Wish You'd Met Me First (boyxboy)

Chapter 47: Reconciliation

A/N: My sensitive heart freakin cried making this.... it's beautiful for me, I don't know about you.

As the silence of the house presses in, I make my way to the kitchen, intent on assembling some sort of remedy for the inevitable hangover. Opening the fridge, I grab a bottle of electrolyte water and a banana—simple, but effective. The faint buzz from earlier in the night is replaced by a dull throbbing in my head as I head upstairs.

Once in my room, the weight of my phone in my pocket reminds me of the digital chaos I've been avoiding. Pulling it out, I see the screen lit up with notifications—most from Brett, a few from my parents, and a barrage from our group chat. I ignore Brett's attempts to reach me and instead open up the school's social media feed, hoping to distract myself with anything else.

The feed is a mess of updates from the party. There's a video of me, unknowingly caught in a careless moment, laughing with strangers. Another post shows Brett in a heated moment, shouting, his face twisted in anger. My stomach churns as I scroll through more posts—Brett looking wrecked, Brett confronting me, Brett almost fighting Jake. Each image adds weight to the already heavy night.

Just then, my phone vibrates with a new message from our group chat. I open it to see messages from Ryan, Tom, Jason, and Ethan, all sent in a rapid, urgent flurry.

Ryan: Aiden, did Brett head over to yours? We lost him after he drove off.

Jason: He was really messed up, man. We tried to stop him, but he shoved past us and took off.

Ethan: Yeah, couldn't keep him here. Aiden, is he with you?

Their messages pour in one after the other, a clear sign of their collective worry. I quickly type back, my fingers shaky.

Me: No, he's not here. Why didn't you guys stop him?

Tom: We tried, man. But he was gone before we could do anything. He wouldn't listen.

As the gravity of the situation settles in, my phone rings. Brett's name flashes on the screen. My heart skips as I answer.

"Aiden?" Brett's voice comes through, slurred and distant.

"Brett, where exactly are you?" My voice is sharp, laced with worry.

"In front of your house," he mumbles.

I rush to the window, pulling the blinds aside. There, under the streetlights, is Brett's car, its hazard lights flickering. He stands by it, his posture slumped, clearly still drunk.

"Stay right there, don't move," I command, my voice firm despite the fear gnawing at me. "I'm coming down."

I don't wait for his reply. Dropping the phone, I grab my keys and race out the door, the cool night air bracing against my skin as I hurry to confront the night's final, sobering act.

I rush down the stairs, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and concern. The cool night air hits me as I burst through the front door, and there, under the flickering streetlights, stands Brett. He's swaying slightly, his shoulders slumped, his usually bright eyes now dull and red-rimmed. The sight of him like this sends a sharp pang through my chest.

"Brett, what are you doing here?" I call out, my voice trembling as I step closer.

He looks up at me, blinking as if trying to clear his vision, as if trying to make sure I'm really there. For a moment, he just stares at me, his lips parting but no words coming out. Then, suddenly, his expression crumples, and he lets out a choked sob, shaking his head as if he's trying to shake away the pain.