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“Izm…” A.E.D gently takes the glass from his classmate, who gazes at him with a glassy-eyed stare, as if not understanding where he is or why he’s there, “I think you’ve had enough.” More than enough, if he recalls the number of times the bartender refilled that glass correctly. “We need to go,” he tugs at Izm’s sleeve, “we have school in the morning, remember?”

“Why?” Izm slurs, “it’s not…i’s not worth leavin’ till…”

“Until what?”

“….damn, you’re not drunk yet…” Izm laughs as though it’s some form of joke. A.E.D sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. Izm isn’t just drunk, he’s outright smashed. He already figured it’d be hard enough getting Izm back to the school if he’s just buzzed or drunk, but with the boy completely out of it as he is now…

“No, Izm, I’m not.” A.E.D stands and gives the bartender a polite nod, then tugs at his companions arm again. “Let’s go.”

“Wha’s the matter, pretty boy?” Another bar patron slurs, edging over to where Izm is seated at the bar. (Although with the way Izm is swaying, he may not be sitting there much longer.) The man is clearly no more sober than Izm is, making his voice thick and almost guttural. “Gonna take off an’ keep yer li’l boy all ta yerself?” What the ********? Did that drunk suggest what he thinks he just suggested? The man swings an arm around Izm’s shoulder, a crooked grin on his face as he forces the boy’s head up. “So watcha think? Dump thet loser and come ‘ere, hon…”

“Sh-shut the ******** up…” There were more graceful ways that Izm might have normally handled that situation, he’s sure, but being as sloshed as he is, perhaps that punch to the jaw seemed like the best option.

“How-‘ow dare you!” Before A.E.D has time to really register what’s going on, bottles and barstools and fists are flying and he figures he should pull Izm out of the bar before it gets much worse.

“Young man,” the bartender calls, “this way!” He moves aside a few crates and opens a door A.E.D would not have known existed if it had not been pointed out to him. “Bring your friend!” A.E.D nods and snatches the other boy perhaps a split second after a barstool bounces off his head and tugs him towards the door, giving him a kick to the back to shove him into the alleyway beyond the door.

“Sorry about that…” He apologizes to the bartender.

“No need,” the bartender replies with his own embarrassed sort of smile, “it happens every so often. Sara keeps telling me I should get a restraining order for Mr. Jimson, and I probably should. You saw how he is when he’s drunk.”

“This idiot’s no better,” A.E.D glares at Izm as the boy stares at the grafitti on the wall in a drunken stupor, “but thanks all the same.”

“No trouble at all…” The bartender laughs and instructs them on the best way to return to the main streets, then, with a courteous wave, disappears back into the bar to settle down its inhabitants.


o-0-o

Getting back to the school is easy enough, far easier than he thought it’d be, and crossing through the halls is a sinch. Normally Brandon would be patrolling the halls around the entrance, but A.E.D notes the familiar silhouette flattened against a building to the side and busily attempting to get his lighter to catch. He should have figured as much. A.E.D doesn’t even consider dropping Izm off in his own dorm. Des is probably awake still, and the crack-fiend would probe him mercilessly if he saw how drunk Izm is. So it’s off to his room…

Izm heavily leans on his shoulder as he fights to take the keycard from his pocket and slide it through the lock, and when the door opens, he shoves him into the room before anyone can notice anything. He curses under his breath as he closes the door and shuffles to the bathroom to find the first aid kit. He glances at Izm, sitting on the floor just beyond the door with a blank stare on his face as he traces circles on the wooden floor with his fingers. From a single glance, he can’t tell how extensive his injuries may be, but his head seems to be okay…(it should only figure that Izm has a thick head.) He snatches up the entire first aid kit and drops it on the bed next to where Izm is sitting. “Izm. Shirt.”

“….mm?”

“Take your goddamn shirt off, Izm,” he orders, unbuttoning his own to observe the damage on himself. He’s not severely injured, just a few scratches here and there, but Izm was in the middle of the brawl, and probably sustained much worse. “…Izm?” The boy is fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, and A.E.D sighs, sitting in front of him and swatting Izm’s hands away. “Ch! Just let me…” He quickly discards the shirt and observes that, as he thought, Izm came away from the fight much worse than he did. A shard of glass still protruded from the smaller boy’s shoulder, dribbling red onto his arm, and claw marks-nail marks, more like, actually-marred his side. “Jeeze…” But for the most part, Izm’s head is unharmed. His goggles are even still masterfully perched atop his ebony hair, as though nothing happened.

After quickly tying up the worst of his own injuries, A.E.D pulls the glass shard from Izm’s shoulder, and dabs at the injury with a rubbing alcohol soaked cotton swab and the other boy hisses in pain. It’s odd…having Izm so quiet as he’s tending his injuries. He patches up the shoulder and turns his attention to the nail marks on his side when Izm leans forward, sniffing A.E.D curiously, much like a dog would. “Hey, .D…” He says in his drunken slur, “you smell…” …What? “You smell…like strawberries…” And lips touch and a hand is behind his head, forcing their faces together even closer. WHAT THE ********?!!

A.E.D fights to try to push the smaller boy away, but the alcohol-addled boy seems to be stronger now than normal…or perhaps the proper word would be fervent. Wh-what’s going on? “Izm,” he shoves him away just enough to breathe and growl at him, “you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Yes…I do…” Their faces are pressed together once more and a tongue intrudes into A.E.D’s mouth and in that moment of shock, his body briefly goes limp, and Izm’s other hand-WAGH! His back is pressed against the side of the bed, and he can almost feel Izm’s lips turn up in a predatory grin. Again, he shoves Izm away.

“You’re ******** drunk, Izm! Now get that hand OUT OF MY PANTS!” The other boy doesn’t respond, not immediately, and leans in again. “Izm, would you just ******** stop it!?”

“Funny you ********…” Izm slurs, capturing his companions lips once more and slipping his tongue in. A.E.D can hear his belt being pulled away, likely to be discarded to regions unknown, but when he attempts to lift his arms to shove Izm away, his finds something tied around his wrists. ******** his belt, isn’t it? Dammit, even doing paperwork with Rire as detention wouldn’t be as much torture as this one hour with a completely smashed Izm.

His only hope right now, he figures, would be to try to kick Izm away somehow. But…Izm has comfortably seated himself between his legs, and A.E.D’s never been one for gymnastics. His hands grope underneath the bed behind him, reaching around for anything at all that might help. Pencil…gum wrapper…curse him for being so neat! If only he’d left something underneath the bed that would help him now! The closest thing that might help is the bottle of rubbing alcohol he had used to disinfect Izm’s cuts. He slowly inches his way towards it and Izm narrows his eyes, pinning him on the floor. “Ack!” He fumbles around, trying to manipulate his bound hands to a position where they can grab something, anything, to assist him in his plight. His hands close on a small bottle with some form of a spray nozzle, and angles it up towards Izm’s face. When the spray comes in contact with the boy’s face-or more importantly, his eyes- he hisses and immediately draws back, rubbing at his eyes, face contorted in pain. From there on, it’s a simple kick to the head and Izm’s on the ground unconscious, while he untangles the belt from around his hands.

“********…” He kicks the other’s unconscious body, and gazes at his saving grace. Spray disinfectant…Marcus had gotten it for him a few weeks ago, said it would come in handy considering how often he and Izm ended up injured somehow, and he had stuffed it in the first aid kit without really thinking much about it. So perhaps Marcus was right…that spray HAD come in handy..


o-0-o


Light streams into the room, assaulting Izm’s eyes and his head throbs dully. His back protests to the cold wood beneath his bare skin, and he curiously gazes about the room. Hey…this is A.E.D’s room…how’d he get here? What happened last night? He knows he nicked some fake ID’s for him and .D and they headed off to the bar and then-then….then…he’s not sure what happened then. Everything after reaching the bar and telling .D ‘I know how much is too much, doncha worry’ is a complete and utter blank. How ironic…his last memory is telling .D that he knew how much alcohol he could take…if that much of his memory is missing entirely, he must not have known after all. So what-“AGH!” A foot collides with his side and he rolls over, cursing. “What th-“ A.E.D’s angry visage glares down at him and he wearily sits up, rubbing his burning eyes. “.D? What happened?”

“Ch! Next time you get drunk, I’m leaving you at the ******** bar!” He growls, slipping his shirt on and carefully buttoning it, but his hands shake a fair amount, likely from rage, Izm figures.

“But what happened?” A.E.D gazes at him briefly and his face flushes red, and he turns away abruptly. “Seriously. What happened? .D? Why aren’t you looking at me? .D? What happened?”