#jayvier

And maybe Javier should be thankful that his friend was looking out for him, but he doesn't know anyone here, and Jensen ditched him as soon as he walked in. He can see him from here, chatting with Eleanor, the on-again, off-again girlfriend he has that gives Javier the creeps. He wonders if she knows that her boyfriend would rather be sucking dick that have his own sucked by her. 

He doesn't belong here, he doesn't belong anywhere. Not anymore, at least. 

He wanders around for a bit through the party, through the crowds of people, until he ends up in one of the bedrooms, a couple making out on the bed. He's about to back out and try to find somewhere else to go when they say they're leaving, tangled in an embrace as they can't keep their hands off one another, smiles and giggles and bitten lips and stolen kisses and everything that makes Javier want to crawl into himself and never back come out.

It's been three weeks since Camilla died, and it hasn't gotten any easier.

He shuts the door to the bedroom, only realizing at the point that someone left a bag here. He picks it up, wonders if he should try to return it, until his eyes widen at the amount of coke inside of it and then he realizes that whoever that girl was must've been the dealer here at the party. 

He bites his lip for a moment, before grabbing the bag and sitting down on the bed and pulling a night table over to him, dumping the contents out onto it. Even he knows it's more than enough for one person, probably too much for even two or three, but as he stares at it all he can think about is the angry letter and the broken look on her face when she said  and the horrible days that lead up to everything.

He always been a happy person, always tried to look on the bright side and tried to think things through completely. But right now, all he wants is for the hurting to stop, and stop for good. 

He loses count of how many lines there are on the table, but he's only gotten through two when the door opens, startling him. He throws his hand through the rest of the lines, sending the coke flying across the carpet and the bed and everywhere else in the room as he looks up to the door. It's this tall, skinny kid, and Javier is pretty sure that he's seen him before, hanging around with Jensen. And when he says hanging around, he means making out with.

"Hi. You're really fucking hot," the kid says, and Javier can't help it as his lips twitch into a smile. "Are you a Mexican?"

"Hispanic, but I guess you could say that," he replies, before getting to his feet. When he looks up, the guy is still grinning and bouncing slightly on his heels. Javier can see that his pupils are slightly blown, probably in a mirror to his own to show just how high he is.

"You're so fucking sexy, holy shit," he says to him. "You're a sexy Mexican. Like a...a sexican.' 

He doesn't know what it is, or what clicks for him, or maybe it's just that this is the most a person has spoken to him like he's a normal person and not some charity case in weeks, but he snaps and he's closing the distance between them, hands tangling in hair to crash their mouths together. 

The sex is nothing amazing, to be honest, just a fuck like any other, and maybe that's because they're both so high it's like they're wound up tight. But as Javier starts to get dressed again, looking up at the other guy, he can really only smile, feeling like it's a bit easier to breathe now than it was before. 

"Maybe I'll see you around again," he says to Javier, snaking one of the cigarettes from the carton he's trying to open and tucking it in between his lips, smirking at him and holding the cigarette out for Javier to light, before he walks away.