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FLASHBACK! july 4th, 2017
Nolan was in the backyard. It's where he likes to resides at parties, in the open air with the music and the games. Tonight, he would be carefree. He would let loose for the first time in a while- since he began filming his latest movie. He hasn't felt the fire of a shot going down his throat in months, not by choice of course. He lived by the words of his publicist whom he loved so well- "cut the shit, Nolan. or it's going to be over before it even started." As if on cue, Saorise came up to his side with a bottle of vodka in one hand a a beer in another. She nudged his shoulder with her own. "Pick your poison, baby. Cause tonight we go all in." It had just past 9pm and Nolan knew he had a long night ahead. But, he chose the vodka. "Waterfall?", Saorise asked, only receiving a nod from the man. Nolan threw his head back as the top came off of the bottle. "Yes bitch! Chug!" Saorise shouted quite loudly, catching the attention of a few people near by. They turned and looked, wondering what the commotion was about. Nolan chugged as much as he could, he was quite notorious for doing so. It felt as if he was drinking forever, but in reality he had only been for about 15 seconds. The crowd around him cheered as he immediately grabbed the corona and chugged that- an ineffective chaser. 11:26 pm Nolan felt sweat above his brow, wiping it for the tenth time this hour. He wasn't much of a dancer, but he had been jumping around with a few random people for the past twenty minutes. It's a miracle that he hasn't puked yet considering he's consumed more alcohol than he probably should have. I guess I spoke too soon- because, as if on cue, Nolan felt his stomach turn. Without a word to his new dance partners, he rushed up the stairs and down the hall to the bathroom, which thankfully seemed empty. Bursting through the door, Nolan barely made it to the toilet before collapsing on the ground. Not because he was sick, but because he was an idiot. He tripped over his own feet. Leaning over the toilet, preparing himself to puke. But nothing came, even with Nolan sticking his finger down his throat. "Come on, pussy boy. Fuckin puke", he said to himself, groaning and slamming his head on the counter next to him. "Um" a voice behind him slowly said. Snapping his head around, he was greeted with a look of disgust. There was a man sitting on the edge of the bathtub, phone in hand and eyebrows furrowed. Nolan looked him up and down as he began to laugh. "Are you okay?" the man asked, coming down from his short-lived fit of laughter. Nolan just stared at him, taking in his features. The chocolate brown curls that framed his face, the soft green eyes that could light up the sky- even in the dimly lit bathroom. His dimples shined through, a small smile on his face. This man, he was the definition of beauty. Meanwhile, the man cautiously looked at the other in front of him. The man on the floor had a look on his face, a look that couldn't be described by anyone but he who wore it. He was pale, with a bit of sweat right above his eyebrows. He looked sick, maybe? But not sick enough to be worried, he hoped. The man on the bathtub snapped his fingers and the look was wiped off. "Sorry, ummm, I'm fine. I think. But you should probably go incase I blow chunks." Nolan said, twisting his fingers in his short hair. "I'm Timothée, and I think I'd rather stay here, just incase you choke on your own vomit, you know? Just feel like it's the right thing to do", Timothée said, giggling. And so that's what they did. They sat in the bathroom for what seemed to be hours just talking. Nolan didn't puke, which was nothing short of a miracle. Eventually, the two sat in the bathtub with eachother, fingers interlocked and hearts on their sleeves. By the end of this night, they would know everything about one another. Timothée would tell Nolan about the time he crashed his mother's car when he was fifteen, and how he ended up blaming on some random stranger, saying "someone tried to mug me, mom! and i fought them off". He knew she didn't believe it, but she went along with it anyways, not wanting his father to know the truth. Nolan would laugh so hard at this story, he could've thrown up right there. And Nolan would tell Timothée about the time he nearly set Salem's kitchen on fire. While he was trying to make a toaster strudel. Timothée would laugh until he was afraid he would pee himself, the sides of his eyes slightly crinkling and his shoulders shaking. And then from there, they could only go up. Or so they thought. This was the beginning of their secrets. This was the beginning of their love. This was the beginning of Nolan and Timothée.
And their end would come quicker than either of them ever thought.
