More Than Enemies [Slow Updates]

19

Ranboo groaned, pain radiating through his body. His head throbbed and his stomach felt horrible. His back was sore and different points on his neck had a dull sting to them.

He tried to sit up, but vertigo knocked him back down again. He shifted, the pain invoking another groan.

He was becoming aware of his surroundings: a bright light streaming through windows, and a white tiled ceiling above him, smoke from cigarettes turning parts of it brown. He felt a hand under his shirt, dangerously close to slipping under his pants.

 He and the guy from the drinking game were passed out on the floor, limbs tangled and hair and clothes messed up. The other guy was still out cold, Ranboo laying on top of him.

Shit. Clay's gonna be pissed.

There were a few other people laying around, those who got it on with someone or got too drunk to leave. Ranboo didn't see anyone he knew.

He rolled off of the guy and struggled to his feet, holding onto the couch until his world stopped spinning. He reached for his phone, thankful that it was still in his pocket, and headed for the front of the house.

He sat outside on the porch steps, the cold morning air making him wish he had brought a jacket. He reluctantly dialed his brother, praying that he would pick up before anyone else woke up.

"Mark Wyatt Enderson where the fuck have you been?!" His brother shouted as soon as he answered.

Ranboo winced at the volume.

"I-I fucked up, Clay," Ranboo whispered, tears coming to his eyes. He swore he'd never do this again, but he had given in so easily. All his strength had diminished in an instant.

"No shit." Clay muttered. "Send me your location, I'll come and get you." He said, his voice softer.

Ranboo nodded, even though his brother couldn't see him, and shared his location.

"Thank you." Ranboo's voice wavered.

"If anyone tells you to go back inside, tell them 'no'. Please, for the love of god, don't go back inside."

"O-okay."

Clay sighed. 

"I'm on my way. I'll see you soon."

"Bye…"

And the line went dead.

Ranboo buried his face in his hands, shame welling up inside him.

How could he have broken his promise again? What was wrong with him? He had been doing so well until… until he was alone.

A car pulled up in front of the house, a black mustang. Clay rolled down the window and motioned for Ranboo to get in.

Once Ranboo had sat down, Clay tossed a hoodie at him.

"Cover your neck." Clay growled.

Ranboo glanced at himself in the mirror.

He looked awful. His hair was a mess, strands of it sticking out in all directions, his shirt was severely wrinkled, and his neck and collarbone were covered in circular bruises.

Ranboo put the jumper on and fluffed the hood up to cover most of his neck, then pulled the seatbelt across his chest.

"Did Tommy—?" Ranboo started.

"Tommy's fine. He came back to our house and told me that you were playing a drinking game. When you didn't come home, he got really worried and wanted me to call you."

"Tommy was worried about me?" Ranboo muttered, not believing it.

Clay glanced at him and smacked him on the arm.