BRANCE + RINNEY

who puked on my FRESHLY MOWED LAWN

He felt like he was suffocating. The taste of beer pulled at his tongue, drowning it in bitterness. His head was spinning, nausea nagging at his insides as he forced a hand over his mouth in denial.

He was alone now, walking through a neighborhood he didn't know the name of. The sun had just began to set, melting across the sky like spilled paint. A few stars had began to sprinkle along the transparent clouds, polka-dotting themselves like raindrops.

His clothes felt heavy on his body, dragging his limbs along the sidewalk as he tried not to throw up the contents he'd downed earlier. His vision had turned blurry some time ago and he had begun to stagger as he walked, holding his hands in front of him to keep a steady balance.

He should've never went to that party.

His lips, chapped and decorated with dried blood, felt cold with the aftertaste of alcohol. His mouth was dry as he clicked his tongue against the roof of it, shaking his head softly as another wave of nausea floored into his stomach.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." It was as if that was all he could say, all he could think. He could picture it all over again, the image of his boyfriend, his hands pressed against the wall, his calloused and bruised knuckles running along the face of a girl he'd only seen once before.

God, the amount of beer he'd downed after that.

Slipping past the concrete and into the grass, the nausea began to climb up his throat and towards his lips. He hunched over, against his own will, and coughed out the acidic remains of beer he'd choked down only hours earlier.

His hair fell in front of his face, shiny with sweat, as he wiped his lips with his sleeves. His chest had ran cold, an after-effect of vomiting. Rubbing his eyes, he stood back up.

"Shit."

Realizing that he had just vomited in someone's lawn, he resumed his path, quicker now, down the sidewalk. He didn't feel as heavy as before, but his eyes were being tugged down with tiredness.

"Damn it."

He could barely see now. The sun had bid farewell and welcomed the moon its place, darkening the sky like an everlasting storm cloud. The streetlights had flickered on, peppering tiny amounts of brightness down the sidewalk. It didn't help much, as his vision was still blurry and inconsistent.

"This is just, this is great." Pushing his palms to his closed eyelids, he sat himself down on the sidewalk. It wasn't a good idea to walk home in his condition. He'd have to wait until he could properly stand and see. He really, really, should've never went to that party. He had never even been a party person. He hated parties.

"Don't tell me you're asleep. You're gonna get hypothermia."

He didn't even have to look up to match the voice to a face. His heart lurched into his stomach at the sound, how much it soothed him despite his current feelings.

"Fuck off. I can handle myself."

The person sat down next to him, which he could hear by the clink of keys and squeak of the all-familiar puffer jacket he'd grown to despise. He didn't care to open his eyes and turn his head. It'd be the last thing he'd do.

"You plan on staying in that spot all night? Seriously, you'll die out here in your condition." The person next to him shuffled closer, attempting to close the space between them.

"I'm drunk, not naked."

The person next to him laughed, as if he had just said some amazing joke. It made his heart churn, yearning for even the slightest glimpse of a smile.