Lightweight

His eyes are bluer than he remembers, but that could simply be the effect such an out of place expression has on such little details. With their newfound vibrancy, Will’s eyes are also eerily blank. He stares a moment, mouth hanging just slightly ajar in another seeming continuity error with his personality on the regular. Of all people, Rowan should be able to recognize these sorts of things well enough. This whole display, accompanied by the violently purple Solo cup he's just haphazardly put down on the kitchen island has made his condition obvious to even the most dense person, of which Rowan is not. This is where he finds the oddity of course, as Will had been perfectly sober a mere half an hour ago when he'd been complaining about being here at all. He didn't even know Rae Kingsley all that well, so for what reason would he have to be here at all? He'd had a fair point, Rowan supposes, but in that very conversation he'd pointed out how little Will was able to leave the house any more, also a fair point. No matter what had happened earlier, it was obvious now that his best friend was no less than utterly trashed. Leaning heavily against his elbows on the countertop, he finally speaks.
“Sooo, where’ve you been anyway?” The first two words slur together seamlessly, creating a single drunken amalgamation of them.
“Mostly around here? I should be asking where’ve you been.” It's not a lie, of course. Lila had just been there a moment ago, only leaving less than a minute before Will had practically stumbled his way over. She should be back soon from refilling their drinks, anyway.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He doesn't know why this comes as a shock, but chooses to brush it off.
“I didn't see you around.” His tone takes on an attempt at something accusatory as he slouches further, chin practically resting on the counter by his arms.
“And I haven't seen a whole lot of you either. How are you already this fucking wrecked?”
“Whazzat supposed to mean?”
“I dunno. How much have you even had to drink?” Will’s expression goes incredulous, like it was a shock that his own best friend would call him out like this.
“Not a lot? Whaddya mean “how much”?” He puts lazy air quotes up around “how much”, before falling back into position around his face, similarly to how one sleeps in class.
“How many, then?” This seemingly catches him off guard, causing him to pause for a moment in thought.
“Threeish probably? Four? I dunno who cares.” That doesn't add up.
“What is it then?” Rowan himself's long since taken to resting his cheek in his hand, on the verge of drumming his fingers on the countertop boredly.
“Whazzwhat?” With a gesture toward the offending plastic cup he picks it up, taking a slow sip before shrugging.
“Somethin’ that's not sweet enough?” He examines the cup’s contents, taking another sip.
“Maybe I grabbed the wrong thing this time I dunno. It was better the first time.” He shrugs again, putting the cup back down.
“Whazzit matter?” He can’t help but give Will another once-over, though it yet again reveals nothing about what compelled him to get to this state. He understands well enough how it’d be possible considering his size, but it almost amuses him nonetheless. He’s pulled from reverie by the same slightly annoyed but heavily slurred speech once more.
“Well?” He doesn’t understand.
“Well what?” He’s met with a look that reads something akin to condescendence, though it’s a bit hard to take seriously on the guy who’s quite literally using furniture to avoid completely falling over.
“I ass’d you a question?” The expression only intensifies, the question accompanied with an eyeroll to top it off. At Rowan’s obvious confusion he groans, waving a hand in the air dismissively.
“I said “what does it even matter?”.” The annunciation on every syllable is unnaturally sharp, a habit he also possesses when frustrated while sober. Rowan shrugs in response, as it really doesn’t matter much anyway, as long as he wasn’t to blame come morning. Actually, that’s a decent enough reply.
“‘Cause when you’re totally hungover it’ll be all my fault for making you come at all.”
“I will not!”
“Yeah you will.”
“Nuh-uh.” Christ, this is childish.
“Sure.”
“I won’t!” He slams a fist on the island, and whether it’s for emphasis or something else is unclear. His eyes read anger, though it fades to nothing in a matter of moments as he returns to the state of peeking up at him over crossed arms. He sits silent like that for a moment, gaze wandering haphazardly over his surroundings, and when he speaks again his tone is almost bored.
“S’then you’ve got nothin’, huh?” This is already going on too long. Rowan never particularly cared to begin with! It’d only ever been enough to make sure his best friend wasn’t dying or something, though he’s not even sure why he’d think that in the first place. Nonchalantly, he pulls his cell from his pocket, flipping through Snapchat stories that couldn’t have been recorded too far from his range of sense to begin with. Everyone here’s intoxicated, Jason Aberforth’s probably fucking his girlfriend upstairs, etc etc etc. Nothing interesting.
In said bored flipping, he’s failed to notice a presence move behind him, and he jolts at the voice over his shoulder, accompanied by the smell of liquor on Will’s breath.
“Are you like…” He trails off, trying to word the sentence properly.
“Are you like waiting for someone or somethin’?” His expression is contorted into a shiteating grin.
“D’you have a boyfriend or somethin’ you didn’t tell me about?” This only catches him slightly off guard, as sober Will would know full well that while Rowan probably has most of the girls in the drama club unintentionally wrapped around his finger, it’d be hard to be anywhere near as absolutely fucking gay as he was. On the topic of dateable guys? There weren’t many to say the least. It’s a rather hopeless endeavor. Sober Will of course, would know this full well.
“Lila’s getting drinks, I think. She was at least.” He instinctively looks over his shoulder, though the room is much too dark and the crowd much too dense for him to see anything to begin with. Will pauses a moment, as though thinking up a reply before eventually adding a noncommittal
“Huh.” Another long pause, wherein he has to physically push Will back to leaning on the countertop instead of his shoulder. Returning to his original position relatively draped over, he looks thoughtful a moment.
“What wouldja do if I said I was like, bi or something?” Ah yes, more questions totally out of left field.
“I dunno. It wouldn’t matter that much?” What the hell does he expect him to say? The question doesn't quite dawn on him for another moment, and when it does he all but whips around to face him.
“Why’re you asking?” Will averts his eyes.
“It’s jus’ a question dude; whathefuck?” He honestly can't tell regular nonsense from nonsense with any semblance of truth anymore.
“It's kinda random?”
“No it's not.” At Rowan’s quirked eyebrow, he continues.
“I just said somethin’ about boyfriends like, two seconds ago.”
“So?”
“Tha’s why it's not random.” He rolls his eyes as though a toddler could figure this out. Rowan meanwhile is trying to decipher what he's saying first, the words a general slurry mess that he swears is becoming harder and harder to decipher the more he hears.
“Uh huh.”
“You tryna tell me I'm gay?”
“What?” Maybe he is. This conversation is only getting more confusing and convoluted the longer it goes on.
“It was jus’ a question dude. Chill.” He briefly brings himself up to his elbows to match the words with a gesture, afterward settling there with his chin in his hands.
“Then why’d you ask?”
“I dunno! Why’re you being sofuckin’ obnoxious!?” His voice raises to a quite literal shout as he grows more and more defensive.
“I don't fuckin’...” He trails off similarly to earlier, quickly regaining his train of thought.
“I don't wanna fuck a guy!” His face is fire engine red, shouting acting as a matching siren. Rowan recognizes that he should probably stop him before he does something he'll regret even more tomorrow.
“I never said anything dude, what the fuck? Calm down.”
“Whywould I? I've got no fuckin’ reason to calm down at all!” His glare, despite intoxication, still burns white-hot. Will had of course created this entire situation himself, but he also doesn't want to risk pointing this out. He instead watches silently as Will takes another long swig from the violet Solo cup, swallowing harshly before continuing.
“I don't wanna fuck a guy, I don't wanna kiss a guy, I don't wanna like guys! Stop!”
“I'm not saying anything.”
“So?” Are those tears pricking in his eyes?
“So why’re you still freakin’ out?” Will’s fist has already smacked the counter before he can finish talking.
“Because shut up!” He follows it with a long, sharp exhale through his nose.
“I like girls.” And with that, his head falls into his crossed arms once more. He's unsure as to how many minutes actually pass, but he pulls out his phone yet again in the midst of it. Lila’s taking an obscenely long time, after all. After a time, it's not him who breaks the silence once again.
“Roooooowan?” The way he extends the first syllable of his name makes it sound more like “Roan”, which sounds odd and almost amusing when used in reference to him, if he’s being honest.
“What's up?”
“Wouldjoo get annoyed if I wasn't straight?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I dunno, but would you?”
“No?” He's not even looking up at him anymore, face planted firmly into his arm. This of course muffles the sound of his already nearly impossible to decipher voice in turn, so he has to physically lean in to catch a word of what Will is saying.
“B’c’s guys are h’t.” He pauses for a moment, taking in the fact that his best friend has just in fact come out to him as bi or pan or what have you while completely hammered at a house party he didn't want to go to to begin with. This has certainly been a thing that's happened, hasn't it? He doesn't have a response on his tongue per say, so the first thing that comes to mind seems like a safe bet.
“You're not wrong.” This causes him to erupt into snorting laughter, leaning his entire weight on the countertop now. That of course isn't a huge amount, but it goes to show how far gone he is completely. Sober Will probably would've made a big show of rolling his eyes and possibly smacking him for a stupid joke like that. After a while his laughing dies down, the expression on his face saying loud and clear how he has no idea what he'd been laughing about to begin with. It doesn't bother either of them in the slightest.
It takes Will a solid thirty seconds to physically catch his breath, and another half second to look as though something’s gone horribly wrong.
“Row’n?” He once again notably slurs over the second syllable of his name, though the sudden change in tone is far more concerning to say the least. The just darker than bronze hair framing his face contrasts even more so with how pale he's suddenly gotten.
“Yeah?”
“I dunno where the bathroom is.”
“Neither do I.” When Will swallows sharply, the look in his eyes reading panic, he finds no option except searching one out. He stumbles just getting off the counter, and it's already evident he's not going to make it to wherever the nearest bathroom is without help.
“If you throw up on me I’m gonna remind you of it everyday of your goddamn life.” Guiding him without thought, the bathroom thankfully doesn't take all that long to find, and he wastes no time in getting the poor soul inside upon another pained sound. Leaning against the other side of the door, he jolts at a different voice. It’s Lila, baby pink hair an utter nightmare as she holds his own cup out to him.
“Yo, what're you doin’ all the way over here?” He knocks on the door with one lazy knuckle, eliciting a vague sort of shout that’s quickly cut short.
“And that's…?”
“Will.”
“He was here?”
“I drove him, yeah.”
“Huh.” She shrugs, popping a Dorito into her mouth. She takes a moment before sipping her drink, a teal Solo cup, and speaking again.
“And he's already that wrecked? Jesus.” Now it’s his turn to shrug.
“He's gonna blame all this dumb shit in me in the morning too, I'd bet you twenty bucks.” She scoffs, giving him and the door a once over just moments before it swings inward, promptly causing Rowan to stumble backward with it.
“Gross.” is the first thing past Will’s lips as he slips by, leaning heavily on the wall behind him.
“I need my thing back.”
“Didn't you leave it on the counter?”
“I dunno! I kinda want somethin’ diff'rent anyway.” Without another word, he stumbles his way toward the table all the liquor had been housed on, squinting harshly enough at the labels that one might've thought he was dyslexic or severely farsighted. From behind him, Rowan watches as he fumbles with pouring a cherry something or other into an electric green cup this time. He takes a cautious sip off it before whirling around as best he could in such a condition. He needs a moment to adjust before speaking.
“Have you even had anything to drink yet?” The way he says “you even” sounds more like “yeeven” than any actual words.
“Yeah, why?” He swirls his own drink almost on instinct
“Juuuuuuuuust wonderin’. It doesn't look like you've had anything.”
“And what drink number is that?” He stares at it, trying to remember.
“This’uns like number 5 or 6. I think.” He hadn't even recognized Lila was still standing just over his shoulder until she drops a whispered
“Holy shit.” It seems like an accurate response. Rowan’s already predicted how this is going to end.
In a matter of minutes, when he finishes that drink particularly he's gonna persuade Will to head home. That of course meaning Bri’s gonna be cool with covering for them (he'd already done her a favor by convincing their mother she'd been out with friends), and drive them to the Li house. Rowan can text Ms. Moreau off Will’s phone pretty easily (he knows the passcode anyway) and keep him at their house until the hangover blows over. It won't be fun to deal with, but it's a pretty straightforward plan if he's to say so himself. Of course, he's also slightly intoxicated, but it's pretty straightforward to him nonetheless.
By the time he's shot off a text to his twin, Will’s made his way back to the drinks table to refill whatever the hell he's got.
“Wait a sec, hang on.”
“What?” He's still inching toward the ping tinged bottle.
“It's getting really fucking late, dude.”
“Uh huh?”
“I'm your ride.” It still doesn't click in him.
“We're going.” Shock streaks across flushed cheeks, lighting indignation in his expression.
“We can't go yet though!”
“We've gotta.” And with that, Will’s entire weight is on his arm.
“C’moooooooon.”
“Bri’s already outside. Do I have to fuckin’ carry you or something?”
“No?” He sighs, exasperated, and takes several shaky steps forward before wobbling like his very legs are threatening to give out. He shoots a
“Later.” in Lila’s direction, putting his own cup down and going to act as Will’s support once again as he stumbles for the door. Upon stepping outside an immediate
“Jesus!” escapes him, as he hunches over even further.
“What’s the problem?”
“It's fuckin’ freeeeeeeezing dude.”
“What? No it's not.”
“Yeah-huh. Th’only reason I'm not frozen is prolly th’alcohol.” He grins smugly.
“See how that works?”
“Not really.” The grin is abruptly wiped, replaced by something like aggravation.
“And whyzzat?”
“It’s June?”
“And?”
“It's 75 degrees out after dark.” Will pauses a moment, leaning even more of his weight against him.
“Whatever.”
It takes a few minutes to find the little Chevy, though when he does successfully spot it he takes no less than a minute hauling his dear friend into the backseat and taking shotgun himself.
“How was that?” She shoots him a side eye, wasting no time pulling out back onto the utterly pitch back road.
“Could've been better, could've been worse.” She grins in her typical lazy, almost eerie way.
“How was doing absolutely nothing?”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”