Blood and alcohol stained Quinn's shirt. His mouth tasted like vodka and energy drinks, and now they also tasted like his boyfriend when Shane kissed him as he was pressed up against a brick wall. The cold stone texture poked him in the back, through the thin fabric of his shirt, while Shane's lips crashed into his like this was a last goodbye.

Maybe it was. Not that Quinn really wanted to think about that right now. Well, he couldn't really think about it, his mind too busy trying to comprehend what exactly had happened the past fifteen minutes.

Quinn pulled away from Shane, trying to lightly push him away, licking his lips. It wasn't just his own blood that he tasted now. Shane looked a lot worse than Quinn did, with a busted lip (apparently not busted enough to keep him from making out with Quinn), a bloody nose, sweat making his blue hair stick to his forehead.

When watching all these over dramatic teen shows, Quinn had always thought your partner fighting someone for you was super hot. And Shane had been promising that he'd totally beat someone's ass for Quinn for years. Now, he'd done exactly that. And it was nowhere near hot, just really embarrassing.

It was a stupid, unnecessary fight. But Shane liked to escalate things, he was passionate like that. So some poor drunk fucker accidentally spilled his drink on Quinn's favourite shirt, and Shane decided that there was no crime in the world that was worse than this.

So here they were, pressed against a wall, drunk (just tipsy, really), in the middle of the night, after swiftly being kicked out by the party's host for 'starting shit'. Nobody really cared about the fact that Quinn didn't start anything, and in fact had tried to end things.

But, really, he didn't want to stay at that party anyway. He didn't even know the host. And he was tired, so fucking tired.

"How are you gonna get home?" Quinn asked, turning his head a little to the side to keep Shane from kissing his lips, which he seemed to take as an invitation to instead drag his lips across Quinn's exposed neck.

"Uber," Shane murmured against his skin, leaving kiss after kiss, and probably a trail of blood. This could've been hot. It really wasn't, though. "Unless you can take me home with you?"

"Sorry." Quinn scanned the empty streets for a car, a trace of his brother, who'd reluctantly agreed to pick him up. Headlights approached in the distance. "Visiting Oakwell tomorrow, you know that."

Shane hummed, finally pulled away from Quinn to look at him, scan his face with those steel eyes that he once couldn't get enough of. Tonight, they really only looked cold. And almost disappointed.

"Alright, nerd." He brushed his hand through Quinn's curls, tangled and sticky, a smirk on his lips. "You've become a real smart ass, you know that?" He hadn't. He just somehow got a bunch of rich people to think he was smart. "I think your brother's coming. Get home safely, babe."

Shane kissed Quinn again, then finally took a step back, pulling out his own phone to call an uber.

Quinn exhaled when the familiar car pulled up, sending a quick smile and wave over to Shane before getting in. After closing the door behind him, he cleared his throat, carefully looking at his brother when he spoke to him. "Thanks for-"

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" James had never been a very welcoming, warm, or friendly person, but he'd gotten so much worse lately. His green eyes had narrowed to mere slits, his freckled nose wrinkled. "We're supposed to be on our way to Oakwell in five fucking hours, and you're out here getting drunk- And you've got a bloody nose!"

"Alright, Jamie. Calm your tits." Quinn crossed his arms, pulled his legs up to his torso to let his feet rest on the car seat. Every movement hurt. "It's not that bad. You should see the other guy."

"The other- The hell happened?" Usually, James' driving style was painfully safe, but there were times where his emotions pushed down on the gas pedal, not his conscience. Times like tonight. His pale knuckles turned almost completely white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Shane- We got into a fight. I mean, not me and him, but he and someone else. A guy spilled his drink on me and Shane wanted to... Defend me, I guess? And like, I tried to go between them but then I caught a punch and then they kicked us out."

"So why were you getting involved?"

"I didn't want them to- Hey, not questioning why Shane fucking beat a guy for spilling his fucking drink?"

"At least he wanted to protect you." James shook his head. "But Shane doesn't matter, you're bloody and drunk and smell like shit, and you're gonna show up hungover tomorrow at Oakwell out of all places."

"No, no, hold that thought. Why do you always take Shane's side?" Quinn ignored the fact that James was kinda right with his last point. He'd been to his highschool running on four hours of sleep and dried blood stuck to his nose before. But he was supposed to meet Oakwell's director for the first time tomorrow. This was different.

"And why are you never on his side? Considering he's your boyfriend, you always talk about him like you hate his guts."

"I don't," Quinn said a little too quickly, and way too offended. Yes, Shane was... a mess. But so was Quinn. And Shane had been by his side through his worst years. Shane was his first love, his first boyfriend, and his third, and fifth and sixth. Shane was his guiding star when Quinn's world had been plunged into darkness.

He did absolutely, totally, definitely love him because of that. No matter their arguments and breakups and all those ups and downs, especially the downs. Shane was, in the end, the only person Quinn had. And the only person that loved him.

"He's a good guy, Quinn, he means well-"

"But I'm a bad guy for trying to break up a fight?" Quinn wiped his face with his sleeve, a red streak now smeared across the pastel pink fabric.

"The fight doesn't matter. My god, you just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what exactly-"

"See, that's what I mean. What pisses me off is that you're setting yourself up when you know damn well how important tomorrow is for you. You need to get your shit together for fucking once, Quinton." When James was angry (or disappointed), he'd always get so awfully red in the face, until his skin almost matched his hair. But that really wasn't the worst part about James' bursts of emotion.

Because his voice sounded a little too much like his father's, his tone heavy, every word leaving his mouth slowly and clearly, so that Quinn would catch each and every one of them.

"You don't even realise how irresponsible you are. You just do whatever you feel like doing, don't give a shit about the future, the consequences, yourself, anything. You just do what you like, but guess what, once you're at Oakwell, you don't get to act like that anym-"

"My fucking god, James, I get it." Quinn stared out the car window, avoiding his older brother's gaze. He was starting to feel sick. Which was just the alcohol, of course, and not that feeling of impending doom that'd been haunting him since the acceptance letter came in. "Stop complaining, I'm too tired to listen to you anyway."

"Wonder how to fix that tired problem. Maybe, I don't know, you could've stayed home and gone to sleep at a reasonable time."

"For fucks sake, you're not my dad, chill."

James fell silent for a second, the car slowing down to a more reasonable speed as though that single word was a trigger, then: "Very funny. But I am your legal guardian. And you know exactly that dad wouldn't have allowed you to go out either."

"But mom would've."

Silence again, this time lasting longer. The argument ended here. As any argument did as soon as either of them brought up their parents. A true conversation killer. Grace always talked about their parents with such fondness and love, but whenever James did, he ended up sounding bitter. Like he was mad at them for leaving him with his two stupid irresponsible siblings. Like they'd robbed him of the life he wanted.

Quinn dared to turn his head towards James for a second, just to see his gaze fixed onto the dark street in front of them, his lips pressed together into a thin line. The night was as quiet as it could be on London streets, and Quinn turned his attention towards the passing lights again.

He remembered when his mother had picked him up from his very first party, if one could even call it that, the last time he'd be in the car with her alone. Lights flashing by, the grin on her face, his own tipsy rambles, that sensation of having drank alcohol for the first time and how he described in detail to her what he was feeling when he knew fully well that he should've pretended to be sober.

Except, did he actually remember it? He didn't, not really, but he knew he should remember. That night was supposed to be that last fond memory of his mother, the first story to tell when someone asked him what his parents were like.

It was supposed to be that flashback scene with dreamy sepia filters, echoed laughter. The memory that would characterise his mother for the rest of his life, the state she was frozen in forever. And even once he'd forgotten what her voice sounded like, he could still think back to that one night.

But when he sat in the car that night, he didn't make an effort to memorise her every word. How would he have possibly known that this single late night car ride would soon have to define the way anyone saw her?

But he knew his mother, and he knew to reconstruct a memory of her well enough.

She'd probably looked at him with disappointment in her eyes before remembering that he was just a kid, just wanting to see the world, and hey, didn't we all do stupid shit in our youth?

And then, surely, she would've listened to his rambles, taking note of how his voice would've changed slightly under the influence of what must've been very light alcohol, probably a single beer. And maybe she would've scolded him a little, but with a grin on her face, telling him to be more careful next time, telling him that he could always call her.

Quinn chose to remember her that way.

He didn't know what happened in the days, or the week after that. All he had was this singular phantom memory. The rest was hazy. Except for that one evening that followed soon after. But he decided to let it be hazy as well.

Quinn closed his eyes, and his head began to spin. That was the past, wasn't it. The dead wouldn't come back to life. What was important now was that he didn't throw up in his brother's car. And that he'd make a half decent impression at Oakwell tomorrow.

He was going to fuck these nerds up, alright.

☆-☆-☆-☆

WC: 1928

here we are, the first chapter! meet Quinn and his shitshow of a life. i'm really SO excited to finally share this story! it's been months! AAAH!!!!

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this chapters song:

Feel Anything by Nxdia