Chapter Text
Trey has never been a party animal. He’ll leave that role to plenty of other much more enthusiastic students across the dorms of Night Raven College. His idea of an exciting time has always been experimenting his way through a new cupcake recipe — no matter how much Ace complains that it makes him extremely lame to consider that the peak of fun.
So, yes, he’s never been one for revelry beyond their regular dorm unbirthday parties (or, you know, actual birthday parties). That’s why it’s so strange he is now loitering in a raucous crowd of students spread across Savanaclaw’s large open-air lounge, wondering how long it will take for the bass of the cranked up music to rattle a migraine into his skull. He’s holding a red plastic cup that someone handed him at some point, and there’s some kind of punch in it that Trey has only barely politely sipped at, pretending he doesn’t taste the bite of something much stronger than juice.
After all, Trey is the vice housewarden of Heartslabyul, and while he’s not planning on snitching to Riddle about the definitely-not-legally-acquired vast amounts of booze at this party, he still feels mildly uncomfortable watching so many fellow students getting a little too sloppily rowdy as they mingle. Some rules were rules for a reason, and that is admittedly what his dorm is supposed to be about. He just hopes other dorms are making sure their own members are staying safe, because he sure as hell isn’t going to be babysitting anyone else beyond his own charges.
Savanaclaw had planned this party last minute — a thrown-together jockish celebration of enough Spelldrive wins to officially carry the college team forward in championships. And while Savanaclaw’s housewarden may fluctuate between lazily excelling at sports and sullenly napping everything else away, their students are still known as the wild dorm for a reason. Their parties might make a sophisticated Pomfiorian turn their nose up when it came to execution, but they went all out in their own way on the music, food, and apparently, at least for tonight, alcohol.
Honestly, Trey wouldn’t have come at all if he hadn’t caught Ace — with a reluctant Deuce trailing behind, of course, because the two perpetually come as a pair — sneaking out of the dorm to attend. And accompanying them in a not entirely unexpected but still disappointing twist, Cater, fiddling with a lock of his hair nervously as Trey had blocked the trio’s way out of Heartslabyul with arms folded and eyebrow raised.
Trey could have properly told them all off and maybe even involved the housewarden in the matter, but Cater’s pleading puppy dog eyes at the time had ended up being too much to handle. Even if Cater really should have known better than to encourage their underclassmen’s misbehavior by participating in this kind of thing.
“You can go,” Trey had said, inexplicably defeated as he’d pulled off his glasses to polish them so he wouldn’t have to look at Cater anymore.
Ace had turned towards Deuce with a triumphant smile in celebration, pumping his fist, but Trey had held up a hand. “BUT!”
“Shit,” muttered Ace, his face dropping.
“I’m coming with you, to make sure you at least somewhat behave yourselves. All right?”
“Yes, Vice Housewarden,” Ace and Deuce mumbled in unison, and Cater had just grinned and nodded with a chipper thumbs up, too amped up by the promise of partying to be brought back down by this news.
So that’s how Trey has ended up here now, for some godforsaken reason. Awkwardly and distractedly half socializing with the occasional acquaintance, each of whom double takes at seeing him there. They all approach to exchange a few words, and their conversations all grow increasingly stilted at his inattention until they all, thankfully, trail away to leave Trey alone again.
Trey’s freshmen charges have beelined for the lounge’s pool and waterfall, ending up pushing/pulling each other into the water respectively, where they’re now floating, cackling and play fighting and periodically splashing each other. At least they’ve seemed to catch his warning glances when it comes to grabbing drinks for themselves, and have (mostly) gracefully stuck to other activities, instead.
Cater, on the other hand, Trey has not seen for a while now. He can probably take care of himself, but Trey still finds himself nervous enough at his disappearance to look over a still-somewhat-behaving Ace and Deuce consideringly. He finally determines that they can handle being abandoned for a few minutes as Trey locates his missing roommate.
It takes him more than a few minutes to even push through people and scan the faces of way too many more, let alone pin down Cater’s location — it’s been a couple hours since it all started, but the party shows no signs of slowing, with the crowd no sparser than before. He shoulders his way to a small clearing of space by the food and drinks tables to drop his untouched drink into a trash can, and that’s when he finally spots Cater.
His friend is attached to the side of a burly, panther-eared Savanaclaw sophomore, his arm propped on the guy’s shoulder as he chatters away to a knot of people he’s gathered, all smiling and laughing — clearly absorbed in Cater’s bubbly aura of an engaging social butterfly.
Trey watches for a minute, still at a distance, trying to remember with a slight sense of disquiet if he’s ever heard Cater mention this sophomore before. But he can’t even properly recall the boy’s name, let alone the reason why Cater would be hanging onto him.
Cater raises his own cup as a cheer breaks out in the group, and it sloshes over his sleeve and splashes on another nearby student. Cater dislodges himself from the Savanaclaw boy to gigglingly swipe at the splashed party’s shirt, apologizing loudly but very unconvincingly through snorts of barely suppressed laughter as the other student irritatedly waves him off. Cater sways a bit, and with a jolt, Trey realizes a little late that Cater’s hanging onto the sophomore may have been simply to keep himself upright at all.
Trey allows himself to cut in, then, long steps carrying him hurriedly to catch Cater under the arms as he overbalances and nearly falls over.
Cater’s head drops back against Trey’s ribcage to peer up at him, and an even wider grin spreads across his face. “Treyyyyyyyy! My hero.”
Clumsily, he struggles back to his own feet to wrap his arms around one of Trey’s, snuggling it against his face like Trey is a teddy bear. “You’re so cool, swooping in to catch me like that. Totes bonus points on top of letting us come tonight!” He pulls back to take another drink from his now half-full cup before Trey gently tugs it from his grip, passing it off to an empty-handed student nearby instead. Even if Trey hadn’t watched him dump it on himself, and even if he hadn’t just basically tripped on nothing, Trey would be able to tell by nose alone that Cater has definitely consumed a little too much alcohol.
“You’ve had more than enough, Cater. I’d say it might be time to head out, don’t you think?”
“What?!” Cater pouts, and there are those damn puppy eyes again, but Trey won’t be swayed on this one. It’s for Cater’s own good. “The party’s barely begun! And we’re all having so much fun!” His head swivels jerkily to his audience for backup, and a lot of onlookers are sharing their own booze-loose nods, grinning and slightly slurring assent.
Trey extracts his arm from Cater’s grip to set his hands on his friend’s shoulders instead, carefully wheeling him around to face towards the exit. It’s cleanup time. Trey has to kick into second-in-command mode and problem solve before things are truly unfixable. “Sorry to remove you from your adoring fans, but Riddle will have all our heads and then some if we show up past curfew buzzed and drenched in punch, Cater. It’s time to gather the kids and head for home.”
“Aww,” Cater protests, but he finally obediently waves goodbye over Trey’s shoulder. “TTYL, you guys.”
There’s a chorus of disappointed farewells, but Cater allows Trey to steer him away.
Cater’s steps are sort of stumbly, but he suddenly stops dead halfway back to the pool area. Trey butts up against him in surprise, almost knocking his unstable frame over again.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mmm,” Cater mumbles, suddenly looking a little green around the gills. “I need to…sit down. Maybe… puke…ooh.”
Alarmed, Trey takes an unplanned sharp right turn to pull him out of the lounge and into the deeper recesses of Savanaclaw.
Most dorm occupants who could direct them are still in the lounge partying. But as vice housewarden, Trey has visited other dorms on occasional Riddle orders, and he manages to locate a bathroom quick enough. He pulls the door closed behind them as he helps Cater in, and after a moment, decides locking it might also be wise. Cater doesn’t need half of the school to see him bent over the toilet bowl.
Cater slumps against the wall next to the toilet, looking peaky with the slightest sheen of sweat as his face screws up uncomfortably. He doesn’t puke, but he closes his eyes and swallows convulsively several times as Trey watches, worriedly lowering himself to the floor too in case Cater needs help.
Finally, after several long minutes of sitting there, his head tipped back and forehead creased as he slowly sucks air in, Cater’s frame loosens a little again and his eyes open. He’s still pale, still looking a little worse for wear, but he seems calmer and less in immediate danger of hurling.
He watches Trey watching him through half lids, his thick eyelashes slowly fluttering as a weary smile graces his face. It isn’t as truly carefree as he’d seemed in the middle of his element. “So worried, heh heh. I’m fiiiine.”
“Sure,” Trey deadpans, but he can’t keep his own amused smile from slowly blooming across his face in answer as he leans in to flick Cater on the forehead. With most others — maybe just about any other person but Riddle, or perhaps Chenya — Trey thinks he’d probably secretly find this endlessly irritating, though he’d do it regardless.
But Trey’s always had a bit of a soft spot for Cater.
“Ow!” whines Cater, half-heartedly batting away Trey’s hand. But instead of shoving it entirely out of his face, Cater ends up catching hold of it instead, those tired green eyes falling to examine Trey’s fingers like they’re suddenly the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. He curls one of Trey’s fingers, then another, like he’s testing reflexes, runs the pad of his finger against a burn scar on the back of Trey’s hand from an early-years baking accident. Then he flips it over and traces lines of Trey’s palm, softly smiling again and then finally chuckling.
Trey has watched this entire production, helplessly charmed, but he finally speaks up at the laugh. “What’s that for?”
Cater looks up at him, playful little grin stretching his mouth. “Want me to read your palm?”
Trey shakes his head, bemused, but also — as ever when it comes to Cater — still amused. “Sure, I suppose.”
“I can’t,” laughs Cater, running a green painted fingernail along another line and snickering like he’s just told a great joke. “That kinda stuff gets good likes on Magicam, though. Maybe I should learn. Or I could make it up. I’m pretty good at that, y’know?”
He taps a double line at the inside edge of Trey’s palm, almost schooling his face into a Serious Business Expression. “You’ll get sooooo much money, Trey. Hmm. Oh, and here, you’re going to have five kids. And obvi this one says you’ll retire to a little seaside cottage when you’re sixty…seven.”
“Specific. Thank you, very helpful.” Trey knows his smile is leaning towards excessively fond, and were Cater not drunk out of his mind right now, Trey probably would have tried to pull himself back under wraps. But Cater is drunk, so it doesn’t matter. He’ll forget tomorrow if he even actually notices Trey giving him a too-soft look once or twice.
Trey thinks that, but as he meets Cater’s eyes again, Cater is studying him with a surprising amount of focus, searching his face.
“What’s up?” Trey has to ask finally, and Cater lurches forward a little — not for the toilet, thankfully, but simply to apparently lean closer.
He motions Trey closer still, like he’s about to confide a secret still in that crowded room instead of here, where they’re utterly alone together.
“You know, Trey,” Cater stage whispers confidentially, with a sleepy, devious little smile, “you’re really handsome. Like, #MCM.”
Trey blinks, freezes. Has to blink again a couple more times. He doesn’t know what “#MCM” means, but he has an inkling, and he can’t really believe this is happening. Thinks maybe the weird mix of shock and anxiety and excitement churning his stomach feels off and weird because he’s never seen Cater drink before — this could very easily just be how he is with anyone — and in any case, he’s drunk, so —
“Mhmm,” Cater hums, looking up at him through his eyelashes, and now, he’s suddenly tracing that green fingernail up the center crease of Trey’s pants leg, from his knee, up his thigh, and —
“Whoa, Cater.” Trey firmly grabs the wandering hand, pulling it away in gentle warning.
Cater’s easy, lazy smile melts in an instant, replaced by an unfamiliar expression that isn’t Cater’s usual grin or a playful pout. Whatever it is, it looks infinitely more vulnerable than Trey thinks he has ever seen Cater look before.
“Oh, sorry,” he mumbles, drawing back and trying to pull his hand away again, but Trey’s still holding it.
“Hang on, hang on.” Trey tugs back, gently, taking hold of the entirety of Cater’s arm to pull him back closer again, trying to get him back from whatever mental pit he’s sinking into, because that’s not okay either. He tilts up Cater’s chin. “Cater, you’re really out of it right now.”
“I’m fine,” Cater mutters again, still not meeting his eyes.
“No, I mean. This is not the time. You barely even know what you’re doing. But I do, so I’m sure as hell not going to let you do anything you’ll regret later.”
“I’m not going to regret —” Cater rushes out, suddenly looking back up to glare, but it melts back away as he seems to search Trey’s eyes. The equally quick expression of resolve flashes across his features, and he is lurching in close enough to try to —
In a split second of unreality, Trey’s hand has flashed up to cover Cater’s mouth instead of allowing them to collide, as Trey feels his breath leave his lungs. No, nope, he’s all sick anxiety now of not now, not here, not like this.
“Cater,” he says, and can tell the disappointment in his voice hits Cater a little too hard again as Cater’s eyes flutter open once more. “That’s…that’s sweet, but you’re not sober.”
Trey’s hands and his voice have a tremble to them he normally doesn’t observe in himself, so he lets go as Cater withdraws. Trey doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he readjusts his glasses, clears his throat. Waits, for who knows what. For the quiet, selfish little wish in the back of his head — that Cater could ever possibly want this when he was not inebriated — to snuff itself back out.
Cater has gone from bright, beautiful, happy, to blank-faced and empty-eyed. “Okay.”
And then he’s starting to heave himself to his feet unsteadily, to hobble towards the bathroom door by himself. Trey springs to his feet to try and help, but Cater pulls away from the touch.
Trey drops his hands and lets him go.
Ace and Deuce begin to protest too, when Trey shows up to haul them out of the pool and back in the direction of their own beds. But when they catch sight of a too-small Cater, arms clutched around himself, turned away as he sways, some feet behind Trey… they both go silent. They share the briefest glance before pulling themselves out and following along after their upperclassmen without any further complaints, though they’re leaving a damp trail behind them from soaked clothes.
Halfway back to the dorm, Trey’s desperate attempts to not look while still being all too aware of all that is happening behind him leads them to an abrupt stop, as Cater stumbles yet again, almost tripping over his own feet into Ace.
Wordlessly, Deuce steps closer to link an arm through Cater’s, which Cater allows without comment. Even Ace’s hand hovers over Cater’s back for a moment, as if to also lend some support, before he glances at Trey and then away again, letting his hand curl into a loose fist instead. He simply elects to take up post within arm’s reach of Cater’s other side, matching his pace to Deuce and Cater’s, and they shuffle on past Trey until he is the one trailing them.
He keeps an eye on their backs as they continue on in the darkening light, walking away from him.
He’s feeling sick in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol.
Somehow, they make it into the dorm without attracting Riddle’s attention, though the first years have to split off for their own room on tiptoe before Trey and Cater reach theirs.
Cater’s more zombie than anything at this point, so when Deuce finally lets go of him, Trey is able to accept the hand-off with the lightest ghost of a grip on Cater’s elbows. Like that, Trey can guide him onward without Cater avoiding him again, stopping by the bathroom to help him numbly brush his teeth (because now is definitely no time to be neglecting his dental health, after drinking), then into their room and towards his bed.
Trey ends up with a damp washcloth and a cup of water, wrapping Cater’s hands around the cup and softly sponging at his forehead as Cater vacantly sips at the water, turned on his side and buried in his pillows.
“Do you need anything else?” Trey finally murmurs, moving the cup to the bedside table and smoothing an orange curl away from Cater’s eyes, whose brow furrows at the action.
He shakes his head, and Trey feels a stab in his chest as Cater turns his face away again.
“Okay,” Trey says, mildly. He hesitates for much too long, leans in a little and questions himself for another several too-long moments, but then pulls up the sheets and finally presses his lips to Cater’s forehead. “Goodnight, Cater.”
He pulls the four-poster curtains mostly closed behind himself — leaves enough of a gap in case his roommate does end up needing to grab for the trash can that Trey’s left for him — and climbs into his own bed, only managing to fall into fitful sleep a long time after he’s listened to the other man’s breathing finally even out.