love your love the most

1 // day drinkin' & gloomin'

Chase has a slight problem. A help-I'm-straight-but-I'm-in-love-with-my-best-male-friend kind of problem. A problem no Georgia boy—let alone Elliott boy—has any business having, yet here we are.

He had a girlfriend—a beautiful one—but they both got sick and tired of their off-again on-again-type relationship. And, well, he was also trying to deal with the realization that he's absolutely gone for his best friend. Fucking Ryan fucking Blaney.

Lord knows he didn't tell Kaylie that, though.

Long story short, he's fucked. And not in a good way. Which is why he's currently alone at some bar in Mooresville, far away from all things Chase Elliott. Well, at least he thought he was alone.

*Buzz*

New text message from: Blaney

Dude what are you doing in Mooresville?

Well, fuck.

He's not going to act like he wasn't hoping Ryan would notice he was in his neck of the woods. They do have "Share my location" enabled on their phones, after all. He was just hoping he wouldn't have to deal with him—and these feelings—so soon.

Chase lets out a sigh as he responds to him.

Chase: Drinking, you?

Ryan: Uh...living? Seriously why are you over here? Why didn't you tell me?

Chase: Idk man. Meet me at the bar on Williamson and I'll explain?

Ryan: Sure. Be there in 10. You doing okay man?

Chase: Yeah

Cool.

So he's gone from fucked, to double fucked. He's always been amazed at his ability to make poor decisions on the regular, and this time is no different.

How the hell is he going to tell Ryan? Should he tell him?

Nonsense. Of course he should. He's his best friend and he deserves to know. It just might kill their relationship, though. Like fucking obliterate it. He's certain Blaney's straight as an arrow and will surely not understand what he's going through, even though he himself always thought he was straight as an arrow as well. Shit happens, apparently.

Chase orders a jack and coke as he waits for Ryan to show up. Hopefully it'll give him some liquid courage  to get through the hell that's sure to transpire.

He's on his second by the time Ryan shows up looking slightly worried and disheveled, but still oh-so handsome like he always does. The damn bastard. Who even looks that good in a fucking buttoned up flannel and vintage racing cap? Ryan does, that's who. Fuck.

As Ryan sits down on the stool next to him he orders a bourbon and ginger ale. After he gets his drink, Chase watches him take a swig, eyes focused on the way his adam's apple bobs. Ryan doesn't notice him clench his fists in frustration.

"How long you been here man?" Ryan finally says to him, body angled toward his on his stool.

"Mooresville or this bar?"

"Both."

"Mooresville, a day. The bar, an hour or so."

"Hmm."

"Yup."

They sit in awkward silence for about 2 minutes or so, both not checking their phones or anything. Just sitting and staring at everything but the other person.