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You Look Like I Need A Drink; Alternatively: Isaac and Jae Make Good Life Decisions
Topic Started: Feb 10 2016, 10:06 PM (604 Views)
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And I am still hungry.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
There was a sharp, clear, dizzying moment when their eyes met and Jae remembered that this was Isaac, fucking Isaac, and he had, he'd just-

Everything about this was wrong right now, everything was-

Jae shoved Isaac away from him, wheeled back one unsteady step.

"Motherfuck-"

And that's when he pitched forward and threw up all over Isaac's shoes.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Emprexx Plush
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Paige/EP/Plush, they/them pronouns pls thanks :3
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Oh god there was vomit why was there vomit it was all over his shoes why had he worn sandals fuck it was soaking through his socks fuck fuck oh huuuuuuuuuurgh

Isaac's stomach apparently decided it was a great time to show Jae how spewing was really done. Bile and booze and shock boiled up out through his chest right into Jae's hair, covering his head in a foul, unending stream. Every time he tried to hack and stop, he breathed in the mixed stench of their combined mess and he gagged right out again.

He didn't clearly when it ended, or how he got away from the party, or where the fuck his shoes and socks went. He just remembered stopping to barf again sometime in the street, running, and wondering where the fuck his shoes and socks went.

No matter how much the rest of the night was a blur though, the kiss wasn't. His mind has decided to focus in on that and keep it razor sharp, no matter how much he didn't want to think about it. He could protest, and curse, and rage at his own brain because he didn't want these fucking feelings, he didn't want to be this way, but it wouldn't change anything.

So he buried it, and gave that corner of his head a wide berth from then on.

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Plush Wants To Read Your Dead Things and your Living Things! As of 8/14/2017, the Living Queue is Closed, and the Dead Queue is Open!
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And I am still hungry.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
This was wrong, everything was wrong, no time to recover before Isaac decided to follow his impressive example and oh god there was vomit in his hair, that motherfucker-

Jae could have smacked him, but then Isaac was gone and he needed to be away from here, more than he'd ever needed anything. He staggered away from the mess they'd both left, back door, outside, fresh air, denial, freedom. He doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees to try and catch his breath as his head spun.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He stumbled around the side of the house, feeling along the wall until he found the faucet that a garden hose would be connected to, and he dropped to his knees in the grass to wash the vomit out of his hair. Son of a bitch.

He didn't know how things had gone so wrong so quickly. His head was still swimming and he couldn't concentrate. He didn't want to concentrate, not really, not on this.

This... there was no this.

Tonight didn't happen. He didn't see Isaac, didn't talk to him, didn't do anything. Isaac Brea wasn't worth his fucking time. Not tonight, not ever.

Jae dragged himself back up, clinging to the wall of the house for support. He left the faucet running, uncaring. Not his water bill.

Go back in, grab his jacket, go home, sleep for ten years, forget all of this forever. Solid plan. In practice, he got as far as retrieving his jacket and making it to the front porch before he had to heave into the bushes and the resulting dizziness forced him to sit down and put his head between his knees. He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, drawing in deep, shaking breaths until he could sit up without the world spinning. The noise of the party inside sounded far away again, but now instead of being fuzzy and muddled, everything was too far and he couldn't ground himself.

He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, cursing as he scrolled through his contacts with shaking hands. The tone was loud enough to make him wince when he pressed it to his ear. Listening to the other line ring felt like waiting for a firing squad to roll up, but there was no way he was making it home on his own two feet tonight. Speaking of grounding himself...

"Dad?" His voice came out in a croak and he cleared his throat with some difficulty. Fuck, he needed a glass of water. "Dad, I'm sick. Can you come pick me up?"

There was no denying the state he was in or the consequences he was going to have to deal with tomorrow for doing this. But everything else...

Everything else could be just a bad dream blurred by bad decisions.

((Thread Concluded))
Edited by backslash, Mar 21 2016, 01:01 PM.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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