over to him. He's got his eyes screwed shut with worry set on his bottom lip, both arms wrapped tightly around his own torso. The oversized t-shirt hangs off of his body in a way that makes him look really small. I truly cannot for the life of me help it when I lightly cup his face in my hands. Brendon's eyes flutter open landing on mine with perplexity. I move closer and place a soft kiss to his forehead, the tension practically melting from the air. After a few moments, I move back and just look into his eyes. "I'd probably hate myself if I never tried to make this work."

And I kiss him there.