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Abrupt rays of sunlight cut across the comforting void of sleep and rudely stir Follo from his slumber. He’d been sleeping so peacefully, his dream fading away as consciousness takes over. His eyebrows scrunch, squinting against the harsh light he glares at the offending open curtains. Sighing, he throws an arm over his eyes knowing good and well he won’t be able to fall back asleep. His mouth is dry and when he shifts his body aches. Not quite a stiffness from sleep that just needs to be stretched away, something deeper. Without any urgency, Follo lets his arm fall and glances down at himself, shocked by what he sees.
Not only is he naked, something he never does because he prefers rolling directly out of bed and to the mess hall for breakfast rather than having to search for clothes half asleep, he is covered with little scratches and bruises, he spots a few along his chest and balks. He trails his fingers along the darkest ones, a path from inner thigh up to his hip. They throb as he applies a steady pressure, his body thrumming with exhilaration.
What the hell happened last night?
He stumbles out of bed, tripping over discarded clothes scattered along the floor, a clear trail from the door to his bed. He plucks a clean pair of boxers from his dresser and pulls them on as he walks to his mirror. Just as suspected, his neck is plastered with purpling bruises, he almost looks like he’d been strangled. His lips are puffy, a cut that aches when he swipes his tongue over the dried blood. It’d be hot if he weren’t completely confused. His head is pounding, stomach churning as he takes in his state. He stares into the mirror as memories begin to flood back, flashes of the night prior sparking his memory.
The cleaners had gone out to celebrate Zanka’s birthday, finally old enough to take a shot, legally, with his mentors. Usually they held parties at the base, not only was it safer than way but it allowed Shikage to join if he wanted to but since it was a milestone Enjin had rallied with Semiu to convince Corvus to take a trip to a nearby town to hit the bars. It was supposed to be a nice change of pace from the chaos that had been plaguing them as of late. Gris had even agreed to be the designated driver so that everyone could let loose.
The first bar they’d gone to was nearly empty, a fancy spot that came with high praise from Corvus and a prepaid tab for Zanka’s first drink of choice. The teen had sipped on a small glass of sake as the others ordered a round of shots, Follo’s first drink of the night was whiskey that burned as he gulped it down, Gris had clapped him on the back launching him into a coughing fit. Enjin had laughed in his face, his own shot glass already turned over on the table they’d sat at as he flagged down the bartender. Glass panels made the walls, dimly lit by a chandelier. The glittering light bounced off the highs of Zanka’s cheeks as he smiled. In that moment Follo remembers feeling warm, a hearty flush on his cheeks.
With a sigh he turns from the mirror, the tips of his ears red at his disheveled state and begins to clean. He makes quick work of picking up his clothes, tossing them into a hamper to deal with later. There are a few items he doesn't recognize, a sock stuck on the corner of his bed, a black undershirt a size smaller than his own, but he can't identify them either. Generic enough to be anybody's, it doesn't help to narrow down his search. He chucks them into the basket without any flourish.
The second bar was livelier, there was a good crowd and, unfortunately for everyone else attending, it was karaoke night. Tomme made a beeline for the sign up sheet dragging Delmon with her as the others headed to the bar. Enjin paid for his and Zanka’s beer, his eyes alight as he watched Zanka’s expression. Follo knew from experience that it was rank, Enjin's coming of age prank of picking the worst beer on tap just to get a reaction. Follo had guessed it was meant to be a deterrent, to keep the youngins away from vices. He sipped his own beer, one Gris had introduced him to, and cheered as Tomme sang her heart out, glancing over at the patrons covering their ears at Delmon's backing vocals.
With the cleaning done, his laundry hamper reeks of alcohol and nicotine but at least the smell won’t stick to his rugs, he meanders over to the bathroom. His mouth tastes stale and stubble scratches his palm as he wipes his face. A yawn scrunches up his features when he hears it, bell-like tinging of water hitting porcelain beyond the door.
The shower is on, whoever left him looking like he’d been ravaged by a bear is still here.
He freezes, a thousand different thoughts running through his mind. He could jump out of the window, though he is on the third floor, it's his bedroom, and he is still only in his underwear. He could leave the room, that feels rude, whoever his guest is should be greeted and escorted out, and he is still in his underwear. He could stay where he is, put on some clothes, walk whoever it is to the exit and then bury himself in shame in the training yard. He picks option three as the shower turns off.
Bar number three was actually a club. Bouncy music had played through the speakers, the club shaking with the bass as the Cleaners dispersed into the crowd. Follo had never been much of a dancer, too self conscious to really let loose, but the alcohol in his system and the energy in the room had him moving to the beat. He sang along to the lyrics he recognized and nodded his head to the ones he didn't. When the pop songs shifted to something heavier the crowd grew and he knew it was time for him to sit down. He was sweaty and hot as he wormed his way through the crowd and back to his group. Semiu had secured them a table in a discrete section, a bottle girl fawned over her the whole time while managing to ignore every single one of Enjin’s refill requests; it was hilarious. Follo squeezed into the booth seat, dangling off the edge beside Gris who was consoling a pouty Enjin.
A glass was instantly set in front of him, filled with a glittery blue concoction and a straw, which brought on another bout of whining from Enjin. Follo took a sip of his drink as he stood, Gris leading Enjin from the booth to secure a drink from the bar. It was sweet, he could hardly taste the alcohol as he downed the glass. All the dancing and singing had him parched and somehow he ended up in the bottle girl's good graces because she kept the drinks flowing. Absently, Follo scanned the crowd, trying to keep tabs on where everyone had gone.
Gris was still at the bar with Enjin, a few empty shot glasses in front of the cleaner as he puffed out plumes of smoke. Follo wasn’t a fan of smoking, but Gris only laughed and leaned in to say something that made the flush on Enjin’s cheeks darken. A flash of purple and white drew his attention across the dance floor, a face he couldn’t quite place, shimmering rings peaking through the throngs of people. Tomme blipped in and out of his view, bobbing with the crowd as she danced with various people, a seductive smile spread across her lips when they got a little handsy. He watched as a short blue haired woman saddled up behind her tall frame, clearly not discouraged by the height difference. The warmth that sat in his gut blossomed watching his friends mingle and have a good time. The alcohol numbed the sting that he wasn’t amongst them, flirting with strangers or cozying up with a stable partner.
His head light and the noise around him turned to static, he’d long since lost track of how many times his glass had been refilled, when someone bumped him deeper into the booth. He raised his head, plucking the straw out of the glass with his teeth to see Zanka sat next to him with a scowl.
“You good?” Follo leaned in, practically yelled in Zanka’s ear to be heard over the booming music with the straw clutched between his teeth, blue droplets fell to the table. Zanka muttered something in response, eyes downcast with a prominent pucker between his brows. Follo stared at his lips in a vain attempt to decipher the words drowned out by music. Zanka has nice lips, Follo recalled thinking, such a shame he was always frowning about something. He was about to tell him so, words slurred and heavy on his tongue when Zanka abruptly stood and walked away, eyes locked onto something on the dance floor.
A generic pop song blares from the alarm clock, his reminder to head down to the mess hall for breakfast but he knows he can’t leave yet. Out of his stupor he throws on loose slacks and a turtleneck he brought from home. It’s much hotter at the Headquarters than it is in the North Ward, he rarely ever has a reason to wear it, but this is as good as any. He passes by the bathroom door one more time, he presses his ear to the door and can make out the person rummaging around but doesn't have a clue what for. So he crosses the room and sits down on his bed, there's nothing left to do but wait.
The final stop of the night was a bar a few streets down that Follo had been to a few times before, always with Gris when the older man wanted to drink and needed a driver. Follo didn’t mind, he liked spending time with the blonde and knowing he trusted him to get them home safe made Follo puff with pride. It was a little seedy, a quaint place called Maybels, but that added to the charm. All of the chairs, except the ones at the bar, were mismatched. Random loveseats intermixed with wooden dining table chairs. There was even a rocking chair at one of the tables, and of course Delmon chose that one to occupy. Follo chose to sit on a plush pink loveseat in a corner, an ice cold water in his hand as he snacked on some peanuts. The warmth in his stomach faded to a comfortable buzz, he felt tired as he listened to Tomme regale her escapade in the club bathroom with the short woman she’d been dancing with. He nodded along as his eyes began to slip shut, drowsy from all the excitement of the evening.
That's when his memory became fuzzy. He remembers talking to someone, being pulled into the alley outside the bar and pressing someone against the brick. Heavy words exchanged as he pressed his thigh in between long legs, frantic hands pulling him by his collar for a crushing kiss. Teeth nipping at a plush bottom lip, his tongue tasting the same sweet drink from the club as he prodding against pretty white teeth, warm rings brushing against his sides beneath his shirt as they gripped around his waist. Between the alcohol and adrenaline that coursed through his system it was burning hot, blunt nails dragged across his abdomen that made his knees feel like jelly.
Even just thinking about it has him squirming on the bed. He remembers getting into the van, Gris’ driving everyone back to Headquarters. The bottle girl had joined them, along with a few other people Tomme and Enjin knew, it was a tight squeeze and someone had sat on Follo’s lap. Their thin hands stroked along his thighs as they leaned forward to talk to someone in the middle row. The tantalizing line of their back, Follo couldn't help it, his eyes trailed down their waist to their ass pressed right against his dick. Despite Gris’ steady driving there were always bumps in the road, jolting him forward or to the side, his hands flew to hold that trim waist in place to prevent himself from bucking up.
Somehow they made it back without him creaming his jeans, he dragged the person by their wrist up the three flights of stairs, their laugh echoing in the staircase when he tripped on the landing, grabbed onto his arm to keep him steady. He had smiled so wide, his heart pounding against his ribcage but why? They made it back to his room in one piece, the second he’d unlocked the door he was shoved against the wall and stripped of his shirt. He’d knocked his head against the concrete, the line of his throat exposed for an assault of bites and hickeys. It was beginning to make sense. They stayed connected as Follo led them towards the bed, only parting to strip off a layer. Pale skin that practically glowed in the moonlight under his touch, the figure becoming more defined the closer he gets to the truth.
Short windswept hair he’d carded his fingers through, had tugged roughly on their nape to pull their head back as his teeth grazed fragrant skin. Pretty downturned eyes that bore into his soul, half lidded with unmistakable desire as they fell onto the bed. Bubbling laughter that echoed in his ears as he kissed from jaw to throat. Cascading earrings that fanned across his pillowcase like wings. The figure became clearer, his sharp teeth and blue eyes, ring adorned fingers, all too familiar.
There’s no more to process his revelation when as the bathroom door lock clicks open, the ancient hinges squeak as the metal door is pushed in. His fingers are gripping his jeans, heart pounding as the person who’d haunted his morning steps into the light. Freshly showered, wearing Follo’s clothes as if they’re his own, doing very little to cover the marks on his pale neck is the same guy they were celebrating and Follo’s long time crush, Zanka Nijiku.