Blinded by Limerence

64 | Sleepy Hours

It was the around three in the morning, a time where normal students should be asleep; however, Archer and Chase weren't your average students. No, they've experienced something no high school student should experience at their ripe age—the death of a classmate.

Trevor was more to them than just a classmate, though, and that's probably why they've pulled up a seat at the bar, each nursing a gin and tonic in their hands.

"I'm still kind of in disbelief, you know?" Archer slurred before throwing his arm over Chase's shoulder and drawing him close. "What happens when we go back to school and—and inevitably see his chair empty? His locker standing idly by, still filled with his school stuff... What then?"

At Archer's grimly true words, Chase rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and downed his drink in one go. He gestured the bartender for a refill. 

"I—I don't know," the intoxicated boy answered honestly. He paused to make way for a number of hiccups fighting their way back up his throat. 

"All I know is," he said, taking a slow, agonizing sip of alcohol, when the bartender had slid the newly filled glass across the bar to him, "I ditched Eric for this, and I don't even feel guilty. Not one bit, no siree. All he wants to do is talk about how I must be feeling, and I swear, I can't take one more pitiful stare from him."

Archer nodded solemnly. "At least you've got an Eric," he blurted out.

"Wait, do you mean—"

Quick to respond, Archer vigorously shook his head, shooting down any theories that had sprouted in Chase's mind. "No, not like that," he whisper-yelled frantically. "What with the whole love triangle thing with Trevor and Morgan, I just—don't know, I just wanted someone to love, I didn't know it'd come to be this messed up." 

At this moment, the bartender ducked under the bar and left to attend to some other customers, and Archer felt something tingle within him. He had the sudden urge to do something, to do something reckless and impulsive, something that would distract him from the crushing pain of loss.

Before he could change his mind or the tingle could go away, he leaned over the bar, huffing, and grabbed the nearest bottle within his reach. 

Chase, despite his massive alcohol intake, still hadn't reached that level of drunkenness wherein you'd throw away all the cares in the world, like Archer just had. His eyes widened comically, but before he could say anything, Archer flung his hand over the boy's mouth and pulled him outside the pub with haste.

Draughty though the bar was, outside was worse, even though spring was fast-approaching, owing to the wind and sleet; the post-winter sweater weather was upon them. Chase could see his breath before his eyes, and he wished Archer had never stolen that bottle of tequila. 

"Hey, Hastings," he bellowed warningly as he watched his friend pop open the cork and take a swig directly from the unpaid for bottle. He narrowed his eyes at the dark circles under the boy's bloodshot eyes. "What the fuck?"

Defeated, Archer put down the bottle and sat down on the curb. Chase wordlessly followed suit, crossing his legs beneath him.

"Look," the brunette began softly, "I just want to feel something other than grief, okay? Let's just..." He trailed off, losing the will to explain himself and justify his less-than-questionable actions. "...leave it at that, okay?"