Damn you, past self, for making such stupid decisions. Just thinking is enough to get you to grimace, screwing your eyes together and wishing you'd been sober enough to close your stupid window before collapsing into bed the night before. Inside of your skull was a symphony of the worst kind; there were mind-shaking drums reverberating with every movement or flash or sound and high-pitch clarinets ringing in your ears, a constant buzz that threatened to drive you mad. The happy tweeting of the birds outside and the sound of passing cars was splitting your head down its center. If you could choose one thing in the world right now it would be to escape this hell you'd thrown yourself into. Every limb felt like it was lead-laden, too heavy to move and you were utterly exhausted, your throat bone-dry, your stomach pinching and pushing with nausea and pain. I'm never ever drinking again. Moving as little as possible you reached out an arm (which screamed in protest as you did so) in search of your phone, patting around the cluttered surface of your bedside table and nearly knocking over a half-empty and day-old glass of water. You found an abandoned hair tie, your earbuds, the tissue box and a single pencil but, with a groan, you finally accept that you won't find your phone just patting around like this. Sucking in as deep a breath as you can in your current, dreadful state, you get the pain over with and sit up, back creaking, and peel your eyelids away so you can scan the too-bright scape of your bedroom.

"Fuck me," You grumble, one hand lifting to rest on your forehead; it was warm to the touch- not a surprise. "Where the hell is that stupid phone?" You turn your head (reluctant to move anything else) and glance at your bedside, then let your gaze dance along the floor from one pair of pants to another, hoping to see it sticking from a pocket here or there. It seemed to have disappeared right off the face of the earth- or at least, that's what your muddled brain chose to believe to try and convince you to lay back down and forget the whole issue. Sadly, your phone was too important to just leave missing for some extra Z's. Reaching over for the old water with a suppressed groan you tilted your head back and drank desperately, eyes flitting shut as the sun-warm H2O did it's thing and cleared up your foggy mind to some degree. You pushed your blankets aside and slid to staggering feet, your bare toes on the cool hardwood giving you the tiniest jump-start. You were just about to drop to your knees to kick around through the shit all over your floor when three knocks on your door sent a white-hot agony blooming behind your eyelids. You wince, gritting your teeth together and hissing out the words in as normal a tone as possible, "Yes?"

"I've got breakfast, if you're hungry- bacon and eggs." It was your father. Good ole' dad, who currently doesn't know you drank half your bodyweight and are currently more hungover than you ever will be in your whole life.

"No thanks," You say back, pressing your palms to eyes, "I'm not hungry. Maybe later."

"Alright," You hear him pause and know he's still there, continuing a moment later, "Tell me about that party when you come out." Within your father's voice is a subtle suspicion, a curiosity. He wants to know how much you drank just like any good father would; you don't plan on letting him know any time soon.

"Sure thing, dad." With that, you hear his footsteps retreat and finally let yourself to your knees. It's a pain in the ass to crawl around with how tired you are, but you pick through the clothing until you're 100% sure that your phone isn't here on the floor. Now there's a prick of worry in your stomach as you wonder what you'd tell your dad if you lost the thing. Sorry, pa, I got drunk off my ass and must have traded it for some heroine, my bad. Using the support of your bed you manage to climb back to your feet and rustle through the blankets, pushing them and pulling them and flipping them over and around. You get desperate after a minute and shake them out over the floor, praying to whatever Gods may be listening that the thing goes flying. You could care less if you cracked the screen in your frantic search so long as it was here. When the blanket-shaking turned up fruitless you wanted to let out a frustrated cry- that frustrated cry did make it out, though rather quiet, when another hard knock on the door made your head spin. "What do you want!" You plop down onto your bed, leaning your head on your hands.

"Gee, kid," It's your dad again. Great. "I just wanted to know if you wanted some, like, orange juice or something! Coffee, maybe, but I'll just- leave you be." A pang of guilt jabbed at your stomach but it brought on a fresh wave of nausea and was soon forgotten as you battled back the urge to spill the meager contents of your stomach all over the floor. You could hear your dad leaving again right away, and you wobble to your feet all over again. Where the hell is your phone? Back on the floor, you peer over, head twirling and whirling, to look underneath the bed and it isn't there. You cross the room to the closet, digging through the near-empty laundry basket (your dirty clothes are mostly covering the length of your room like ugly rugs) and it isn't there. You check by your record player, in the vinyl box and- oh! Guess what! It isn't there! The only other place in the entire room that it could possibly be is under your mattress but that's damn-well near impossible and you don't get the chance to look because yet again there's knocking on your door and your headache is so intense now with the rising sun and all the noise that you snap without even thinking.

"What?! I'm trying to sleep!" It's a lie and you don't give a shit. There's a brief pause, and then-

"Sorry, dear, but your friends are here." Your head pivoted for the door.

"Oh," You say, awkward, and glance quickly down at your clothing to make sure you're in something presentable; at some point in your drunken haze the night prior you'd gotten into loose shorts and a t-shirt. Good enough. "Sorry, send 'em in, please." A second later the door opened and Norman popped his head in with a gentle smile.

"Hey," He greeted, slinking through the entrance with a cafe cup in his hand and a small paper bag, "I brought you something to drink- and to eat." Brahms stepped into the room right behind him with bags under his eyes that would put Gucci to shame. You haven't yet looked in a mirror but you don't think you look that bad. He quickly shut the door behind him, blocking your dad from listening in to your hungover conversation even though it was almost certain he could tell Brahms was hungover, which meant, in turn, he knew that you were too. "It's green tea and a honey nut muffin. It should help with your head."

"I don't know if I'll be able to keep it down," You frown, entirely honest, but take the drink and the bag from your friend nonetheless. You can see in his eyes a silent plea, a 'at least try your best' and you can't say no to Norman. Plopping down onto the side of your bed, you bring the cup up to your lips and take a tentative sip; it's not as hot as you'd been afraid it would be, and it was actually... well, super soothing. Another bigger sip followed right after.

"How are you this morning?" Brahms asked, taking a seat at your side with a pinched expression. Through the momentary comfort provided by the tea you'd forgotten all about the problem at hand, and let out a light sigh- anything too dramatic would surely send your head spinning yet again.

"Shitty. I need to use one of your guys' phones, I can't find mine." Norman quirked a concerned brow, pulling his cellphone from his back pocket and extending it to you. It didn't have a password, so you opened it up and went straight for the phone app.

"Do you think someone might have taken it? From what Brahms has told me, you two ditched the no-drinking rule." Though you had expected to hear disappointment in Norman's voice there was nothing other than care and nerve. You offer up an apologetic smile and shrug one shoulder, meek.

"Sorry," You mutter, and then avoid any other confrontation by calling your number and hoping you'll hear your ringtone- or, alternatively, that someone will pick up. On the fourth ring, right as you were about to lose hope, the line clicked and you sat further forwards, alert coming up through the haze in your head.

"Oh, hey, finally someone-"

"Hey, asshole, how kind of you to pick up!" You climb to your feet as quickly as possible, setting your green tea on your bedside table and beginning to pace.

"Who is this? Are-"

"When did you do it, huh?" There was the briefest second of silence and then, confused, the man said,

"When did I do what? Is this the-"

"When did you steal my damn phone? Obviously that's why I'm calling!" Brahms stood beside you, leaning close as if to whisper something to you but you held up a finger to tell him to wait and took a step away. You were fuming, the alcohol still working itself out of your system fueling the temper that so often exploded.

"I didn't steal it you just-"

"What happened then, huh? I gave it to you?"

"(Y/N), that's-" Brahms tried to speak again but you plugged your ear and turned away, reluctant to risk lashing out at him as well. You watched his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh and he shared an impatient glance with Norman.

"Well if you listened for a moment then maybe you'd get the whole story but-"

"Oh, you shut up! You don't get to play high and mighty here, you're the one who took advantage of a drunk kid and stole their cellphone. Who are you? I obviously expect the phone back and I'm also tempted to call the-"

"(Y/N), listen! Please." Norman grabbed your arm, gentle but commanding, and pulled it from it's spot with your hand clamped over your ear. You whirled to face him, seeing the emotions bubbling inside of his gaze; amusement, embarrassment, and the same impatience you'd seen in Brahms' eyes. "You really should listen to us."

"Wait, you're (Y/N)? Oh, that's just fantastic. Heya, Sweetheart, I told you to lay off the drinks." A stone of dread fell into the pool of humiliation filling the pit of your stomach. Absolutely not. Why? Why, fate, must you keep throwing this guy your way? What did you ever do to deserve this?

"Fuck. No." Your gaze sharpened into a glare, one you turned to flick at Brahms and then Norman in turn; it wasn't directed at them, simply flashed in their direction so they could see how much you hated Danny Johnson.

"And I was starting to feel bad for having to yell at some poor hungover freshman. I bet you don't feel so 'high and mighty' now, huh?" You cheeks began to burn and your head began to throb, the headache still lying behind your eyes picking up in strength at the painfully familiar sound of Danny's voice. You stormed across your room and picked up your green tea, taking a long, healing sip and then bracing yourself for making the headache worse with a lecture.

"Why do you have my phone? Why do you try so hard to worm your way into my life? It's like every single chance you get you're doing something to see more of me and it's just so-"

"Don't you toot your own horn, honey, trust me. If I'd known this was your phone before you called I would have tossed it into the road. I'm not trying to 'worm my way' into your life, in fact- I'd rather never speak to you again. I didn't take the thing from you, you left it behind in my kitchen." You were grateful that Danny didn't raise his voice but your annoyance was enough to fuel the pain behind your eyes. Boy, did you want to punch this man. "I'm guessing you want your phone back, don't you? I'm not bringing it to you and I'm sure as hell not hunting you down at school to return it. You know my address, come pick it up in 20 minutes or you're not getting it back." With that, the line went dead and you let out a frustrated groan, feeling the sudden urge to throw this phone across the room and suppressing it because, well, it wasn't you phone. You turned, shoving it back in Norman's direction and running a hand through your hair.

"What a dick," Brahms huffed out, and you caught the gaze Norman passed him that clearly disapproved of his cussing. You wonder how many times that gaze had been tossed at you without you noticing. "Well," He sighed, "If you've only got 30 minutes we'd better get going. You don't mind driving again, do you, Norman?" The boy shook his head, smiling warmly in your direction and jerking his head towards the door in a silent invitation.

"Really? You'd drive me?" You felt so incredibly ill, skating wasn't even an option; getting a ride from Norman would be- well, it would be the best thing you could ever ask for. "Oh, God, thank you!" You stumble forwards on uneasy feet, dizzy now with relief, and circle Norman in a brief hug before stepping away again and grabbing your tea as well as the paper bag with the muffin inside. You didn't bother changing out of your pyjamas, knowing you were going to make this whole ordeal pass as quickly as possible, and instead just went straight for your bedroom door with the two others in tow. You grabbed the doorknob, the metal cool against the sweaty palms of your hands, and braced for the accusatory look of your father. Pulling the door open wide you were surprised to see he wasn't waiting on the other side, but as you walked towards your front door (and, in turn, the kitchen) you spotted him at your small dining table with a curious air about him. As your eyes locked with his he read you like an open book, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms over his chest.

"You look a mess, dear child," He huffed out, "I don't know where you're off to but I trust that you'll be smart? No driving?" As you stopped at the door and stepped into your shoes you shook your head, fighting the urge to roll your eyes since you could tell it would hurt like a mother fucker.

"No, dad, Norman's driving. I'm just going to pick up my phone, I left it at the house the party was at." Again, your dad let out a heavy sigh and shifted to lean forwards to set his gaze back on the sketchpad he was seated before.

"Well, I'm not going to lecture you in front of your friends- after all, I'm supposed to be the cool dad, right? But," He picked up his pencil and began to scratch away at the paper with it, practiced effortless strokes of a dark 6B, "I do expect you to tell me all about it when you're back. I'm sure you're suffering enough already to know not to drink so much again."

"Thanks, dad," You smile, and pull open the front door, "I'll be back in no time, I promise." Without another word, the three of you stepped out into the morning sun and piled into Brahms' car, with Norman in the driver's seat to head to the house of the one man you just couldn't stand.

***

"Oh, boy, here we go," You pull your bottom lip between two teeth to weather at the skin. The car was parked and silent outside of the Johnson residence, anxiety buzzing in your veins as if they were live wires. You didn't want to be here, and yet, through your drunken stupor the night evening, you'd doomed yourself to be right back. "I'll try to make this quick, I guess." With a frown on your face you sip the last of your green tea and take your last bite of muffin, pushing open the door and climbing out into the sunshine once more. You squeeze your eyes shut for just a second and then peel them open again to let them adjust, closing the car door gently behind you. A second later, the window rolled down, and Brahms leaned over the backseat to offer a tight smile that dripped with honest sympathy.

"Best of luck to you, (Y/N)." Then, his eyes glittering with a teasing look, "Don't fall for his dashing good looks!" He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and fluttered his lashes, acting as if he were swooning for an imaginary boy. With your face as deadpan as you could make it, you simply stare at him, hoping he can feel the disappointment radiating off of you in waves. It seems he can, because he cracks a smile and bursts out laughing before wincing and lifting one hand to press at the bridge of his nose.

"Serves you right, jokester. Be right back." At last, swallowing down the nervousness, you move for the front porch. "Okay, (Y/N), you got this. Easy peasy. Just knock on the door, show off how much you don't want to be here, take your phone and leave." You suck in a clipped breath as you reach the steps taking them one at a time and as slowly as possible, stalling as best you could. Sadly, you still (obviously) reached the top and had to lift a hand to knock on the door. Three sharp taps is all it takes and then you hear the lock popping open, following right after by the door itself. Revealed to you is Danny's mother, her face pale, but as soon as your eyes lock with hers she lets out a breathy chuckle and her cheeks go rosy once more.

"Oh, (Y/N), was it? Daniel's friend?" The smile that blossomed over her lips was a hangover cure on its own, something angelic and soaked in a bright relief that you didn't know the origin of. "I didn't know you were coming over, I could have cleaned a little faster or-"

"Ah, no," You hold out a hand, a silent apology for cutting her off, "It's alright, I don't plan on staying, I just left my phone behind the night before." Understanding lit her golden gaze and she nodded her head.

"Of course, of course. I'll just go get him. Would you like to step inside?" Stepping back, Mrs. Johnson held out an arm in a welcoming sweep. As always, you couldn't say no and risk hurting her feelings, so you stepped into her home with a muttered thank you and noted how different it looked in the daylight. The leftover mess from last night's party was entirely gone, leaving something you could have easily mistaken for a showhome. It was perfect, crisp and clean, fitting a colour palette of light gray, dark grey, black, green and a warm sienna. It was easy on the eyes. "I'll be right back, hon." Away the lady scurried, sweeping her hair out of her face as she ventured into the house in search of her son. You heard her calling his name from the kitchen, and in came his near-silent response, too far away to make out. Moments later, however, you heard a door open and Danny's voice came much clearer.

"What's up, momma?" He sounded a little out of breath- his words were followed by the sound of a faucet turning on and running into a cup, then the opening of the door again and the excited chatter of who you can only assume is his little sister.

"(Y/N) is here- for their phone, I think." You heard the sound of Danny's heavy sigh and then his mother scolding him in a quiet tone, though she still sounded somewhat playful. "Come on, get out there. Don't keep them waiting."

"Yeah, yeah," He grumbled, "I'll see you outside again in a minute, okay Dahl? How 'bout you go see how many froggies you can catch while I'm gone?"

"Yes! I can catch all thwee!" Dahlia's excited little voice was followed by a fit of giggling, and then the door swung open and shut as she raced back out into the yard- to catch frogs, if you heard them right. Danny stepped out of the kitchen and, shamefully, you had to stop yourself from staring. He was wearing a dark maroon shirt that showed off the tattoos on his arms that you had no idea he had until this very moment. Though you wanted to look closer, decipher what they were, you didn't allow yourself to. His pants, dark blue jeans with tears in the knees that seemed natural, were rolled up almost to his knees yet still soaked through with water. You wanted to ask questions but you were awkward, painfully so, knowing that you two had yelled at one another the night before; well, correction, you had yelled at him.

"Hey," You say, smiling wanly, and scratch at the back of your neck.

"Hiya, your phones just upstairs. I'll go grab it for you, just- wait here, please." He was just about to turn away to hurry up the stairs when his mother stepped in with a stern expression underlined with both affection and irritation.

"No, Daniel, you can't just leave your guest standing here alone. I'm so sorry, he doesn't get visitors often. You can go upstairs with him." You nearly winced, barely holding the expression in, and went to protest when Danny beat you to it.

"No, mom they aren't coming up to my room that's-"

"Daniel." Her hands planted themselves on her hips and you noticed the shocking resemblance between her and her son yet again. It turns out she could be just as stubborn as he was. Shooting you an apologetic glance, Danny nodded his head and motioned for you to follow him, his cheeks tinting a pale red. "Thanks for playing nice, sweetheart."

"Yeah, mom, 'course. Let's go." Danny's fists were clenched, white-knuckled, and the tenseness in his shoulders was obvious even in the low light of the stairwell. He reached the top landing, then whirled on his foot to look at you with a smoldering intensity, a storm of different feelings, most of them negative. "Stay here and don't make a sound, you aren't coming into my room." The hiss in his voice was hard on your ears, sending a splinter of pain through your head and dragging up the loose threat of a wave of nausea. Gritting your teeth, your hands shot up defensively and your eyebrows raised in response. Voice dripping with sarcasm, you said,

"Don't worry, Dan, that's the last thing I want to do. Just- keep your voice down, please? You aren't making this any easier for this stupid headache of mine." Amusement lit behind his yellow eyes and you maybe would have punched him (or at least spat out a vulgar name) if he didn't turn around and slide into a room behind a door with a paper sign on the front; having nothing else of interest to look at, you squint your eyes to make out the details of that paper sign, a grin splitting your features despite the despair writhing within you. In curly, pink-glitter-pen letters, the name 'Danny' was written (only with one 'n') and underneath it, in brackets, was '(BBE- BEST BROTHER EVER)'. Even though two of the r's and three of the e's were backwards, it was undeniably cute and undeniably made by Dahlia. Danny appeared a second later, shoving your phone back into your hands and then motioning impatiently towards the stairs once more.

"There," He says with a forced grin, too toothy, "Now you can go, and I can get back to enjoying my day." He waited for you to start walking first and followed close behind as the two of you moved back down the stairs to the front door. With your smile still holding strong, you felt confident enough to poke a little fun.

"Sure thing, BBE. Enjoy your frog-catching." You reached the bottom of the steps and tossed a glance over your shoulder, watching as he opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it closed all over again as his mother appeared to say her goodbye's.

"Oh, he just loves frog-catching," She smiles, placing a hand on his arm and smiling fond and warm, "He and Dahlia begged and begged for a frog pond a few Christmases ago, and we couldn't say no to them. Now they're out there almost every weekend, seeing what frogs are stopping by!"

"Mom-" Danny covered his face with one hand, his cheeks glowing.

"He and his sister, the first week we had the pond," Danny let out a groan, his other hand going to his face as well, "They both got so sunburnt, it was terrible! I couldn't help but laugh a little, and now they always use sunscreen but-" At last, she snapped to attention, and realized she was rambling. "Right, right, sorry," Her own cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she laughed quietly into her hand, "I get off track more than I'd like to admit- it was nice to see you again, (Y/N). I'll let Danny show you out to your car again."

"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson," Your own smile is just as warm as hers, your gaze alight with amusement. The ammunition she'd given you just now to fire at Danny was... perfect. "I hope to see you again soon." Danny dropped his hands at last, kissing his mom quickly on the cheek before brushing her hand off and pulling the door wide open.

"Out we go, I guess," He sighed, not bothering to put his shoes on to, reluctantly, walk you out to your car.

"Thanks," You laugh, and decide to give him a break for now. Still grinning near-painfully, you lead the way back to Brahms' car and open up the door, turning back to Danny before sitting inside to thank him simply for courtesy's sake.

"Finally, I thought you would never come back-" Brahms' voice had been joking, but as he leaned forwards from the back seat and spotted Danny he froze, blinking dumbly and letting out a nervous chuckle. "Danny- hi."

"Uh, hi," Danny waved, clearly uncomfortable, and tried to seem as chillax as possible. The attempt failed and he only looked more awkward. There was a horrible moment of quiet, and then, clearing his throat first, Danny spoke again. "Well, bye. I'll see you at school- or- not, hopefully." He shrugged one shoulder, scratching at his nose and grinning thinly.

"Thanks, yeah, bye," You were just as awkward as you sunk into the passenger seat, waving one more short time before slamming the door shut and letting out the heaviest sigh of relief you'd ever breathed in your life. "Get me out of here," You mutter, and Norman is quick to comply as he turns the car back on and steps on the gas, leaving Danny behind staring after you for a moment.

"I guess it was just as terrible as we'd worried?" Norman chuckled, glancing over at you with sympathetic eyes. You look right back and don't even have to speak for both him and Brahms to burst out laughing at your silent response. It was the worst.

(A/N): I don't know if this chapter sucks or not but I needed to get SOMETHING out and I feel like a filler was definitely necessary so the plot didn't feel too rushed. In the next chapter we get some new big news that'll really set this whole book into motion :) please please tell me what you guys think of this one 🥺