Being forced to move so many states away from all that he once knew, Nessa was nervous to tackle his new life. Fortunately, it didn't take long for Nessa to meet a plethora of unique individuals who welcomed him into their lives:
The optimist, the k...
After a bit of convincing, Venice agreed to allow Nessa have a few drinks. But he stayed close by, the pair never straying from one another. Nessa forgot what it felt like to have the alcohol burn his throat. He forgot the way the universe faded into an inebriated haze the more that he drank. And above all else, he forgot what happened to him the last time he dared to drink.
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As he staggered through the crowd, trying to remember when Kiwi left him alone, Ilya spotted a familiar face. Had Kiwi been pulled away? Had he left on his own free will? Ilya couldn't think straight, having consumed an alarming amount of beer. His height was not going to keep him sober this time around.
He redirected his path to walk up to the owner of the familiar face. Ian was dressed in grey jeans and a plain black long sleeved shirt. It was incredibly relaxed compared to what Ilya usually saw him in, though the sweatshirt and jeans he wore a few nights ago ultimately took the cake. However, he was still gorgeous. Eyes hard as he noticed Ilya wandering towards him, a disapproving tilt to his lips.
"You're not going to throw up, are you?" Ian asked him as soon as they were close enough to hear each other over the music.
"Only if you want me to." Ilya winked, noticing the beer in Ian's hands. It was half-full still, but Ian held it close. "You're at another party. Are you turning over a new leaf, teacher's pet?"
"I would be shocked that you're speaking so clearly, but I've already seen this trick." Ian commented, taking a step back. Ilya hadn't even noticed how close they had become. "Am I not welcome?"
"You're welcome anywhere you might like, солнышко." With a sway in his step, Ilya got closer once more. He wasn't really sure what he was doing. Or why. He needed sex, and the girl who he had lured into bed only wished for oral. On her, not him. He needed to find someone who was willing to go all the way. Preferably for hours. "That includes underneath me as I—"
"I'm not drunk enough to listen to this." Ian rolled his eyes, lightly pushing Ilya away. He pouted in response, wondering just what it would take for Ian to admit his sexuality. And how much more it would take for him to come to bed.
Ilya recalled last Wednesday. When Ian had found him outside of Chris' apartment, emptying his stomach onto the grass. Even then, utterly shitfaced and out of his mind, Ilya did not regret leaving. Still, he found the way that Chris' fingers felt to be disturbing. He didn't wish to have that happen again, and he had been careful ever since.
And as embarrassing as it was, he especially remembered sobbing on Venice's shoulder. He remembered the way Venice held him close, the way he did not protest their proximity. He truly did love Venice, the only person who could see right through it all. Through the sexual jokes, or lack of clothing. Down to the core, where a broken child just searching for love lay. Ilya hated that part of himself. He didn't want to be pathetic. He didn't want to be so fragile. He would settle for falsehoods instead.
