soccer season ♂ freethelgbt

0;05 ♂ free pink shots and thrilling bare arses

CHAPTER FIVE

‘in which your character is caught in a compromising position’
‘in which your character goes out at 2 in the morning and has a one night stand’

      STEVEN WOULD LIKE to say that alcohol never got to him, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Because the truth was, that he remembered next to nothing about the previous night, however much he twisted and turned under his covers, however much he dug through his brain and memories. And if the tugging feeling in his stomach tried to tell him anything, it was that it was best not to know, even if it would have him wondering.

But Steven wouldn’t be Steven if he listened to his gut-feeling, so he texted Leila. (After he recovered from the sudden bright light coming from his phone).

Steven (08:43): What happened last night?

Leila (08:56): 1. you’re paying for my breakfast because you just woke me up, come get me in thirty, 2. why? Don’t tell me you remember nothing at all.

Steven (08:58): What is it with my friends and taking them to food places? And no, no I don’t. I do remember puking my guts out somewhere around three in the morning but I think I passed out after that. And I remember you taking off with a girl, you go girl!

Leila (08:59): Shut up. Anyways, I’ll catch you up when we are having breakfast in that cute little café that serves those greasy, amazing croissants, yeah? I expect you here, 09:30 on the dot. Bye!

Steven (09:00): I have a life, you know. And that café is expensive as hell.

Steven (09:04): So, you’re just not going to respond?

Steven (09:06): OKAY THEN IT SAYS READ

Steven (09:08): Tit.

Steven threw his phone on his bed, kicking it somewhere to the end, and got up. He stretched, feeling the joints in his back pop, but the ache wasn’t gone yet. And neither was the one in his head. So he slowly made his way downstairs, trying not to step on the steps of the stairs that creaked. His parents were out for work already, and Chris was probably out too, but it wasn’t only for the sake of letting everyone in the house have their beauty sleep (god knows they needed it) but any sound made the throbbing in Steven’s head worse.

He padded into the kitchen, opening the medicine cupboard and popped two painkillers from the package, swallowing them down with a glass of water. He looked over at the clock, finding out he had still a reasonable time to get to Leila’s house­—she was scary when she was mad—and padded back up the stairs.

Twenty minutes later he jogged back down, feeling refreshed and sober enough to face the horrible things that he was about to hear. Or not so horrible things, according to Steven himself. Whenever he went out he always ended up at the bar, chatting with a lonely old man, puking his way to bed and falling asleep. He wouldn’t know why it would be different this time, but the feeling in his stomach still twisted, something Steven had ignored for as long as he could remember.

He got into his car, taking off onto the streets towards Leila’s house.

   ♂

“So...,” Steven trailed off, pricking his fork into the mush of pancakes that lay on his plate. Leila looked up at him, taking a break in stuffing her face full of the greasy croissants she’d been talking about. (Steven should’ve taken that order, he concluded, when he took a bite of the mountain of half-raw puke-a-like ‘pancakes.)