Boy, Do You Regret This

Saying you were a ball of anxiety was an understatement. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, head bent, pacing back and forth in front of your door waiting for your inevitable demise. This night was going to be a disaster, you could already tell; why the hell had you even decided to go? If it was an option, you would have backed out now and saved both you and Brahms the trouble, but you had made the mistake of telling your father about the thing and now he was insisting you went to 'socialize' and 'make friends' and all that bullshit. So, yeah- you were stuck. You didn't know what to wear to parties (hell, you'd hardly ever even been to one other than some birthdays) so you had taken a total shot in the dark with a pair of blue jeans, a red t-shirt, and a 90s style windbreaker thrown overtop to swaddle you in as much comfort as possible. You hoped that this wasn't underdressed, but you no longer had time to change it as your phone began to ring and you saw Brahms was calling. With one deep breath you accepted the call and held the phone up to your ears, nerves buzzing throughout your whole body and fear fogging up your head.


"Hey, Brahms," You say and force a thin smile, scraping a hand through your hair and checking your pockets for your keys.


"I'm outside. Come out whenever you're ready.


"Thanks, I'll be there in no time." With that quick conversation you hung up the phone and jammed it into your back pocket, sucking a quick breath through your teeth. You reach for the front door handle with slightly trembling hands and swallow the rising lump in your throat. "I'm going!" You call, and pray for some reason that no one answers so you have an excuse to go back into the house, searching for your brother and father individually to say your goodbyes- or, maybe, you'd find one dead and have to cancel this whole thing. Anything to waste time. 


"Alright kiddo! See ya!" Your dad's voice echoes from the basement and you grimace, mimicking his farewell quietly, irritated, to yourself before pulling open the door and forcing your two shaky legs to carry you through it. Brahms was sitting in his car right out front of your house, waiting patiently as expected. You shut the door behind you, checking one last paranoid time for keys and phone, and then made for the car itself. You looked instinctively to your right to see Billy on the porch as usual, offering a wave and a nervous little smile that he returned with one of his own; Claude was on his lap just like he always was. Reaching the car, you pulled open the passenger door and slid into the seat with a heavy sigh that trailed off into an annoyed groan. 


"I can't believe we're actually doing this," You say, and slam the door with a little more force than you'd meant. Brahms pulls the car back into drive, letting his foot down nice and easy on the gas pedal.


"I told you we should have just skipped it. I hate to say it but this," Brahms pauses, letting the emphasis sink in, "Is on you." His eyes are alight with a jumpy amusement, the same anxiety that must be crackling like lightning in your own. Brahms was fitted with a tan cardigan and a black t-shirt and jeans, his usual type of clothing with a few different colours you'd never seen him mix before. He was drumming his index finger obsessively on the steering wheel as he said, "I've never gone to a party before. Nothing like this, at least. My mother and father think I'm staying over at Norman's for the night." 


"Don't worry, big guy," You reach over and pat his arm, "I'm just as terrified as you are. I hope you know how much I regret this stupid decision," Your head tips to thunk against the back of your seat and you run both hands over your face, fighting back the urge to huff and puff and complain away until you talked Brahms' ears right off. The purring of the cars engine would have been soothing if you could hear it over the sound of your own heart thudding in your throat like a drum, but now it served useless. 


"Yeah, I can tell. We'll suffer together, I guess." The rest of the ride runs seamless, both of you chattering nervously back and forth for what seems like ages as the sun begins to sink for the horizon, painting the sky dark blues and bright golds in a way that might have resembled one of your dads paintings. Brahms followed the brief directions you'd texted him (and which you had gotten from Danny, ever-reluctant for you to be invited) with practiced ease, knowing the layout of his hometown like the back of his own hand. It was a drive no longer than 20 minutes but it seemed to slink by way too fast. Before you knew it, you were balling your hands into fists on your lap and staring up at a house that was definitely holding a party. You could hear music booming like the heartbeat of a giant beast, it's mouth wide open and entirely uninviting. You could see the people through the windows, the sheer multitude of them, and it would be a surprise if any kid in town wasn't here right now to gawk at you in the most unfamiliar place you've ever been. 


"Dear God," You mumble as you undo your seatbelt, wiping at your eyes with your other hand, "We're really doing this aren't we? We're seriously going to a popular kids' party?" You heard Brahms chuckle, dropping your hand and turning to look at him. He was smiling, bitter, and you noted that that chuckle didn't hold a single ounce of amusement. 


"You bet we are, and it's going to be a nightmare. Come on. Let's get this over with." 


***


Though it had seemed impossible to feel even more afraid than you were, you now found that you were absolutely wrong. The moment you and Brahms stepped through the threshold into the Johnson house that discomfort had doubled- no, tripled and you were already fighting back a sweat. The music was blaring, throbbing in your eardrums in a way that was nearly hypnotic, fighting to coerce and manipulate you and the other partygoers into being too loud, too rowdy, driving the energy through the roof. You grit your teeth at the sight of the tightly-packed bodies swaying and dancing and laughing away with no care for others personal space or maintaining their own; you could see the way Brahms' shoulders tensed, see the way he lowered his head to appear smaller, see the way his green gaze lit with alarm and caution. You recognized only a few faces, and most of those you couldn't name. One hell of a party, this was.


"What do we even do?" You ask, your words hardly audible over the sound of Take On Me by A-ha- Brahms, unable to decipher what you'd said, leaned closer. Wit hone white-knuckled hand reaching up to tuck his black curls behind his ear, you repeat your question, a little louder, and he lets out a shaky chuckle. 


"I... have no idea. I guess we..." He pauses and glances around, eyes narrowing and brows knitting together in search of any first destination, "Get some food?" He pointed in the direction of the kitchen where you could see boxes of pizza, bowls of punch, and a cake covered in a plastic lid that must mean to be served later. 


"Sounds good to me." The two of you don't waste your voices saying anything else just yet; it's much, much too loud for casual banter or nervous chatter, so instead you both simply move for the crowd, sticking as closely together as possible as you begin to push through it to no avail. The sway and push of the others acts almost as one entity pulsing and shifting to keep you from completing your simple task. The kitchen didn't look far from the front door, but now that you had taken a simple step into the throng of partiers it seemed to be yards away, distant. Through muttered 'excuse me's and 'can I step by?' you pushed forwards one foot at a time, focusing solely on standing upright; you were about halfway through when you noticed you had no idea where Brahms had gone. He had been right beside you, sticking close, but now the two of you had been separated and the one good thing in the room was ripped away from you. You considered raising your voice to shout for him and then realized that would be, essentially, pointless since the speakers were barking loud enough to make your ears bleed if you got too close; ditching that idea you just continued forwards, hoping that he would meet you in the kitchen. You were close to breaking free when a hand planted itself on your shoulder and you whirled around to see the man you'd lost. Brahms was clearly panicked, his eyes wild and his jaw clenched tight, but as your face broke out into a relieved grin some of that tension eased away and he returned the smile tightly. 


"Let's try to stick closer," He said in a voice that was nearly pleading, swallowing hard in an attempt to stave off any more panic, "I'll be torn to bits on my own." As if to accent his words someone who had been dancing carelessly elbowed him hard in the back. He grimaced, glancing briefly in their direction as they barked something inaudible, lost in the rhythm. You didn't waste another second before taking his hand in yours and lacing your fingers tightly together. You two wouldn't be separated again. With only a bit more pushing and a few more steps the two of you (thankfully) make it out of the mass of bodies and into the brightly lit kitchen, which is surprisingly empty in contrast to the room before. 


"That was..." You let out a breathless chuckle, the air stolen from your lungs by the surprisingly challenging battle to the kitchen, "Something. Too many people. I don't like it." You drop Brahms' hand and wipe at your forehead, brushing off a thin sheen of sweat. "It's too hot in here, too."


"It's kind of disgusting," Brahms grumbles, a frown stretched over his face and further twisting the scars on the left half, "I don't understand the appeal of parties like this, to be honest. It's just... music and food. I can get that at home without the billions of people." You let out a hum of agreement and the both of you turn right for the pizza boxes. They're nearly picked clean, only a few slices left but it looks good enough to eat and you'll really take anything to get your mind off of the rest of this shitshow. 


"Pepperoni or... whatever this is?" The second option you listed had olives, mushrooms, peppers, and a wide selection of meats including what looked to be sardines. You wince and take a slice of pepperoni. Brahms does the same. "I'm guessing you're as reluctant as me to go back out there?" The question is met with a simple nod and a stone of relief drops in your belly. Just like you often do in your own home, you hop up to sit on the kitchen counter in a place where there aren't cups both new and old or scarlet napkins in neat little piles. You bite into your slice of pizza, enjoying the greasiness of it- it's just the right balance of trashy and delicious for a party like this, and it makes it just a tiny bit more comprehensible. 


"What the fuck do we do after this?" Brahms jumped up onto the counter beside you, eating his own slice a little quicker and kicking one foot out to thump against the cupboards beneath him in time with the music. What were you supposed to do at a party? Should you have done, like, some sort of research or something? You didn't fit in here, that much was clear, and dancing wasn't really your forte. You guessed it wasn't Brahms' either, especially since the crowd was so big, so you just shrug one shoulder and say, through a mouthful of pizza,


"Sit here. Wait... 30 minutes, then leave." 


"Sounds great to me." Two minutes pass and neither of you talk, eating your slices and trying to block out as much noise as possible. Only when you finish your crust does Brahms slide off the counter again and cross the room to a punch bowl filled with a rosy-toned liquid. "What do you thinks in this?" He asks, glancing at you over his tan cardigan-clad shoulder with a curious quirk of one brow.


"Probably something alcoholic," dropping off the counter in the wake of your friend you meet him by the punchbowl and are met with a smell you'd never imagined could possibly exist. It's citrusy, like orange or maybe grapefruit, but it's also laced with something that stings your nose and makes your eyes glass over. Yep, that would be alcohol, and probably something strong, too. "Yuck," You stick out your tongue, glancing up at him. He lets out a small chuckle at the look on your face- then, in unison, you both reach for a cup and dip it right into the bowl. So much for your no-alcohol rule. Your first sip is explosive, and you mean that in the worst way possible. Your tongue and throat burn and your eyes screw shut at the punch of near-sourness, like an alcoholic warhead in liquid form. It's truly disgusting, just as you had guessed it would be, but that didn't stop you or Brahms from drinking down as much as possible without breaking out into coughing fits. As Brahms wiped at his mouth and cleared his burning throat, he turned to you to say,


"I thought we promised Norman and Michael that we wouldn't be drinking!" He pulled his arm away again and you saw that he was smiling brightly now, his face lit up, the amusement pushing away the frayed nerves at least for a moment. 


"What they won't know won't kill 'em, will it? And besides, this is only to take the edge off. Maybe this place'll look a little more enticing after reaching the bottom of this cup." Raising your glass, Brahms bumped his against it, and took another long sip in your wake. "That's just," You run your tongue over your lips, trying to get the taste out of your mouth, "terrible, right? Who thought this was a good choice?"


"I'm sure Danny Johnson will drink anything that's alcoholic, even if it tastes like shit." You laugh at Brahms' joke and reclaim your place on the counter, rolling your eyes and then nodding along because Brahms was 100% right as far as you were concerned. "So this is supposed to be a birthday party? Why would anyone want this to celebrate their birthday?"


"What would you rather? A group outing to the orchestra?" Light and teasing, you bump your elbow into Brahms' side just after he sits on the counter once more as well. He bumps you right back but can't stifle his snicker.


"That sounds perfect, actually. Much better than all this bullshit, that's for sure."


"I'd rather get murdered than do all this bullshit." Again, the two of you burst out into laughter, passing back and forth elbow jabs and taking quick sips of the nasty alcohol in your hands. Your face was beginning to hurt from the tense smile upon it, your lungs beginning to cry out in protest due to your laughing fit. You both cut yourselves off abruptly as someone bursts from the crowd and sets foot into the kitchen, passing the both of you, red in the face from laughter, no more than a glance before beelining for the punch bowl. You think this kid is named Leslie but you can't really remember. As he fills his cup and then dives back into the party, two other people take his place and they're both a little too familiar for your tastes. Your shoulders tense all over again and you lower your face to try and avoid detection, but Danny's eyes connect with yours and he stares, expressionless, for a quick second before looking away again. He's with Amanda, whose cheeks are rosy and whose smile is a little uneven. She's clearly borderlining on drunk and going for another glass, but you can hear Danny quietly muttering his disapproval to her, trying to steer her away.


"Mandy, come on you've had enough for now haven't you?"


"Don't be a dick, Dan, I'm fine," Amanda smiled, punching him hard in the arm and reaching for a cup from the neat stack to the right of the punch bowl. Just as she picked it up you heard her phone beep, and she dropped the cup at once with a gasp to instead pull the phone from its place in her back pocket. "Oh, sick, Billy's here. I'll be back." Danny doesn't protest as she speeds away all over again, letting out a sigh and picking the red solo cup from its place now floating in the bowl. He tosses it aside and to the floor without a care, finally turning on his heel again to address you and, in turn, Brahms. 


"So," he began, leaning back against the counter, "You came." 


"Yeah, I did." Trying to mask your unease, you lift your head and smile tightly, playing with the rim of the cup in your hands. 


"And... you brought a friend?" Just as he was mentioned Brahms' head shot up and he jumped from the counter, back stiff as a board. He set his cup aside with shaking hands.


"Can you point me to the bathroom, please?" You could tell how hard he was battling to keep his voice from wavering. With a confused chuckle, Danny jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to a hallway leading out of the kitchen.


"Second door on the left. Knock yourself out." Brahms glanced at you, apologetic, and then hurried away with his head down and his hands balled into tight fists. An awkward silence stretches between you and Danny, almost painful in it's length. Danny was finally the one to break it. "Why'd you bother coming?" You watched as Danny's brows drooped and he tilted his head back, lifting his chin in a way that was clearly belittling. You can't help the scowl that crawls onto your face at that, and you also can't stop the smart-ass answer you have locked and loaded before you can stop it.


"What's it to you?" The words come out with a bite that you hadn't meant to include, but Danny's eyebrows lift momentarily and he holds out his hand in mock defense, so you guess maybe it wasn't the end of the world to toss out the harshness. Sadly, it doesn't ward him away, actually seeming to do the exact opposite. 


"Gee, you could have just told me you can't get enough of me." 


"Pah!" You scoff, and let a sneer take over your face, "Keep dreaming, Danny, that's as far from the truth as you could ever be. I'm here for your mom's sake and only your mom's sake. Don't toot your own damn horn."


"Alright then. We'll see about that." Before you had a chance to bark out a 'what does that mean?' Danny was moving onto the next topic with a slight downward turn of his lips. "So, are you and he, like..." There's another beat of silence, another second of unadulterated tension, "Together or something?"


"What? Brahms? No, no. He's just a friend." Heat rises to your face and suddenly you're thankful for the redness that was already pigmenting it because of the temperature and the stress.


"Well, I didn't know you were bringing a plus one." Danny crosses his arms over his chest, blinking cooly; not a single emotion was betrayed by his hardened features, the thin line of his lips, his lightly slitted eyes.


"I didn't. I think he said he was invited by Stu."


"Well, good for him." Danny still seemed to be almost pouting. His shoulders were the slightest bit hunched, his gaze averted. A perfect teasing opportunity arose, and you decided to take it.


"What?" You ask, and his gaze snaps back to you. His shoulders sink back and he's back into emotionless mode.


"What do you mean 'what'?" 


"What's got you so pissed? Are you jealous?" Now it's Danny's turn to scoff, rolling his eyes and adopting that shit-eating smirk he wore so naturally.


"Jealous? Of you and Brahms? Why would I be jealous?" 


"I dunno, maybe because you saw us holding hands or something. Don't worry, Dan, it was only platonic. You don't need to get your panties in a twist." Now, Danny's smirk falls again and that invisible frown comes back with a slight shift in his brows. He knows you're mocking him and he doesn't like it. 


"You were holding hands?"


"Yeah, what of it? Why do you care?" There's the quickest beat of silence and a flutter of confusion bursts in your chest. He doesn't care, does he? Why would he?


"I don't." Of course he doesn't. You're just teasing and he's just getting a little angry about it. He's probably not used to having someone stand up to him like this without backing down.


"Prove it then, hot shot. Cool yourself off and leave me and my friend alone." You cross your arms over your own chest to match him, leaning forwards just slightly, challenging. He lets out another scoff and scratches at his nose.


"Fine then," He says at last and lifts his chin at you once more, "I'll prove it to you that I don't give a shit, but you have to prove me something back."


"And what would that be, exactly?" You slide off from your seat on the counter, sizing Danny up and wearing the strongest face you can put on in an attempt to match his own.


"If you really want me to believe that you're here for my mother's sake, you'll stick around until the very end when she gets home from work. I'm sure she'd love to hear about how much fun you had with your little pal here." The stony expression you had masked yourself with must have faltered, showing your discomfort, because pride lit inside of Danny's golden eyes and his smirk returned with it's usual ease. Pushing off the counter, Danny stands upright again and shoots you a finger gun. "I won't be keeping an eye on you, but I'll let my momma know you're stickin' around. Enjoy." Danny trails out of the room without another word, leaving you irritated and laden with a newfound dread. You had let yourself grow defensive, hostile, and because of it (and because of your pride) you had to stick around to the end of this party. You weren't letting Danny win, no way- as Brahms returned from the bathroom looking as if he'd splashed his face with water, you decided with a new finality that, yes, you were absolutely staying here just to spite the hell out of Danny Johnson. 


"Are you alright?" Brahms asked you, his voice more even now that Danny had left the scene. You shrug a shoulder and return to your counter throne with a slight frown and guilt stretched over your features. "What's wrong?" 


"I just got myself into a stupid bet. I have to stick around to the end of this shitty thing." Brahms reclaims his place beside you, letting out a snicker. 


"How'd you manage to do that?" He says, picking up his cup again and finishing off the last of the punch. 


"Just my stupid pride. Danny's such a-" You cut yourself off, biting your tongue and swallowing down the bitterness threatening to push itself from your lips. "Whatever. You don't have to stay if you don't want to. I'm the one who got myself into this mess anyways." Brahms cracks a grin and shakes his head, patting your shoulder.


"I won't just leave you here. That wouldn't be very nice, would it? We're in this together." Dragging up a smile from underneath all the annoyance, you mutter a quick thank you and offer to grab him another glass of punch. This was going to be a long night. 

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