Chapter Text
Despite his better judgement, Anthony Po found himself wasted, half empty bottle discarded against the tiled floors, the blood rushing to his head making him dizzy.
The couch dipped slightly when another person joined him. Anthony situated himself to sit upright, back pressed against the armrest of the couch, taking in the presence of Coy. His face showed nothing; a blank expression of standoffishness. If Anthony hadn’t been so wasted, he would have taken this as a hint. If he hadn’t been so wasted, he would have remembered the recent tension between them. The awkward hugs that lingered on just a bit too long. The quick conversation and generic comments at one another. The shared glances that made his stomach drop to the floor.
“Coy,” the word was quiet— just barely above a whisper— and soft, like the small sound of birds chirping in the crisp morning.
Anthony savored the way his name felt in his mouth. It sobered him for a moment, his mind clearing just enough to process the moment, to hopefully hold it into the morning, when his drunken state finally cleared.
“Where are the others?” Coy asked, seemingly avoiding any talk which could be deemed personal. Anthony hated it, but his clouded mind couldn’t find the drive to fight back.
“Bed,” he mumbled out, stretching out his legs, draping them over Coy’s lap. If he was more aware, he would have noticed the immediate way that Coy tensed from the contact.
Coy shifted, but to no avail could he shake himself from the situation, instead sinking into the couch slightly, engrossing himself into his phone. Anthony sat up, resting his chin atop Coy’s shoulder, peering over at his phone.
This gesture wasn’t inherently odd; they all were rather touchy with one another, not taken back by acts of affection and such. Hell, they routinely fell asleep in the same beds, but it wasn’t weird, it was a sign of trust, of friendship. Still, things were different with Coy in ways Anthony’s current state couldn’t comprehend.
He could feel the ragged breaths of Coy, almost like his lungs weren’t accepting any air. Anthony took this as exactly what it sounded like: Coy’s dying. He bolted up, grabbing Coy by his shoulders, earning a muffled protest of confusion.
“Coy, please don’t die..,” Anthony whined in dismay. Coy furrowed his eyebrows, gripping Anthony’s wrists to remove him.
“I think you should go to bed,” Coy replied, sitting him back on the couch.
“Are you dying?” Anthony cried out, feeling his eyes well with tears that threatened to fall. Coy only regarded him with a look of exhaustion.
“I’m not dying, please don’t start crying,” Coy responded.
Anthony froze as Coy wiped away a stray tear that had managed to escape his burning eyes. Coy’s expression didn’t change, his face straight, as if the gesture was nothing more than a simple point of contact, a comforting touch.
Still, the alcohol quickly managed to squash any sort of sensation that may have broiled inside him. He did feel the hands of Coy, who softly pushed him away and rose from the couch.
“I’m going to bed,” Coy announced, regarding Anthony with what only could be described as pity. “Don’t choke on your own vomit, please.”
“Hold on…,” Anthony dragged out each syllable, flying off the couch with force. “Don’t leave me.”
Coy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Why? You scared of the dark or something.”
Anthony only nodded in response, a pout coating his lips.
“God, you’re a baby,” Coy replied through a laugh, reaching out a hand to assist Anthony up.
Anthony stumbled, shifting his weight onto Coy’s arm, steading himself, hoping to gain some sort of bearing. If he had been fully there, he would have been able to feel Coy squirming away from their interlocked fingers, but Anthony only held on tighter. Coy accepted defeat, guiding Anthony down the dark hallway, mumbling in dismay whenever Anthony would step on Coy’s feet.
He didn’t make it to his bed.
Instead, he found himself upside down, head hanging off Coy’s bed. Coy had tried to remove him, but ultimately gave up for a moment, not returning for a handful of minutes. He vaguely registered the shuffle of feet and the faint hallway light spilling in from the ajar door.
“Anthony,” Coy’s voice filled the room, sounding faraway in Anthony’s ears, like he was across the world. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”
Anthony mumbled a string of words, slurred and illegible. Coy scoffed in response, snatching the empty bottle off the ground, throwing it into the bin by the door.
“Can you get off my bed? I’d like to sleep,” Coy complained, “go be drunk somewhere else.”
“No…,” Anthony replied, his voice high and flutterly, like he wasn’t exactly sure of the words leaving his mouth.
Coy took up residence beside him, letting out a sigh as he sat. Anthony felt his stomach flutter, though he wasn’t sure if that was a byproduct of the alcohol or not. He lifted his head just slightly, looking up at Coy, who returned the stare with a blank expression of dismay, though Anthony was too far gone to register the gesture, instead finding himself reaching up for Coy like a dog jumping up for their owner.
Coy rolled his eyes, standing from the bed. “Dude, get out.”
Anthony sat too fast, all the blood draining from his cheeks and his mind beginning to spin. Nausea overtook his whole being. Without a moment to react, he’d slipped off the bed and fallen to the floor with a thud.
Coy muttered something— probably insulting— and bent down to help Anthony to his feet. Anthony fought back, but his drunken state proved useless against Coy’s firm grasp. He barely stayed stable on his feet, most of his weight pressed against Coy’s body. He heard the other mumbling something to him, but not much would go through his brain at the moment.
He found himself stumbling down the hallway, giggling and tripping over himself. Coy was not nearly as amused, shushing Anthony so as to not awaken the others.
With Coy’s assistance, Anthony flopped onto his own bed, immediately feeling a wave of both wooziness and adrenaline all at once. He couldn’t pinpoint either feeling, but he knew he hated the sudden cold that pricked his exposed arms, longing for the warmth that once radiated from the other man.
“Wait…,” Anthony said just above a whisper, his sentence trailing off.
Coy turned over his shoulder, eyes glowering down at him. “Yes?”
“Where are you— going?” Anthony questioned, turning onto his side, arm stretched out to Coy.
“To bed,” Coy responded, his voice flat. “Goodnight, Ant.”
Anthony wanted to fight back. He wanted to use his voice. Somehow make Coy stay. There was no reason for his antics; his drunk brain just had to have his way. But, he couldn’t bring himself to say anymore, a wave of exhaustion finally overtaking his body.
-
The next morning consisted of an insane headache and a trip to the bathroom to puke his guts out.
The light spilling in from the bathroom window made his head spin and his eyes strain, the cold tiles sending uncomfortable shivers coursing through his body. He vaguely registered the jabs of Will in the doorframe.
“Someone got white girl wasted,” Will quipped, leaning against the doorway, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.
“Shut up,” Anthony replied angrily, gagging slightly on the words.
“And, I heard you were harassing Coy all night.”
Anthony only gave Will an incredulous glare, his body shaking from the adrenaline rush of puking. What didn’t help was the memories fading back now that his mind was beginning to clear.
They weren’t detailed, just vague glimpses of the previous evening. Taking shots with Hanbon. Giggling around the house with Will. Sitting on the couch with Coy, his head buried into the space between Coy’s shoulder and jawline.
Wait.
Anthony filled with panic, and his fear was certainly noticeable, because Will had seemingly caught on.
“Everything okay?” Will asked, his lips pressed into a line.
“I’m fine,” Anthony replied flatly as he shut the door in Will’s face.
He stared at himself in the mirror, his disheveled appearance frightening, but certainly not the worst
thing on his mind. His hand tingled as he recounted the way he held Coy’s hand down the hall. The way he’d wiped away the tears from his eyes.
He hated that he remembered it all.
Anthony quickly brushed his teeth, vaguely fixing his messed up hair, and exited the bathroom without another thought. Dwelling on whatever happened didn’t matter; all he could do is ignore the feeling within his gut, that aching, gnawing pain deep in his chest, as if something heavy was crushing his ribcage and tearing at his heart.
Everyone else was exceptionally cheery. Hanbon moved around the kitchen, fixing herself a bowl of cereal, her quips at Will bouncing off the walls lively. Will would respond in dismay and send another jest back, and the two went on and on with this for a while. Coy leaned with his hands pressed against the island top, a smile on his face, engaging in the conversation every now and again.
Anthony hadn’t acknowledged anyone as he entered the kitchen, simply pushing the button on the coffee machine. He needed to rid himself of his excruciating headache expeditiously.
He flashed his eyes around the kitchen. Hanbon and Will were too engrossed in their bickering to pay Anthony much mind, but he felt the gaze of another piercing through his skull. He vaguely locked eyes with Coy for a moment, and that intense feeling resurfaced.
If Coy was offset by the antics of last night, his face didn’t show it. Him and Anthony had always been a little affectionate with one another: holding hands down the street, hugging Anthony from behind in the kitchen, leaning on his shoulder in the subway. Still, Anthony could admit things had begun to change recently. Perhaps it wasn’t as noticeable as Anthony thought it was.
When Anthony’s coffee was done, he rounded the island, occupying the spot next to Coy, not paying him much mind. It was better that way.
Coy didn’t seem too eager to interact with him either, but, if Anthony knew anything, it was that Coy despised silence.
“How’s the hangover?” Coy asked, cup of coffee pressed to his lips.
Anthony winced, “not fun.”
Their interaction fell into an awkward silence. Anthony tried to ignore the knocking of their knees from under the lip of the kitchen counter. Reluctantly, Anthony started up again.
“Sorry if I was annoying last night,” he said quietly, hoping to not gain the attention of the others.
Coy only laughed. “It’s cool, but I will say, you’re super emotional when you’re drunk.”
Anthony felt his face flush from a multitude of emotions, but Coy didn’t seem to notice, rising from the counter and excusing himself from the room.
Anthony buried his face in the mug, sighing heavily. He hated how distant Coy acted nowadays. He missed when things were normal, when not everything they did felt so intimate. So real.
Anthony placed down the mug with a thud. No. He wasn’t going to have this. He missed his best friend, and he wasn’t about to let these stupid feelings get in the way of their friendship. He was going to do something about this.