Closer

7.

Waking up to the feeling of your intestines rebelling, doing their best to overturn the government that is your brain is not a good feeling. Not even having time to think "oh no" before your stomach decides to kick out its contents is not a hood feeling.

Having someone push your head to the side so you'll hit the bucket next to you instead of choking was unpleasant, but most welcome. Though choking on your own vomit doesn't seem like such a bad idea when you realize the person who's preventing it is the reason you want to choke in the first place.

"It's okay, get it all out," Brett mumbled, rubbing Eddy's back carefully with a flat hand. It only made Eddy feel more sick hearing his voice, but he treasured the gentle touch.

"Why... why are you here?" Eddy asked with a sigh as he rolled back to his back, ignoring the acidic taste in his mouth after vomiting. He couldn't make himself open his eyes to the sharp sunlight sneaking in between the curtains.

Brett's gentle laugh stung his heart and he squeezed his eyes even harder shut to prevent tears from forming.
"Because this is my bed," he said, and Eddy could feel him move slightly on the bed. It caused his stomach to start another riot, but he calmed it down before it went overboard.

"Then why am I in your bed?" Eddy sighed, rubbing his face in an attempt to make the heacache go away. "I'm only ever in your bed when we're having sex. Did we have sex?"

"Are you serious, Eddy? You're in my bed because I was scared you'd die from alcohol poisoning last night," Brett explained, sounding more annoyed now. It felt more right to have Brett be annoyed right now, but it still stung.

"You could've just taken me home," Eddy suggested hoarsly as his stomach rumbled, gathering a few troops for another rebellion. He swallowed hard to try and stop it, but it didn't work and he had to throw his head over to the bucket again.

"And let you pass out on the floor and choke on your own vomit?" Brett scoffed and got out of bed. "Don't think so. I had to carry you here, there's no way you could take care of yourself."

Eddy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rolled back into Brett's bed.
"Who was she, by the way?" Eddy asked, trying his best not to let the bitterness seep through his tone.

Brett stopped his walk around the bed towards the door to look at his hungover friend.
"Who do you mean?" he asked, but it was obvious from his tone that he knew who Eddy was talking about.

Eddy's response consisted of nothing but a sigh. He knew damn well it was none of his business, but it felt like someone was sitting on his chest whenever he thought about it. Maybe if Brett would just tell him it was a one time thing, or even better: That nothing beyond the kiss happened.

"Her name is Leonora. Don't think you know her," Brett shrugged and grabbed a pair of sweatpants to put on. "Do you want some breakfast? Or maybe just some painkillers and water?"

The name passed through Eddy's head like an echo, becoming increasingly more bitter with every repetition. He knew he had no reason to be jealous, though. It was part of their deal they could be with other people as well.

"You... you don't mind me staying? I mean, I think I can get home..." Eddy asked, furrowing his brows. He finally opened his eyes slowly, and the way his heart skipped a beat seeing Brett with his beadhead and in just some sweatpants was almost too much with the underlying nausea.

"Eddy, we didn't fuck, I'm just making sure my best friend doesn't die from alcohol poisoning," Brett interrupted him and shook his head slightly. "Painkillers?"

Eddy nodded, feeling like an ungrateful idiot for the most part. Here he had what he longed for, just having Brett taking care of him for a bit and he was throwing it away by acting like a fool. Enjoy what you have.
"Sorry, I know we didn't. Thank you for taking care of me, Brett. Painkillers and water would be nice."