ex-strangers || a jeffmads fic

chapter seven

madison.

James blinked, the sun harsh on his dark eyes. What was... happening? He sat up, blinking again and rubbing his eyes. He was... in a bed. He swallowed, horror exploding in him, until he realized that it was Maria's guest room and not someone else's house. He shuddered at the thought and climbed from the bed.

Into the kitchen he went. Maria was chatting with Peggy and Eliza in the kitchen, the three of them sharing a plate of Pop-Tarts. "Morning," James said groggily, suddenly desperate to go home. What had happened last night?

"Morning, sleepyhead," Maria teased, glancing over at James. "It's ten in the morning. What made you sleep so long?"

James blinked, staring at her. "I... don't know. One moment I was—" He broke off, not prepared to tell the three (albeit very interested) girls about his adventures last night. "—at the party, the next, waking up here."

"You passed out at like, one in the morning," Eliza explained.

Peggy grinned. "Yeah. Maria drove you here because she didn't want to leave you there and she didn't feel like driving all the way to your house."

Maria glared at her, and Peggy winked. "Also, I didn't just want to leave you at your house questioning everything alone. You can question with us."

James shook his head, and then nodded, seemingly confused. "I do have a lot of questions," he muttered, heading toward the countertop where the plate was. "May I?"

"'Course," Maria stated. James took a Pop-Tart and leaned on the table, taking a bite. Hm. Cinnamon.

"Tell us about last night," Peggy prompted, wiggling her eyebrows at James, amusement in her voice.

And with that, James deemed it time to tell them about the stranger.

"It started at the party at Lafayette's place."

—

jefferson.

If there was one thing Thomas believed in, (and there probably only was one thing) it was that being drunk didn't change anything, it just removed your filter.

Drunk people showed their true colors. And while Thomas didn't really get too drunk off of a few drinks, there were some people who did.

The stranger last night was one of them. He'd had one drink—one—and was strangely flirty; contrary to the softspoken personality Thomas had read from him before. It was amusing, sure, but in the morning when Thomas woke up in his own bed with only a mild headache, he knew that the stranger would be waking up confused and broken.

Thomas unlocked his phone from where it lay on his nightstand. Aaron has been texting him with updates all night, and Thomas was just letting it happen. This morning Aaron sent a text—and, unlike the other drunken texts, it was in perfect grammar.

[burr: Holy shit, Tom. Sorry 'bout that. I was wasted yesterday.]

Thomas snorted.

[jefferson: no sweat, burrsicle]

He got up, heading into his kitchen for a breakfast of Lucky Charms and lemonade.

But his mind wandered back to the stranger. He was cute, wasn't he? And good at kissing. On god, if the stranger hadn't disappeared halfway through the night Thomas was sure things would've gone well for him. He grinned to himself.

But it was funny, seeing the stranger twice. If he went to the next party and saw the stranger again, Thomas was not going to hesitate (not that he ever did).

Good morning.