What's A Good Time Without Debauchery?

I don’t find Timothy immediately. The first person I see when I leave the room is Alexander, sitting on a stool outside the common area as he sips from a cup in his hands. 

“Hey,” I say, as I crouch before him. His eyes are bloodshot, unsteady. 

Slurring, he says, “Hey, pretty b–boy.” And I blush despite myself. His fingers graze my face, and I forget my original mission of finding Timothy. 

I take Alexander’s hand in mine, trying to hold it away from my face. He tips the bottle in his hand into my mouth. 

Cold liquid flashes down my throat; a second later my stomach roils and my vision blurs. 

“What are you doing here, all alone? The party is inside.” My voice comes out deeper than I intended, I almost don’t recognize it. 

He doesn’t respond for a second, staring at me. Then he goes, “Has anyone ever told you you have the most beautiful eyes?” His pointer rises to meet my face, drunken, almost childish, awe staining his expression. 

I take a step away from him as I stand. The floor tilts in front of me. I look at his bottle and I see that it’s already half empty. 

If one gulp has made me this affected, I can’t imagine how drunk he is. Something is drawing me to this tattooed boy, I can’t leave him like this. 

I decide quickly, “Alright, big guy.” I take hold of his shoulder, lifting him easily. 

He wobbles beside me, unsteady. “Where’s your room?” I ask, and he groans. 

“Okay talking is no good,” I nod, “just nod if I say the correct thing.” We’re standing at the entrance to the common area. Music is blasting from inside, the floor vibrating slightly with the bass. 

Heat passes through the entrance, reaching the two of us. It is soothing. His eyes lower, feeding on my skin, before he nods, slowly. 

“You’re in Appah hall,” I say, and he nods.

“There,” and I start leading him up the stairs, glad his room isn’t farther away. The music fades, and I hear the principal’s voice over the speaker, “As you know, our zero-tolerance policy for alcohol still stands…”

I shuffle Alexander, trying to get him to move faster while my eyes are trained forward, scanning the corridor for Timothy. I don’t find him. 

“Third floor?” I ask, closing my hands around his waist for his balance. He nods again, his head falling lower and lower.

His back arcs, and I try to raise him a little higher when he vomits. 

The floor, his shoes, my shoes, my hand. I almost push him away. It smells so horrible I almost throw up as soon as it reaches my nose. 

No good deed goes unpunished. “Ugh… dude,” I shake my hands, knowing this does nothing and yet, I can’t help it. As I let go of him he stumbles, falling. 

I catch him at the last second, holding onto his collar as he laughs suddenly. Tears are falling from his eyes. I think this isn’t a moment I shouldn't witness. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers; his eyes don’t reach mine. “I can’t help being a disappointment.” 

I pat his back, feeling his ribs poke me softly through his uniform shirt. Is it healthy to be this skinny? 

I lead him to the room he points out after a few minutes, holding him at arms lenngth. Thankfully, it is empty. 

As I look around, I notice it isn’t merely empty; it looks unlived in. “Don’t you have a roommate?” 

He smiles, but the smile resembles pain, not joy. “Nope.” 

Everyone has to have a roommate. It’s one of Aton’s rules that no one should be alone. I can only grunt, “Hmm.” 

I pluck the bottle from his grip, setting it on the table. The photo of me and Timothy kissing flashes in my mind, accusingly, and I push it away. 

I lead him into the bathroom and help him strip for a quick rinse. I step back when he removes his boxers, cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

I find the spare bathroom and clean myself off, helping myself to a shirt and shorts from his wardrobe. The image in the mirror asks me, Why are you here? I look away from the question, remembering the time Timothy and Jo outed him and how fast I’d backed away.

I wait a few minutes before going to check on him.  He’s on the floor, sitting with his eyes closed. 

I sigh and step toward him. “Come here,” I say, but he doesn’t stir. I raise him into the bath, waiting until the water turns lukewarm before rinsing him off, then wrap him in a towel. 

When he’s settled on his bed, I leave, tucking the half-empty bottle under my shoulder before I go. 

I begin my search for Timothy anew. 

~ 

A dog barks, loud and angry. I sit up, quickly. My eyes won’t open for the longest second, and I almost tear up— it’s that painful. My head feels full of water. 

I try to stretch, but my whole body is sore. There’s a body beside me. 

My eyes finally open, a slow crawl. 

Timothy stares back at me, a wicked smile on his face.