Chapter Eleven
The walk home is both a blessing and a curse.
The cool air is refreshing and grounding. It helps clear his head and fills his lungs with a crispness that's pleasantly sobering. On a normal night, he might be cold, but with alcohol running through his system, the crisp night air feels amazing on his flushed skin.
Now that they're up and moving, exactly how much they drank becomes far more apparent. Now that they aren't sitting down, the buzz flows far more freely though their systems, making their legs wobbly and their steps uncertain.
Jake, thankfully, is used to it. He's at a pleasant state of drunkenness. He's reached his pinnacle, where any more would be too much, but he's stopped so he can ride out the wave before coming down slowly. Things spin a little too much if he turns a little too fast, his skin feels numb, and his words stumble as often as his feet, but he feels good.
Kyle, on the other hand, is struggling a lot more. It's only now that Jake realizes that he probably should've paced the poor guy. But they had been so wrapped up in sharing stories, and he had been so immersed in learning about Kyle—his smile, the excitement of memory shining in his eyes, the easy way he was talking. It was so different from what Jake's used to, and it was captivating. He kind of got wrapped up in the moment. He just kept getting drinks when they were done to keep the night going. He hadn't considered the fact that Kyle barely drinks and that he's significantly smaller than Jake is.
That was his bad.
Still, as guilty as he feels, he has Kyle pressed against his side, arm clinging around his waist for support, tucked under Jake's arm and leaning into his side like he's the only thing in the world he can count on, and that— yeah, that's pretty nice.
So he lets himself enjoy it, if only for right now. If only for tonight.
The walk back to campus takes longer than it did to get to the bar, with them stumbling and giggling the whole way. There are plenty of people still out and about by the time they reach campus, but most of them are far too drunk to pay attention to Jake and Kyle. They stumble along their own paths, laughing with their friends and paying them no mind. Still, Jake holds Kyle close, shielding him from view of others. He doesn't care that it might seem more suspicious if people see them. His only concern in the moment is to not have Kyle recognized at all.
He's not ready to say goodbye or for the night to be over. This has been fun. Far more fun than he was expecting. Once Kyle had opened up, it had been a whole new world unfolding in front of Jake. And if his heart beat a little too fast whenever Kyle smiled, well, Jake drowned that knowledge in his beer.
By the time they reach Kyle's dorm, he's nearly asleep on his feet. They pause outside the building, and Kyle's fingers are uncoordinated and weak as they try to find his keycard. Face twisted in a confusion, he eventually looks up at Jake with wide, pleading eyes. A pitiful whine escapes his lips that's far too cute for his own good and not at all good for Jake's heart.
He can think of a few other instances where he'd like to see those pleading eyes, hear him whine, make those brows furrow with pleasure and lips part in—
He shakes his head, firmly holding those thoughts at bay as he reaches into Kyle's pocket to pull out his keycard. When his fingers trail up his hip, shifting his shirt aside for just a moment to feel the soft skin of his side with his fingertips, he blames the alcohol. With Kyle tucked back under his arm, he manages to get the door to the building open and steer him toward the elevators.
Thankfully, no one else is around, and they have a ride up on their own. Jake leans against the wall of the elevator, hands propped on the metal bar behind him. He let go of Kyle as they entered, not wanting to push his luck, but he's pleasantly surprised when Kyle sways into him anyway. The whole elevator available, and Kyle crowds his space. Without hesitation, the smaller boy steps up in front of him, slumping forward to rest his head on Jake's collarbone, body pressed flush against him. His arms wrap loosely around Jake's waist, and he sighs, sounding far too content.
Jake smiles, knowing Kyle can't see it, and lets himself wrap an arm around his back, rubbing an idle hand up and down his spine.
When they stumble down the hall to Kyle's door, Jake props him gently against the wall. The boy sags there, shoulder slumped against the cinderblocks and head tilted so his temple presses against the cool surface. His eyes close, and if it weren't for the fact that he's still standing, Jake would think he was asleep.
He manages to get out Kyle's lanyard with his keys, but his own coordination isn't great. He fumbles with the keys, and before he can find the right one, the door opens.
He freezes, standing there and blinking owlishly at the guy standing in the doorway. His hair is dark and curly, reaching just past his ears to coil around his neck. Most of it is hidden behind a gray beanie that slouches atop his head. His brown eyes are bloodshot, and stare at Jake with just as much surprise. He’s frozen with one arm in his hoodie, halfway through the action of putting it on.
"Uh, hi?" Jake says, Kyle's keys still held between his fingers. "You must be Jasper? Kyle's roommate?"
Jasper looks down to the lanyard, then makes an obvious sweep to look Jake up and down. When his eyes return to Jake's face, there's a small smirk playing across his lips. "Yeah, that'd be me. You must be Jake. The guy Kyle tutors."
Jake blinks, sluggish mind taking a moment to process that. His mouth, however, is way ahead of him. "How'd you know?"
Jasper’s smirk widens, lighting up his eyes. "Kyle talks about you way more than I think he realizes. Speaking of the little dude, where is— Oh, shit." He takes a step forward, and Jake takes one instinctively back. After poking his head out into the hallway, Jasper's eyes immediately find Kyle, half asleep and propped up against the wall. His smirk widens into a grin, and he laughs. "Oh, man, is he drunk? You actually managed to get the little nerd drunk. I've been trying to get him to loosen up and party a little since week one. Good job, man."
He steps further out into the hall, pulling his hoodie on fully as he moves in front of Kyle. He bends down, hands on his knees to put himself at eye level, tilting his head this way and that to get a good look at him.
"Hey, Kyle, dude." He reaches out, patting Kyle's cheek with enough force to rouse him. His eyes flutter open before narrowing, looking confused and disoriented. "Congrats on your first time getting drunk, dude. And with the school's rising baseball star, no less. Try not to puke on our shit, alright?" Kyle groans, squeezing his eyes shut and rolling until his back is pressed against the wall. Jasper straightens and laughs. "Oh man, I should totally film this. I can't believe you—"
"Leave him alone," Jake snaps, stepping forward and shoving Jasper's shoulder.
The other boy stumbles from the unexpected hit, head whipping around to glare at him. "Dude, what the fuck—"
"Leave him alone," Jake repeats. Anger simmers beneath his already heated skin, twisting and writhing in his gut. His hands curl into fists at his side. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he's overreacting. He knows that Jasper is just poking at Kyle in good natured fun. From what he's heard from Kyle, he and Jasper get along just fine. It's no different than Jake's friends and roommates teasing him when he's drunk. He knows this, but that doesn't stop the strange and consuming protectiveness that rises inside him.
Jasper puts up his hands defensively, taking a step back. "Hey, man, calm down. It's all in good fun." He frowns as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "I was just leaving anyway. I'll be gone all weekend, so you guys can do whatever. Just... take care of him, alright?"
"Of course, I will," Jake says, voice still a little too defensive, with a little too much snap.
Jasper rolls his eyes and shoves past him, moving down the hall toward the elevator, but not before Jake hears him mutter, "Geez, overprotective boyfriend, much?"
Ignoring the flush that rushes up his neck to settle onto his cheeks and the gentle flutter inside his chest, Jake turns back to Kyle and helps him into the room, shutti
ng the door firmly behind them.
Kyle stands in the middle of the room, swaying on his feet. He looks around, but his eyes don't seem to focus on anything in particular. His lips hang open, parted slightly. His face is relaxed and soft, lacking the usual defensive edge and sharp glares. Jake smiles, moving forward to press a hand to Kyle's lower back, his other hand coming down on his arm.
"Come on," he mumbles. "Let's get you to bed."
Kyle takes one step forward before stopping. He digs his feet in, balance rocking but firmly resisting Jake's gentle push. He shakes his head, then groans, instantly regretting the motion as his focus dodges in and out. "No, I—" he pauses, licking his lips as his words slur together. "I gotta— I think I gotta— I'm gonna—" His eyes drift around, from Jake to the rest of his room. His brows furrow, as if deep in thought. Then his lips purse, and there's a resigned sigh when he says. "I'm gonna puke."
It's so determined and exasperated that Jake feels like laughing, but he can see how quickly Kyle's composure is crumbling. With a soft chuckle, he steers Kyle toward the bathroom. He's thankful that it's empty, and thankful that he and Jasper have a suite style dorm, where the bathroom is connected between two rooms rather than out in the hall. He knows this isn't going to be a pleasant experience for Kyle's neighbors, but it's less embarrassing than puking in a public bathroom.
He barely manages to get Kyle to the toilet before he falls to his knees and empties his stomach. It's a lot. A lot of waves and a lot of miserable groaning between them. He whines and mumbles that Jake doesn't have to stay for this, but Jake refuses to leave. He squats next to him, back against the wall, idly rubbing Kyle's back and massaging his neck while mumbling soft, barely coherent encouragements.
When they're certain Kyle is done, Jake helps him to the counter, walking Kyle through the process of rinsing out his mouth and brushing his teeth. Kyle is pitiful. His limbs seem heavy and his legs barely hold him. Jake has to pick him up and set him on the counter before he falls over, and he has to keep Kyle going with gentle nudges and firm prods.
Eventually they get Kyle's teeth brushed, mouth washed out again, and Jake ushers him back into his room. Kyle stumbles across it, tripping over the beanbags and falling onto his bed. He curls in on himself, clutching the blankets to his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm never drinking again," he groans. "Why do people like this?"
Jake chuckles, sitting on the edge of Kyle's bed. "It's not so bad when you get used to it."
Kyle cracks an eye, weakly glaring at him while pouting. "It's awful. I feel awful. Ugh."
Jake exhales a short snort, then sighs. Putting his hands on his knees, he prepares himself to stand up. "Well, I guess I should go so you can sleep."
He knows he needs to go, yet he hesitates. And it's in that hesitation that Kyle's hand snakes out, grabbing hold of Jake's and clinging to it. His grip isn't firm. Jake can easily pull away, but he doesn't. He feels rooted to the spot, and his resolve crumbles to dust as Kyle whispers, "Stay. Please?"
His voice is so soft that Jake has to strain to hear him. There's so much in those few words. A desperate plea. A fear. A hesitation. A hope. Jake hasn't realized until this moment just how weak he is to Kyle. Just how much Kyle has managed to weasel his way into Jake's heart and bury himself there.
It's with trickling dread that Jake realizes that Liddy might be right.
"Okay," he breathes, the word coming out in defeat. He puts a hand over Kyle's and feels it relax. "Okay, I'll stay."
Kyle's smile is small but far too genuine. "Thank you."
"Come on." Jake turns, reaching out to pull at Kyle's hoodie. "Let's get you ready for bed."
He's helped his friends undress before. He's helped girlfriends undress. Hell, he's helped strangers do it. Nothing about it has ever been sexual. Not when that person has been far too drunk for their own good and struggling to get themselves ready for bed. Half the time Jake has been drunk, too. It's always just been him trying to help someone out, get their shoes and jacket off before they pass out for the night.
But as he helps Kyle out of his clothes, he feels his heart heavy and sharp as it beats against his ribcage. His skin is hot, heat pooling in his gut as it twists. His fingertips tingle where they move of their own accord, trailing along Kyle's skin and lingering even as he tells them not to.
Kyle is really fucking cute. Beautiful, even. Not beautiful like his ex-girlfriends have been. Not classically pretty. But beautiful in his own way. His build is slight and small, but his skin is flawless and smooth and incredibly soft. His eyes remain closed, plump lips pursed as he mumbles protests while Jake moves him enough to get his clothes off.
Then he sinks back into his sheets, wearing nothing but his boxers and a shirt. His limbs splayed wide and inviting, head tossed to the side and hair a mess on his pillow. Lips parted and body curled.
Jake's stomach flips. He wants to ravish him. He wants to leave marks along his neck and collarbone. Wants to feel that small body writhe beneath him. Wants to see Kyle's back arch and head toss back in ecstasy. Wants to see those plump lips red and wet and barely managing to form his name. He wants to see his skin flushed and glistening with sweat as he reaches for Jake.
He wants it. He wants it so bad, and the need crashes over him like a tidal wave. But his hands curl into fists, nails biting his palms— he can't. He can't, and he won't. Not now, and not like this. Not when Kyle is drunk and nearly passed out. He can wait.
He wants more than anything to undress, too, and slide beneath the blankets to wrap Kyle up in his arms. To pull him flush against him and feel their skin together as they sleep.
Instead, he slides to the floor, half-heartedly kicking off his shoes and tugging off his jacket. He builds a barely passable bed on the floor out of spare blankets he finds, sprawled out across two beanbags. It's not too bad. He's slept in worse conditions.
He falls asleep that night torn between the fantasy of Kyle asking him to touch him, to crawl into bed with him, wanting what Jake wants, and the way his mind pulls back from the insinuation, scared and reeling, convinced that if he were sober, he wouldn't be having these thoughts at all.
He can only hope clarity comes with time, sleep, and sobriety.
Chapter Twelve
Kyle wakes up feeling like shit.
Before he's even fully conscious, he groans, curling his body into as small of a ball as he can. His fingers tug at his blankets, holding them to his chest and covering his head with them to block out the light. His head hurts. It's pounding and throbbing intermittently between a dull ache and sharp sting behind his eyes. His stomach rolls, not quite nauseous but definitely unsettled.
Why do people actually enjoy drinking? This is terrible.
It takes him a moment to rise fully to consciousness, his mind fighting a losing battle to stay down and asleep. When he's fully awake, he keeps his eyes closed against the light, trying to sift through his memories of the night before.
He remembers going out with Jake to a quieter bar. He remembers, with a straining shiver of excitement in his chest, how Jake had insisted he had taken them there so they could talk and get to know one another. He remembers hours upon hours of just talking. He remembers saying far more about himself than he ever intended to, riding the high of Jake's presence, tongue loosened by alcohol, fueled by some sort of misplaced hope that he can't quite shake, no matter how hard he tries.
He remembers talking about his brother, which is not something he ever intended to do. But he didn't talk about his absence or his accident. Jake got him to talk about who his brother was. The good times. And that felt really good, actually.
He only wishes he had kept track of his drinks instead of just drinking whatever was placed in front of him. He hadn't expected to actually enjoy himself, and he hadn't wanted the night to end, so he just kept going. Now he regrets that decision.
He doesn't really remember when they left or how they got home. There are some fractions and snapshots of memory that lea
d him to believe that they walked back to his dorm together. He doesn't really remember getting here, though, or getting ready for bed.
He heaves a heavy sigh, his lungs aching. He probably made a fool of himself, and he probably looked like an idiot. Especially to Jake, who does this often enough to have control over himself. He just hopes he didn't ramble too much and annoy him. Whatever he did, it's too late to worry about it now. The damage is done, and he can stew in embarrassment later. For now, his head is throbbing, and his mouth is incredibly dry. He needs a glass of water, aspirin, a long hot shower, and some food. Stat.
He throws the blankets off, both hating and loving the cool air on his heated skin. It's refreshing, clears his head, but he also just wants to curl up and hide from the world for the rest of the day. Groaning, he moves, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands until he sees stars. They feel dry and heavy and incredibly tired despite just waking up. His skin feels sticky and unclean. He definitely needs a shower.
He pushes himself to his feet, arms dropping to his sides as he takes a step—
And nearly steps right on top of Jake.
He lets out a surprised squeal and stumbles backwards, landing heavily on the bed with his heart hammering in his throat. He watches as Jake groans, sprawled out on a makeshift pallet on his floor, body wedged oddly between two beanbags and covered in spare blankets. He stares, eyes wide and mouth agape, as Jake props himself up on his elbow, other hand rubbing at his eyes.
He looks around, dazed and disoriented from sleep, but not at all surprised to find that he's in Kyle's room and not his own. When his gaze finally finds Kyle, he smiles, lazy and dopy as his head lolls to the side. "Mornin'."
"I, uh—" Kyle stammers, licking his lips and trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. "Morning?"
Jake sits up, blankets pooling at his waist. He looks around, hand rubbing through his hair and making it stand on end. He yawns, idly scratching at the stubble on his chin. He looks completely at ease waking up in Kyle's room, and meanwhile Kyle thinks he might be having a heart attack. Or hallucinating. "What time is it?"
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