brooks & hale ✔️

brooks

five ;
b r o o k s

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF the year award had just been assigned to Brooks.

No, not just idiot of the year. Biggest idiot in the world. To have ever existed in the history of time. He just wanted to bury his head in the ground and live like a mole for the rest of his life. A miserable, pathetic mole questioning it's sorry existence. As if it wasn't bad enough that he'd been babbling on about doors to Hale, the words not registering until the embarrassment set in, he had to go and stick his tongue out at him.

What the hell, Brooks? Who even did that? He was drunk, sure, but he didn't think he was that drunk.

Brooks paced back and forth across the patio, which was proving challenging enough with his fuzzy vision and dizziness. Why did he even care what Hale thought of him? He was just a random jock who thought he was hot shit. Hot, maybe...nope, wrong line of thought to take. Stick with the air headed brute jock idea. It would be easy enough to just avoid him for the rest of his life and selfishly hope Calla didn't date him so that it would be easier.

Brooks came to a stop next to the door and dropped his head against the wall. This was why he never drank. He said stupid things and his head was beginning to pound with a promised hangover. Why, oh why, had he taken that second round of vodka? He just wanted to go home but a) he didn't have a car, b) he had no money for a tram and most importantly c) his parents would kill him ten times over if he came home drunk or even slightly tipsy.

"Idiot," Brooks muttered, banging his forehead lightly against the wall. "Idiot, idiot, idiot..."

The front door opened and a thin shaft of warm golden light sliced across the floor. Brooks paused his with his head inches away from the wall and slowly turned it, meeting a pair of dark brown eyes. Hale stopped halfway out of the house with his hand still resting on the door handle, staring right back at him. In his moment of blank-faced horror, he idly registered that Hale had slipped on a dark leather jacket that fit him a little too well.

Holy shit, stop it, Brooks told himself.

"I, uh..." Brooks stepped away from the wall. "I can explain?"

The surprise had passed in less than a heartbeat and Hale's lips were curling up into that oh-so-familiar smirk. "No, please, it's clear to see what's happening here," he said, propping a shoulder against the doorway as he regarded Brooks. "You're experiencing some sort of mental breakdown that seems to involve killing off your brain cells."

Brooks was red all over again. "Shut up."

"Okay, okay, I'm just messing with you," Hale said with a laugh. The sound of it revived the butterflies in his stomach to a frenzied whirlwind that he tried desperately to ignore. "Want to tell me the reason you were bashing your head against the wall like a crazy person?"

Just wishing I hadn't acted like such an idiot in front of you. "Not really," he said instead, with something of a sigh. "Classified information."

He turned away before Hale could start up with the unwanted teasing again, and sank down on the steps leading down from the patio. The nice, fluffy part of being drunk was fading away and the hangover was beginning to kick in with vengeance. Brooks heard the door close and told himself he had no right to feel any disappointment that Hale had left. He should be glad he was finally being left alone.

He jumped in surprise when the step creaked in protest. "What?" Hale shrugged at Brooks' disbelieving stare. "You're not the only one trying to sober up in the cold air. I just have more experience with being subtle when I'm drunk."