Firsts

Chapter Three

"Cole! Cole!" There was a loud, insistent knock at the door. "Cole, for god's sakes, I know you're in there!"

Cole groaned, blinking as he came to. He groggily swung his legs out of bed and walked to the front door, holding his head in pain. He opened it to find a bright red face staring at him.

"What. The. Hell?" said Davis furiously, pushing past him into the apartment. He went straight to the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker.

"What are you pissed about?" Cole asked slowly, following him into the kitchen, clutching his head.

"Dude, I called you like six times." Davis was rushing frantically about the kitchen, rifling through cabinets, flinging open the refrigerator, nearly breaking glasses and cups and mugs.

"Davis, stop!" he groaned. "Too loud, too loud. Be quiet."

"How the FUCK do you expect me to be quiet at a time like this?" Davis shrieked, this time throwing down one of Cole's favorite mugs in his anger.

"Man, that's one of my favorites..."

"It's Sarah's."

"Kayla," Cole corrected him reflexively.

"All the more reason to break it. Now where do you keep your mugs?"

"Davis, stop," said Cole. "Sit down. Come on, over here." He gently led his best friend over to the table and sat him down. "Breathe. Tell me what happened."

Davis looked at him for nearly a minute, the manic glint still in his eyes. Finally something inside of him seemed to crack and he collapsed, beating his head forcefully, repeatedly on Cole's wooden table.

"Oh, shit." Cole dropped the mug he was holding and ran to his best friend. They struggled, but eventually he managed to restrain him. Once he had got Davis breathing calmly, he slowly made his way back to the counter, carefully avoiding the shards of broken mug, and poured Davis a cup of fresh coffee.

"Here, drink this."

Davis gulped down half the mug before the heat registered in his brain. "Ah! Ah! Hot!" He dropped the mug on the table. It tipped over and coffee poured out, permanently staining the table. Cole cleaned up the mess and gave Davis an ice cube to suck on.

Minutes later, he was calm.

During this chaos, Cole had forgotten about his hangover, as he was faced with a crazy, rampant Davis that he hadn't seen in years. But as the insanity began to subside, the hangover came back with thrice as much speed. And now Davis was starting to feel the effects of his own hangover, with the addition of the throbbing pain in his forehead. Needless to say, both were groaning.

"You want some coffee?" Davis asked.

Cole looked up at him, glaring.

"No, no coffee."

"Davis. What the hell happened to you? And don't start beating your head on the table--or harming yourself in any way, physical or emotional," he added quickly when Davis groaned again.

"I'm an idiot." Davis' voice was muffled as he was slumped forward on the table, his head on his arms.

"Yeah, no shit," Cole agreed quietly, surveying his kitchen, which was a mess, filled with broken mugs, coffee stains, and some remnants of last night's activities. "Why?" he added aloud.

"You won't believe what I did last night."

"You won't believe what I did last night," Cole countered.

"No, seriously." Davis raised his head and continued, "Okay, you know how we got, like, totally hammered last night?"

Cole was quiet, taking in Davis' utterly disheveled appearance. His hair was rumpled and out of shape, he had a bruise on his eye from who-knows-what, the bump from the table was beginning to show, his eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks were still red from the alcohol. His shirt was ripped in a corner, there were coffee stains all over it, and part of it was hastily tucked into his pants, which were sagging as a result of the lack of a belt. His socks were worn and tattered and his shoes were missing.