Party nights are not my favorite.

We have a game tomorrow, but do my teammates care? No. Instead, it's like they said let's drink so much we blackout and give Alex a jumpscare! Sounds fun?

No. No, it does not, Max.

Everyone's friends are talking, shouting, above the music. My ears are drumming, but I need to take care of Dante, who is currently singing along at the top of his longs to Great Balls Of Fire. He's having the time of his life.

I notice him swaying on his feet while he laughs and does a spin. That means he'll probably be out in between this and twenty minutes. Absolutely great.

Elias and Arabella are in the hallway, heavily making out. I close the door, giving them some privacy. If they help me with my problems, I think it's fair if I take care they don't get photographed in the middle of feeling each other up. 

Speaking of problems, I hear the conversation at the front door getting louder and louder. So loud, I can almost understand what they're saying three rooms away and over the music. I know Justin's somewhere there, so I better go look before it ends in a fight.

With a last glance on a slow dancing Dante (on the Macarena? He's so far gone) I step in the hallway leading to the front door. Since that door has been open all night, the air is crisp. I like that, it gives me an opportunity to breathe fresh air.

"No, you're not coming in. You weren't invited! And you, shouldn't you be in a hospital somewhere? I thought you headache was so bad?" Justin's mocking voice is one to be recognized out of thousands. I sigh, stepping in view of the poor people at his wrath.

"Oh, thank God," the left one mutters. I think I know him from somewhere, but it slips my mind for a second. Maybe I know the one on the right—Oh.

Jake. And his best friend, the one who wasn't very fond of me on Tuesday. 

"What're you doing here?" I smile. I wouldn't have expected this, ever. Jake was very clear when he said he rather wouldn't be friends. 

"Not getting in!" Justin exclaims. I push him away, and my hand might have been in his face while doing so. "I invited them, so back down. Christ."

Best Friend's face clears up. He went from scowling at me to looking at me like I just single handedly opened the door to heaven. "You're letting us in? Really?"

I shrug. "Of course. The more people, the better, right? Do you want something to drink?"

They follow me inside the house. I show them the kitchen and all the sorts of drinks, and am just about to pour one for Best Friend when someone yanks me backwards by my shirt. The cup in my hand is barely saved before I'm dragged along. "Alexander, you have to see this!"

And then I'm facing a passed out Dante, in the middle of the dance floor. I groan. Couldn't he have moved to the couch or something? Now I have to carry him away.

I attempt to tap his cheek, hoping he's still a little here. Maybe he's just asleep and maybe he can move to the couch or his bed by himself. All I get is a slurred, "Titties," before he starts to snore. There's no way he'll wake up now. 

"Should we help?" I startle at the sound of Jake's voice so close to my ear. He's right behind me bending through my knees, and if I wasn't already holding Dante's head as support because my balance is shit, I would've fallen. "Uh, if you don't mind."

"Flynn!" he shouts to the brunette in the kitchen. Flynn. I should remember that name from now on. With three of us now, it's easy to move my drunk friend to a safer spot. While we're at it, I guide them to Dante's room. 

When he's comfortable in his bed and not in any danger of suffocating, I switch off the lights in his room. He better be up and pumping tomorrow morning for the game, or I'm going to kick some ass. His, to be exact.

"I'm sorry," I tell Jake and Flynn as we walk back to the kitchen to finally get them their drinks. I'm a horrible host. 

Jake smiles, to my surprise. "That's no problem, I've had to do it enough with this one here." He points at Flynn.

"Hey!" Flynn says. "I'm not the only one who gets drunk, you know. Remember last year's bonfire?"

The tips of Jake's ears color red. I stay offside, enjoying myself by listening to their conversation. It's nice to hear something about how Jake has been doing since we stopped talking. 

"Alex," Flynn suddenly involves me, "did he drink badly in high school too? Please say yes and help me win my argument."

A little confused as to how and why he switched up on me this fact, I wonder if Jake would think it's horrible if I helped Flynn. Is this going to screw up my chances of being his friend again.

"Well," I try out, "he wasn't too careful with drinking, but we always made sure the other would stay as good as sober. Just so we wouldn't get in trouble. So it was responsible drinking."

Jake scoffs at his best friend, obviously smug about my addition to this. "And that's that. I'm responsible, thank you very much."

Flynn mocks him before gulping down his cup in one go. He looks at me. "Where are the stronger shots?"

Turns out, Jake is still a very nice drunk.

I've seated him at the kitchen table. Flynn has disappeared and I have no idea where he is. But Jake is definitely more fun.

"Don't leave," he pouts, grabbing my arm and pulling me back when I head somewhere else. With a stupid smile (that won't disappear), I lean against the table. "I'm not leaving."

He crosses his arms on the table and leans his head on them. I scan his face, waiting for him to say something. To give me a reason why I can't leave. Or maybe explain why he pulled up here when he said he didn't want to be friends or anything like that.

"You're really beautiful," he sighs, sounding like that confession was taking too much energy to keep for himself. Intrigued, I lean a little closer. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah," he sighs again. "If you weren't multiplying, I would really enjoy the view. Why don't you stop doing that?"

He's drunker than I thought. 

"Because I'm a little annoying at some times," I grin. "Do you want to go lie down?"

He frowns, lifts his head. "As in, lie on your bed?"

Drunk and bold. "If you want to lie on my bed, sure. Let's go."

I give him my hand, just so he can steady himself and totally not for myself. He smiles broadly and accepts it, curling one hand in mine while the other grabs my arm. He's now tangled all around my left side, but I can't bring myself to be bothered by it.

"Let's sleep together!" he offers, eyes shining up at me while he waits for an answer. I like how he's still a solid 4 inches shorter than me. But oh, imagine if I told him that. Drunk or not, I would be dead tomorrow. No doubt. 

"Share a bed, but yeah," I nod. He ignores what I said and happily skips next to me. "Where is your room?"

I point at the door a few feet away. He lets go of me and tries to be the first, but he sways and almost trips. I can catch him right before he falls. "Woah, there."

All he does is laugh it away. Eager as he is, he reaches for the doorknob. Then he's gone, faster than I expected him to move.

God, he's almost worst than Dante when drunk.

When I see him again, he's sprawled out on my bed, enjoying himself by looking around in my room. I try to see it through his eyes, but there's really nothing special. Still, his eyes always dart back to my top shelf. 

"You remembered," he whispers. I frown. Not really. 

I join him on the bed. He's laying down while I'm sitting, so he can probably see right in my nose. Maybe it's better if I lay down, too. 

"I can't believe you still have them." He points up at the shelf, and I finally see what he means. The line of rubber ducks is what he's aiming at. 

I shrug, feeling a little bared. "It's not really that special—" "It is!"

When I look at his face, he's delighted. I don't know if it's the alcohol speaking, or our time apart, but I'm surely enjoying it. 

I switch off the lights and tuck him in. He wants me to stay, and I will, but just until he's fallen asleep. His hand grabs mine as his eyes close, and he won't let go.

"You know," he says, and now I can really tell he's slurring. Maybe he was focusing on hiding it for me. 

"Maybe I do wanna be friends again," he mumbles. My heart skips a beat. "You're nice."

"And beautiful," I add. "Don't forget beautiful."

Instead of laughing or mocking me like I'd expected, he just smiles. It's not too dark in the room, so I can perfectly see the contours of his face. "Yeah."

Within a moment, he's moved on top of me, his face really close to mine. I put my hand on his chest, not allowing him to come any closer. "Jake—"

"Kiss me," he breathes, eyes blinking up at me with desperation. He looks so much younger. I recognize his sixteen year old self. 

This moment is almost identical to five years ago. A dark night, both of us tired of just being best friends and having the opportunity to change it. 

Except that he's drunk and we're not at all best friends. All the decisions he made that have led up to this, were drunk ones. It'd be wrong if I went along with his persuasions. 

"Not now," I whisper. "You're drunk."

"Am not!"

"Okay," I accept the lie. "But I'm not going to kiss. Maybe I'm a little tipsy."

Now he frowns and nods. "Oh. Do you promise we'll kiss later?"

I tuck a lost strand of hair behind his ear. "You know I can't promise you that." Sober Jake does, at least.

He pouts, but before any more words can be exchanged between us, the door slams open. It startles us both. The sharp light of the hallway must be blinding Jake, because he hides his face in the nape of my neck.  

Protectively (and with the sole purpose of hiding him of potential harm, of course) I wrap my arm around his waist.

Flynn steps into my room, once again glaring. If he was even the slightest bit drunk earlier, he doesn't show it. He looks fully sober and ready to throw some punches. 

"You're a piece of shit," he tells me, matter-of-factly. I frown and am just about to ask what crawled up his ass and died when I realize how bad I look. 

Jake is straddling me (our hips aren't touching, but it could be seen as that from afar), with his face tucked against me and my arm wrapped around him in a secure hold. In a dark bedroom.

"Look, Flynn," I nervously mutter, gently rolling Jake back to his side of the bed. He grumbles, but accepts his fate and pulls the sheets up to his nose. 

"He's drunk," Flynn whispers/yells, knowing Jake doesn't give a single fuck about saving me and will just sleep, but still wanting to scream at me. 

"I know he is," I whisper/shout back, getting out of the tangled up sheets as soon as I can to guide him back to the hallway. When we're back in the safety of Jake not hearing us, his voice raises. 

"You cannot just disappear with a drunk person on a party, Alexander. I thought you were pretty okay earlier this evening, but this proves exactly how shitty you are."

I wince. "Can I explain, please? I know Jake's drunk, and I know you don't mess around with that. When I saw he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, I suggested resting on my bed for a little while. It was him who initiated the kiss, but I pushed him away. I was in the middle of doing so when you barged in."

Now he looks taken aback. "Oh."

He scratches the back of his head, not knowing what to say all of a sudden. It seems he has a hard time talking to me if it isn't the anger talking. 

"Well. . ." he mumbles. "This is a little awkward now."