The Bestest of Friends

Hello guys. Welcome to my first official story on Wattpad. Hope you like it, and it's not too cliché-y. I'll update when I have the chapters and have time to (or in other words: am not too lazy). Not edited, so  grammar Nazi's, I am sincerely sorry. Oh, and it's rated PG-13, mainly for language at this point. Whelp, I think that is it- for now. I'll leave you to it.

~1~

“Bitch please.”

Okay, so my best friend might have been a little tipsy. I turned to see Mr. Tucker Virgil Keyes and the victim of the… First… Second… No, I’m sorry; I think third intoxicated ranting he had randomly spewed tonight.

First it had been another late-nighter he started preaching about the burning of apples to, to appease the dentists and screw over the doctors of the world. Then he had skipped (yes, skipped) up to a random alley cat, to whom he pretended to be a London cabby to. Not sure why a cat would need a taxi, but I’m 67% sure it makes some sense somewhere in that head of his. And now he was yelling at… a stoplight.

He was literally in the middle of the road, staring up at the yellow device that gleamed red, and was screaming profanities at it. I don’t even know how he got over there so fast. He was mumbling to himself right beside me one minute, like a paranoid conspiracist from the Cold War era, and the next he is in the middle of a (thankfully) empty intersection.

“I will LARP where I want. So suck it, glowy, three-eyes face,” Tuck slurred, and then proceeded to stick out his tongue. Can someone say face palm? I would, but my palm is currently covering my face.

Yeah, heh, upgrade him to majorly drunk. I sighed, and stared up into the heavens hating the fuck out of the alcohol gods. And the car gods. And the DMV gods. And that stupid, balding, falsely haughty Driving test administrator, the only one who would start with parallel parking and fail you as soon as you slightly brush one of the orange cones, I’m not even exaggerating when I say slightly brush. Then fail you again the next time, when he does the exact same thing. Let’s just say I made sure to go out with a lasting impression when I decided to actually run over the cone. About 26 times, if you want to get technical about it. Felt pretty damn great after that.

Now I feel like I disgraced the cone too far and karma has finally kicked in. Whoopty-fucking-do. Somehow, somewhere, that test administrator knows about this and is laughing his ass off. I bet his laugh is stupid… I looked back to see Tuck on his knees and howling at the light.

“Howl with me, Geoff, howl for our bromance. We are brothers now. Embrace it Geoff, and join me!”

You know the funny thing is, the house with the party he dragged me to is only a couple streets down from mine, maybe about a half mile away. Tuck had actually driven there regardless of the distance. But now we were stuck walking home in the middle of the night, ambling home. We’ve barley been a third of the distance to the house.

I glanced down at my phone and checked the time. Tuck was very drunk at about 12:30ish, a new record for him. Now, don’t get me wrong, Tuck isn’t some raging alcoholic. He only ever drinks at parties, which he only ever goes to just a bit more often than now and then. He’s usually okay with how much he drinks, but he does get careless a couple of times. Like now, for instance, though this was a bit early for him. It’s usually been around 2 in the morning when he becomes like this.

I yawned and walked over to the still howling Tuck. Grabbing his ear, I yanked him up and started pulling him towards my house.

“Roryyyy, you give Tuckyyy owwie,” he whined. Oh Christ, the caveman talk is back. He is really hammered. The only good thing about this is that he becomes a total rag doll. So, we finished the usual 10 minute walk in a good 25 minutes.

Mom seemed to already be in bed, but Dad had decided to wait up. He was sitting in our kitchen attempting the Samurai-Sudoku blocks in the comic pages. I pushed Tuck up the stairs and down a little ways into my room, telling him to get ready for bed as I pulled out a small twin mattress from under my own bed. Tuck stays over often enough that the bed happens to be always made. And yes, the sheets are changed periodically, sicko. Why the hell would I want bedbugs in my own room? Or dirty sheets for that matter?

Tuck was standing, staring at the bluish-gray painted wall by my door. I left him to it and went downstairs to talk to Dad. He was actually pretty far in the puzzle: 3 out of 5 squares done.

“Tuck looked pretty shitfaced,” he chuckled glancing up from the paper. I chuckled tiredly. “You have no idea. Tomorrow will be interesting and probably pretty gross.” Dad laughed at this and stood up, setting his pencil now on the paper. “Well, you’re both home safe. See you in morning kiddo. Waffles for breakfast?” I grinned at that. “Sounds great, Pops. Good night, love you.” Dad ruffled my hair as he walked by, and murmured a ‘Love ya too’.

That’s what I love about my Dad. He is pretty cool about everything, as long I don’t actually drink, myself, use drugs, or end up preggers. Mom is his complete opposite. I love her, but sometimes she’s a little overbearing. It took about two days to convince her to let me go with Tuck to the party. The only thing that convinced her was that I’d be his ‘designated driver’. Mom loves Tuck like a son, but is totally fine with him being a regular teenage guy. Makes you wonder at times…

The clock in the kitchen blinked 1:00 now, so I trudged upstairs and into my room. Tuck was still staring at the wall, but now he only had a pair of sweat pants on. I’m not gonna lie, I, Aurora Zelina Faye (right hand on the Bible and everything) did stop to check out my best friend. To be honest, I have no regrets.

His fire truck-red hair was still spiked up a bit on top, though now kind of adorably flattened, and his gray eyes kept staring half-lidded at the wall, dropping now and then. Tuck’s face looked even paler than usual, causing his freckles to pop more. All in all, his face just looked boyish and cute. His body was a different matter. Though not heavily muscled, Tuck’s pretty toned and well defined. Especially his ab area, leading down to his hips, where his sweat pants hung just low enough to leave enough to the imagination- Not that I was imaging anything, you pervert.

I shook myself out of my obviously sleep hazy thoughts, and lightly shook Tuck’s arm.

“Hey bud, time for sleep now, eh?” Tuck’s eyes slowly made their way to mine as he nodded his head. I led him over to the mattress and pulled back the blankets for him, watching him crawl under, and then pulling them up to under his chin. He stared up at me with a tired smile.

“Night, Night Rory,” he slurred sleepily while grabbing my neck in a hug, like a kid would a teddy bear’s. The thought made me quietly chuckle. “See you in the morning, Tuck.”

He let me go and turned over, but not before continuing our tradition. He amazingly wasn’t too drunk that he couldn’t remember.

“Love you Aurora,” he whispered. I smiled, and leaned down to his ear to whisper back. “Love you too, Tucker.”

And with that I got into my Deadpool pajamas and dove into bed, ready for the sleep I felt I had rightfully earned.