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you groan face-first into your pillow, only forcing yourself upright to drag a hand across your face, like somehow that would wipe the memory clean from your brain. it makes your headache worse. every single question entered your head at once: who else saw you? did you embarrass yourself? will you have to avoid that bar for the rest of your life?

who was that guy?

you slowly shake the thought away, careful not to make the throbbing any worse. peeling yourself from the warmth of your bed is a near-impossible task to manage. you do it anyway.

the room looks exactly how it did before you left. the same open, now unlit, candle sitting on your dresser, clothes piled and draped over a laundry basket, phone abandoned on the nightstand, unplugged. to no one’s surprise, it’s dead when you reach for it to check the time. nothing is out of place until you trudge toward the kitchen for the glass of water your tequila-stained mouth had been begging for since you woke up.

as you get a bearing on your surroundings, you notice your shoes lay against the wall, beside the front door. neatly. not having any other options you’d like to consider, you figure you have better coordination than expected when shitfaced.

and then your eyes drift up to your keys. 

hung up on the hook above the shoes. you blink. you have a bag, so hanging keys up when you get home truly doesn’t even cross your mind. you’ve never used that thing, drunk or otherwise. you try to shake the thought. it’s odd, but so is everything when you don’t know what the last twelve hours of your life looked like. for all you know, you’re a real organized drunk.

you nearly crack at the thought.

you’re kidding yourself.

the kitchen light is still on from yesterday. your eyes catch on the bowl of fruit sitting on the kitchen island, a quiet reminder that you really should try to get something down. you’re full at the thought alone. instead, you open a cupboard to retrieve a glass when you remember why you came out in the first place. it sits heavy in your hand, cold and smooth against your palm. tap water tastes incredible in your state. 

small sips.

another flash.

it comes and goes in an instant. too quickly for you to make any more sense of last night. you peer into your now-empty glass, swirling around the last drop- there were too many gaps in your memory. you carefully set the glass into the sink, figuring your time would be better spent at least getting yourself clean and awake in the shower. 

steam fills the bathroom quickly, and it seems to dull your headache into something manageable. more than any painkillers had, at least. you let the water run hotter than you needed, the feeling of it teetering on scalding as it runs down your neck and face. your hand follows suit, wiping any hint of yesterday off of your cheek.

“here, let me.”

the words flicker through your mind and send you back a step. you scrub at your hair harder than you mean to.

by the time you shut the water off, nothing else has come back. whatever answers yesterday held were going to stay there. you dry off in silence, pull on clean clothes, and catch yourself in the mirror before leaving the bathroom.

you still look like you'd had a rough night.

maybe the bartender remembers more than you did. you at least owe him an apology.

after studying yourself in the mirror for another moment, you make it to the front door, finger hooking through the ring of your keys. they dangle from your hand for a moment while you stare at the now-empty hook. you still don’t understand.

you really try not to think too much about it. if your memory answers your questions, it will. until then, you drop the keys into your bag and sling it over your shoulder. the sun pours in from a glass panel at the top of the door, brighter than you’d like.

you pull the door shut behind you.

your plans are interrupted when you feel a familiar tingle in your jaw and spit gathering under your tongue. 

you lurch toward the corner of the wall, just out of sight, but you get about two hurried steps in when your stomach is forcing it out of you. your throat burns with alcohol as you paint the concrete in front of you with vomit. 

“someone got too cocky in there, huh?”

you look up, still blinking away tears, your expression pointedly unimpressed. your eyes catch the cigarette first, then drift upward.

“what?” you haphazardly wipe the corner of your mouth with the side of your hand.

as the blur in your vision clears, it gives way to what’s in front of you- a sturdy man with stark silver hair pushed up in a wild fashion, thick glasses framing dark eyes. he’s older than his voice let on. he brings a hand to his mouth, taking one last drag, before flicking the cigarette to the ground. 

he’s stepping toward you before you can register it. already pulling a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans. he doesn’t pay mind to the mess at your feet. 

“here, let me.”

the next several seconds pass in an instant; he’s tilting your head toward him with one hand, dabbing at your mouth with the other, wiping one last dribble from your chin. you were too wrecked for the lingering smell of tobacco on his fingers to nauseate you any further. you considered stopping him, telling him you’re fine and to knock it off. the thought alone exhausted you.

he crouches to your level and you fight through half-lidded, dazed eyes until you can meet his gaze.

“think you can sit for me?”

you shake your head. “i'm fine.”

“you threw up,” he presses. his voice hasn’t wavered since the first time he spoke.

"i know.” you glare at him through your eyelashes.

"then humor me."

you want to argue with him. tell him you're perfectly capable of getting yourself home, that you don't need some stranger babysitting you outside a bar. the words die in the back of your throat.

he nods toward a weathered bench a few feet away beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp. "just five minutes."

with a sigh, you push yourself away from the wall. that task alone is laborious. the walk isn't more than a handful of steps, but it feels considerably longer, each foot carrying the weight of your whole body. he follows close enough that you catch him in your periphery, a hand hovering near your elbow without ever quite touching you. you sink down onto the seat of the bench. your legs are grateful for the respite.

“don't go anywhere.” it comes out more of a request than an order.

you let out a tired huff. “wasn’t planning on it.”

he takes in the sight one more time, as though debating whether to leave you alone, and then he’s making his way back toward the bar.

"be right back,” he calls over his shoulder.

the heavy door shuts behind him, leaving you alone with the quiet.

it settles strangely.

the cold replaces the space he'd left behind. your elbows find your knees, forehead dropping into your hands with a long exhale. god. you hadn't realized how much of your attention had been spent on the stranger, this random guy, until he wasn't standing beside you anymore.

for one brief, embarrassing second, you worry maybe he wouldn’t return. the door creaks open again before you can dwell on the thought.

silver hair catches the light first, followed by the familiar broad frame. he strides toward you from the bar; a bottle of water and a handful of napkins in hand as he approaches.

"here." the cap’s already off when he pushes it into your field of vision.

you murmur a reluctant thank you and reach for the bottle, only for your fingers to fumble around smooth plastic before finally getting a grip. your face burns. the corner of his mouth twitches- amused.

you lift the bottle anyway. the first sip never quite makes it, water dripping down your chin before you can swallow. you close your eyes with a quiet groan.

a soft sigh escapes him.

"here." before you can protest, he's crouching in front of you all over again, taking the bottle into his own grasp, tilting the front ever so slightly toward your lips.

"small sips," he instructs.

you really should be scolding him, telling him you can take care of yourself. but here you are instead, parting your lips without thinking, letting him administer bits of water like you’re some helpless animal.

the water is cold against your tongue. it tastes better than anything you've had all night.

You were only mutuals with the cast and crew, but mutuals with enough of them they allowed you on set. You didn’t fight or really get along with anyone, you just were there. Watching, entranced in the stunts too scared even laugh. 

You had no idea why you were even there in the first place, you did nothing on set and brought nothing to the table except occasionally an untrained medic on set. You had no right to take up space or room from the guys. Johnny, the leader, the boss, encouraged you to come with them to Japan. Offering to pay every and any expense for you as long as you’ll come along. You finally agreed, you felt guilty and awkward but at the same time it’s Japan. Who’d pass on this opportunity? 

“Like the whole shabang?” You speak into the phone as you fold your clothes. 

“The whole shabang. I’ll pay for anything and everything you’ll need or even want. So, please, will you come with us?” He asks.

You pause holding up the shirt you were about to hang up. “When will we be going?” 

Johnny nervously chuckles, “Well here’s the thing, it’s next weekend. But don’t worry we already have a airbnb and all don’t worry.” Johnny try’s to ease you. 

“You’re fucking joking.” You say dropping the shirt. 

“I know it’s short notice but please, you’ll love it.” He begs. 

You sigh into the phone. “I guess. I don’t have anything better to do.” You say as you rub your bridge of your nose. 

“Ok, I’ll get your ticket and stuff tonight.” Johnny says before hanging up the phone. You just sit there for a moment in silence staring in space figuring out everything in your head. 

Thursday he finally texts you the time to meet at the airport and where. Maybe you should cancel, stay home and waste away the weekend watching cartoons in bed and eating junk food. You didn’t belong there, you didn’t belong with them. 

When you arrive in Japan your waterline edges with tears, tears of shock, beauty, and most of all wonder. You weren’t crazy like the rest of the cast and this was the most spontaneous thing you have EVER done. You were just waiting to regret it. 

And there it was, your reason to regret this stupid impulse. 15 people and 6 beds total. The only “solo” places were couches which Dave and Ehren already called. Where the fuck could you even sleep, everyone is all so attached and clicked, no one would share a bed with you. No one wanted you there no one wanted to share a room with you when they have crew they were closer with. 

“Johnny?” You quietly ask him as he unpacks his suitcase in a room upstairs. You lean against his bed frame and pick at your nail beds. 

He looks up at you. “What’s up?” 

You take a deep breath, “I thought you said there’d be room for all of us? I don’t have money for a hotel.” You say rubbing the back of your hand nervously, you weren’t sure 100% why your eyes were turning watery. 

He chuckles. “There is, what are you talking about?” He shakes his head out of surprise.

“What? There’s like 2 or 3 people per bed what are you talking about?” You ask almost scoffing at his response. 

He chuckles and rubs his jaw. “I forgot, you haven’t done any trips with us before. Usually we have everyone scattered on the ground after we squish onto the beds. You caught us on a good trip.” 

You can’t help but feel a smile creep on your face out of amusement and shock. “So where am I supposed to be?” You ask rubbing your cheek. 

He gestures to the bed he was currently unpacking his stuff on and smiles. “With Jeff and I, we don’t bite don’t worry.” He teases. 

You sigh and stroll down the stairs to the rest of them, immediately becoming overwhelmed with their screaming and running around. They just got off a 13 hour flight and they don’t seem to be beat AT ALL. Chris jumps as you giggling as he tackles you and you just take it out of shock. Man you need a drink. When he gets off of you you find you suit case and bring it to the upstairs bathroom. 

You wouldn’t be gone long but you needed at least a small break from them, and most of all you needed relief from the stressful thoughts racing your head. You find your cell phone and make a call while you go enter the bathroom. 

You change into more appropriate clubbing or bar clothes while you wait for the taxi, at least something that’s not your gross frumpy traveling outfit. The rush through the living room to avoid all the chaos and wait outside. 

All the bars were just as chaotic and overwhelming, the only difference is there was endless drinks and hot men you were allowed to oogle at. After a few hours when you realized you had drank far too much you sluggishly hail a taxi home, it was one of the hardest tasks you’ve ever done. Drunkenly ordering a taxi to someone who doesn’t even speak the same language. 

After an excessively long ride to the house you guys were staying the driver apologizes for not understanding and taking so long. 

You stumble in, expecting everyone to be in bed now, it was late and they HAVE to have jet lag catch up to them now right? 

Immediately your senses are filled when you walk in, they were doing some stupid stunt in the living room all drunk and screaming and more people than there should be were naked. What. The. Fuck. 

“Hey!” Johnny shouts to you as you walk by. You look at him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. 

“I’ve been calling you, where the hell were you?” He asks setting down the controller and walking over to you, he begins to guide you into a different room away from the chaos. 

You follow his lead and his pushing hand on the small of your back. “I didn’t know you called me, I was at a bar.” You simply answered, genuinely confused. 

He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I can tell, you fucking reek of it.” He says in a stern voice that makes you want to shrink down in a ball and hide. “Just-go upstairs, you’re a mess.” You frown and follow his orders obediently going upstairs, you slide off your shoes and lay in bed, smack in the middle. Immediately you fall asleep from the liquor in your system. 

Your sleep was heavenly you felt floaty and more comfortable than ever, this is gonna be a killer hang over. 

You slowly wake up feeling the urge to pee or something, your lower abdomen tight and tickling. The bed was shaky and rustling, it felt like a mini earthquake. You still were drunk so you must have been only sleeping for a little bit. Barely coming to your senses you finally kinda realize what’s going on. 

“Johnny?” You ask in your full normal voice before two fingers are roughly shoved into your mouth, silencing you. His thrusts are slow and deep between your thighs. 

He groans quietly in your ear, “Fuck I didn’t know that even your thighs could feel so good.” He says bucking his hips up so his tip rubbed against your clothes genitals. You whine in surprise and shock. 

His free hand is holding your thighs together and tightly closed around his thrusting manhood. You look into the darkness to see the shape of Jeff laying there, dead asleep, how is he not awoken from Johnnys thrusts? 

You want to reach out and shake Jeff awake get Johnny fired and never see his face again but you can’t something in you holds you back. You can’t ruin this man’s career and all his relations in his life, he’s not even inside you so it really isn’t that bad is it? 

He thrusts quicken and you can’t help but tighten your thighs around him despite every thought in your head, your stomach knew what you wanted. You mumble around his fingers in tiny sobs, “Oh my god…”

Johnny deepens his thrusts and chuckles, “There’s no gods here.” He moves the hand on your thigh to your stomach, pulling you even closer to him and his body. 

He bucks his hips high and strong, his manhood stabbing at your pants and releases himself, getting nut all over your clothes. 

You choke out a small sob and he removes his fingers from your mouth, “These pants were new.” You whisper, in all honesty that’s the part you were most angry about, immediately climbing out of bed and rushing to rinse the cum out before it stains. 

You come back and lay between the men again. Johnny faces you in the dark trying to make out your facial features, “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” He apologizes, his voice weak as if he’s about to cry.

You raise your hand to stroke the side of his face. “No I’m sorry, I should’ve come back sooner and just drank what we have here.” You move up and pull his head into your chest, stroking his hair and comforting him.