Horn P.O.V

Cuts sneaks out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped tightly around his torso. He obviously didn't grab any clean clothes before he took a shower. The only thing that I find suspicious is the fact that he had the towel wrapped around him as high as he could. It makes me think that there may be some severe injuries that he's attempting cover up.

I return to tapping my phone screen. The game is rather dumb and rage-inducing, but I have nothing better to do. When I look up again, Cuts is rushing back to the bathroom. He doesn't seem to notice that I've looked up. That, or he's choosing to ignore it.

Unfortunately, what I'm focused on isn't his body, it's the bruises on it. There are quite large bruises on his back and shoulder blades. They have to be hurting him. Cuts is just too timid and afraid of being a burden to admit it. I wish he would tell me if he was in pain.

I want to know if he's in pain. I want to be able to help him. Cuts isn't a burden. It's not like I have much to put aside anyway. My agenda is free almost ninety-nine percent of the time. The only time I actually have to do something is when I have to work. Other than that, I don't do much.

After a few moments, Cuts emerges from the bathroom. His ginger hair is slightly damp from his shower. He appears rather cute as he sits on the couch and wraps himself in a blanket.

"You cold?" I ask

"A little, but I'm always cold," Cuts replies softly.

"I could turn the heat up," I offer him.

"You don't have to, it's not that bad," he reassures me.

"Alright." I stand up and stretch. "Do you want a drink?"

"Sure."

I grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses before walking to the couch and sitting next to Cuts. He scoots over but keeps the blanket over his body.

I pour the glasses half-way full and hand one to Cuts. He holds it graciously for a moment before taking a swig. It's obvious that Cuts isn't used to strong alcohol because he starts coughing almost immediately. I pat his back for a moment to ease his coughing.

"You okay?" I ask him.

Cuts nods. "I'm just not used to strong liquor," he admits softly.

Cuts drinks a bit more from the glass, slower this time. I, however, down my glass. I've spent many nights with a large bottle of liquor by my side. I'm used to the burning sensation. Cuts seems to notice that I don't have much of a reaction to the liquor.

"You get used to it eventually," I comment.

"You seem used to it," he adds.

"I drink pretty regularly."

Cuts finishes his glass and sets the cup down on a coaster. He does seem like the type to care about leaving a ring on the wood of a table. It never bothered me much.

"I've never really been allowed to drink before," Cuts admits softly.

"Why?" I ask out of curiosity.

Cuts looks to the side and fidgets with his thumbs. I can tell that he's uncomfortable with the question. If he wasn't he would've answered by now. He wouldn't appear anxious or avoid the question. After a moment, Cuts clears his throat.

"Ricky didn't like me drinking. Rather hypocritical of him, considering he drank most of his meals, but I was too scared to stand up for myself," he admits softly.

I take that as a sign to top off his glass. Once the liquor is in his glass, he gladly accepts the invitation to drink. My intention isn't to get Cuts drunk, but he seems to want that and I'm not going to make myself seem like a new Ricky.

Every time the name leaves Cuts' lips I can see the pain in his eyes. Ricky has obviously caused him a lot of pain and suffering. I know that from the bruises that litter my companion's body. He may not want to admit it, but Ricky is obviously an abuser.

"You don't have to worry about that here," I assure him while topping off my own glass.

"Thank you," his voice is soft and gentle as he takes a long swig from his glass.

After a while, and an entire bottle of whiskey, Cuts and I are both hammered. We just kept knocking our glasses back as soon as they were filled. Eventually, that lead to an empty liquor bottle and the both of us, drunk off our asses.

"God, I can't remember the last time I drank so much," Cuts admits, slurring out his words.

"I can," I tell him.

"When?" he asks out of curiosity.

"Tonight."

My slick answer gets us both laughing. Drunks are almost always the easiest to entertain. It seems like liquor makes even the maturest of people laugh at immature jokes that some twelve-year-old came up with.

"I really like you," Cuts says while fumbling to set his glass down on the table.

Cuts nearly misses the table. Luckily, I catch his hand and help him set the glass down. He looks up at me with his bluish-grey eyes as his pale cheeks dust over with a soft pink color. Never before have I seen someone so attractive. Every small detail suits him. The abundance of freckles makes Cuts especially irresistible.

The thought of my attraction to Cuts makes my whole face hot. Here we are, just inches apart, both drunk. The want to be closer is obvious, at least to me. At this point, whatever happens, is going to happen. No going back.

Slowly, I lean in a bit closer. Cuts follows my lead. It's clear that he isn't objecting to my offer. My heart begins to race. I can't afford to screw this up now. If I'm going to do it, I have to do it fast.

Suddenly, Cuts' lips collide with my own. Surprisingly, Cuts has taken the lead in this situation. I hadn't expected him to because he seems like the more submissive type. I suppose I'll just have to see what type of person he actually is.