Band Oneshots

I can't keep do this( bret xCC deville)

Sorry it's a bit shitty

"are you high?" Cc hums lazily as he paints a gentle smirk on his face. On the bedside table beside him is a small baggie, inside was a lot of white power. On the front, a red, scratchy 'C' is marked, and the bag is open. "yeah, Bret, i am." he slurs, voice soft around the edges.

It's almost a sigh, fond of the way he can wrap himself around a fantasy and protect it, the mess he's desperately clinging to. in the morning, when he's clammy and torn from the dreamy space he sinks down into, withdrawing and throwing up bile until his throat is raw, that's what he'll remember. He'll remember how sweet cheap wine tastes when he's high off his face.

The easy lamp light catches the frame of CC's eyelashes, long and dark against his cheeks. his hair is  mess of locks twisted all the way around his head like a halo, but the thin, ripped sweater hanging off his shoulders and the mess of sheets and blankets rucked up by his head tear away from his angelic features and remind Bret, like a slap to the face, what hands pulled and tugged his hair into those pretty twists.

CC's skin is pasty and washed out, pupils blown so wide Bret can't find a trace of blue in his tripped out gaze. there's a tremor running through his body, it finds the centre of his back and crosses itself on the way down, colliding like ripples on the surface of a still lake. His collar is torn and his sweater is rucked up under his arms. There's come splashed on the trembling lines of his stomach, his own or someone else's, it doesn't matter. At least his briefs are on, not that the simple curtesy makes up for the bites and scratches all over his thighs and shoulders.

"what'd you take?" Bret asks, sitting down beside CC, who props himself up a little on his elbows. To Bret it's pretty clear what he's taken, but this is Bret double checking other blonde knows what he took. "Coke." he drawls lazily. Using the edge of the blanket, Bret wipes what he can of the flaky, drying come off of CC's stomach. he pulls the sweater down, even though it sticks at the back where he is laying on it, and swipes a warm palm over his clammy forehead.

In an unkind, deranged way, one that makes guilt churn thick and heavy in Bret, he cherishes the snatches of care he can put into CC. It's all he's ever wanted, to protect him. However Bret found it to be harder then he thought, after all it's hard to protect the dead centre of your universe when that bright, bright star is wounded, bruised, bleeding, and barely coherent.

"can you stand?" he asks, wrapping fingers around CC's bicep, gently pulling him up. CC lifts himself off the bed like a ghost rising from a grave, reluctant and groaning. CC's legs tremble even as he swings them over the edge of the dingy mattress, trembling like a fawn and its first steps. It'll wear off, Bret reminds himself, desperate for the person he knows to surface through the giggly champagne bubbles of drugged euphoria he's bathing in.

CC bites his lip, chewing the inside of his cheek in concentration that seems to lapse when he's struck, on a whim, by the urge to bow theatrically. At the display of uncare, the way CC treats this like a joke, but what's more painful is that he's too intoxicated to care, leaves Bret's heart crumpling like a fragile love letter, aching, singing with love for this man.

This stupid man. "please," he breathes, voice and heart wounded, "no more." CC pauses, an inquisitive sound rumbling through the back of his throat. his hands tremble and twitch where they're curling into the hemmed fabric of his sweater. Cc doesn't understands what he's done. "I can't keep doing this." Bret explains, not daring to trail his gaze up, scared that their eyes will meet and all he'll find is unfocused amusement.

"I can't keep finding you like this, Ces, i love you. and one day i'm not, I-i won't get here and something will happen, something worse than what's already happening, and you won't be breathing. i won't be able to do that." he grits out, bleary eyes burning with the effort to keep unshed tears at bay. If anything happened to CC, Bret wouldn't be able to live. Wouldn't know what to do with himself.

The thought of finding him too late, finding his slack body, still warm, eyes glassy, but non responsive. Not able to ever give a response again. The idea kills him, and he's crying before he can help it.

"you love me?" CC echoes, voice lilted gently. Bret swipes his knuckles against his eyes and breathes back the pain. "of course i do Ces, you're... my best friend."

It's weak, it sounds weak even to him. Bret doesn't love CC as a friend, or maybe he does, but it's that plus years worth of love that doesn't sit anywhere on the scale of "friendly." Even CC, high as a kite, frowns. "oh," he breathes. he's too high to pick at that thread right now, too far gone to make a promise he won't keep.

"i love you too." Bret wishes it was enough. What he has for CC, that's love. What CC has for drugs, though, that's different.

That's a strange love.