Comfort

Saturday, April 24th, 02:34

This is the third time Andrew has been thrown out after being picked up from the bar. It’s becoming a habit, he knows, but it’s honestly not his choice and he can’t really comfortably stay home.

Jaiden has been praying more often than not, rosary draped over tan knuckles, and Andrew can’t help but to wince when he whispers prayers in relation to homosexuality and sin. Jaiden doesn’t know— and Andrew will never tell him— that he shares a room with a homosexual. That, on the bad days, he shares a bed with one.

Just the reminder of these things makes Andrew shiver, a cold dread curling into his gut and finding home in his heart. He should catch a taxi or something, he’s still entirely too drunk to drive and his car isn’t even here because he left it at the bar. Inwardly sighing, he rubs his bleary eyes and pulls out his phone, swiping away an emergency notification about some new virus as if there isn’t something new every month. The taxi is money out of his pocket that he really doesn’t have, but maybe if he just picks up a few more shifts at the butcher his credit score will be okay again. Maybe. Even if his grades suffer.

A gust of wind hits his sweat soaked skin and Andrew becomes acutely aware of how disgusting he feels. He knows his skin will be bruised come the morning and he idly hopes the bruising is in interesting shapes at least. Hell, maybe it'll be the shape of a J.

Waiting for the taxi feels like centuries have passed and he keeps stumbling over nothing at all and then giggling at himself and somewhere along the way he thinks he might've texted “I miss you” to his ex, or maybe it was to his mother. He misses his mother so much. Her and her brownies and her warm hugs…

The taxi arrives, startling Andrew and interrupting his train of thought, calling out: “are you Andrew?” To which Andrew nods like an over excited puppy and eagerly climbs into the back of the car. It's only when he's seated and they start driving that he remembers about his extreme car sickness that he gets only when he’s drunk. Andrew should warn the driver. Probably. But he's already throwing up out the window before he can manage to ask the man to pull over, followed by the man yelling and spewing profanities at him.

Andrew barely remembers anything from the taxi ride after that.

Actually— that’s a lie. He remembers enough to know that he tipped a lot more than he was meant to and almost cried over it and then said “I love you” to the driver as if they were forlorn lovers. Because of course he did. He at least hopes the tip money will go into getting the car cleaned before the driver picks anyone else up.

By the time he manages to stumble up the stairs to the dorms, his head is pounding and his dignity is in shreds, left somewhere back at the bar. Or maybe he left it in the taxi with that “I love you.” It’s hard to say right now. He fumbles with the keys for longer than necessary, misses the lock twice, and then the door swings open.

Jaiden stands there barefoot, bed shirt on, hair a mess like usual. There’s a glow to the TV behind him, some late-night show rerun that makes Jaiden look angelic.

“You reek of alcohol,” Jaiden says flatly, eyes trailing over Andrew’s worn state, his nose wrinkling. It's not the first time Jaiden has seen Andrew drunk, but it's relatively rare with how studious he is.

Andrew blinks at him and briefly considers lying before deciding against it. He’d like to say ‘not to Jaiden, never to Jaiden’ but somewhere between his mind and mouth he mixes up the truth with lies anyway.

“I’m devastatingly sober, actually.”

Jaiden stares at him for a long second, pursing his lips before he nods. “Right. Forget that I mentioned you smelling like it then,” he says sarcastically. There’s a pause then. A weird, uncomfortable silence that stretches just enough to have Andrew shifting on his feet. Then Jaiden steps aside.

“Get in before you wake the rest of the dorm,” he mutters, already turning back towards the couch. Andrew hesitates in the doorway for half a second longer as the words register in his alcohol riddled mind. He realises then that this new feeling in his chest is relief, shoulders dropping at the easy and silent forgiveness between them.

Jaiden doesn’t look at him as Andrew kicks off his shoes and nearly trips over them immediately after, but he does eventually make it to the couch safely. There’s a blanket and a dented pillow and Andrew comes to the sudden realisation that Jaiden must’ve been asleep there while waiting for him. Guilt blooms in his chest, overshadowing the previous relief. Then his eyes catch on a still cold aloe drink, condensation dripping onto the wooden table. It's something Andrew always has to soothe the unavoidable hangover that he’ll have the next morning. He squints at it.

“Is that for me?” He asks slowly, as if he can’t understand how or why the drink suddenly showed up. “Last I remember, you don’t drink those.”

Jaiden huffs, glancing over towards Andrew now. “God forbid I want to try something new? But yes, it is for you. You texted me for one.”

Andrew freezes at the mention of a text. “I did?”

Jaiden picks up his phone and reads off of it: “‘I think I’ve made several mistakes. This is to note that none of them are legally binding. Yet. If that happens, please call your dad. Also, doesn’t getting me a drink sound so good?’ That’s from you.” His voice is deadpan the entire time.

Shutting his eyes, Andrew mulls over the words before he sighs heavily.

“That does sound like me, yes.” Without sharing any other words, Andrew climbs onto the couch and, ultimately, on top of Jaiden, pressing his cheek to the other man’s chest. “You’re warm,” he says as if that’s any excuse to get on top of him. “Comfy.” They’ve been in similar positions before, though only when Jaiden inevitably gets broken up with by his never ending list of lovers and is in need of comfort. They’re always female, and never Andrew.

Jaiden sighs but… he doesn't pull away. Instead he pets over Andrew’s nape and tells himself that Andrew won't remember any of this in the morning. The thought settles him.

“Have a drink,” he says softly, reaching for the bottle and uncapping it. When Andrew grumbles in dismay, he continues. “One sip and I'll let you sleep.” The reassurance that he'll be able to sleep if he only follows this one request gets Andrew moving, easily tilting his head to drink from the offered bottle. He pulls away quickly after, entirely too exhausted to think of anything more, much less move, so he collapses back onto Jaiden's chest.

“Night,” he murmurs, words slurred with sleep. Jaiden laughs and tugs him closer, his own eyes drooping. He presses his cheek to Andrew’s head, nuzzling like a cat.

“Yeah. G’night.”

Andrew thinks that was the last normal night he had, or at least the last normal one he can remember. The night before the outbreak. Before the leeches, as they took to calling them not long after.

They’re a physical manifestation, as the government has announced. Trauma, bad dreams, general anxiety— they leech onto minds and souls, convince the bearer that it’s part of them, that it’s always been there. The leeches drag the bearer deeper into these feelings or memories of trauma and anxiety and convince them to act so unlike themselves that it’s almost impossible for an onlooker not to notice. This ends with the bearer giving up their mind. The mind and heart stop, blood isn’t needed for these leeches, they only need a warm body.

When the body cools and the leeches shiver, they find a new, warmer body to make home in.

And one of their first victims was the body under Andrew. Jaiden.