Chapter Text
The music is vibrating the wall Kurt’s leaning against, the lights swirling and blurring in front of him. Wait, that’s weird, that shouldn’t be happening, hasn’t he only had one drink? He’s sure the drink he’s holding is the same one he got handed at the start of the party. Glancing down at the red solo cup, he hiccups, and his hand moves but it’s also still in the same place. Huh.
He doesn't exactly feel drunk, either. And not for lack of knowledge, as Kurt hadn't gone even a week without getting at least a little tipsy since sophomore year. The experience is overall weird as hell.
Where did Ram go? Oh, that’s right, he had wandered off with Heather Duke, probably to go slobber all over each other’s faces in some dingy corner. Why did he even agree to come here? Kurt’d had a headache all day, and he knew it would only get worse if he came, but he came anyway. And for what? Ram had left him, so here he was, leaning against a wall, drunk after half of a beer like some fucking wimp.
And now there are hands on his shoulder, on his hip, grabbing his arm. Wait no, that can’t be right, people only have two hands. But he’s getting dragged somewhere, the hands tugging him forwards as he stumbles. His drink sloshes around in the cup, dotting his sleeve with drops of liquid and worsening the already sticky floor.
Kurt has no idea where he’s going, or who’s taking him there, but he thinks he might throw up soon. Coming here was a mistake, he should have let Ram come alone.
He’s pushed against a wall, scratching his face on the rough surface. The hands multiply again, grabbing his hips, his hair, his face, throwing away his drink. He can’t even really make out the person’s (people’s?) face. A low groan sounds from somewhere, and even he recognises the person sounds like complete shit, but then he realises the sound is coming from him. He tries to push the hands away, but his limbs feel like they’ve been injected with whatever they put in you at the dentist -he should know, he’s had three fillings- and then been tied to concrete blocks.
The hands slip down past his belt, and he freezes. Despite all the rumors, and his reputation for sleeping around a lot, he hasn't actually gone that far with anyone yet. A low murmur sounds in his ear, and then there’s a mouth on his, and there are hands everywhere, and he doesn’t want this. He struggles weakly, and he thinks he manages to gasp out something along the lines of “Stop, get away, fuck off-” but his tongue is heavy in his mouth and he might not have actually said anything at all.
He thinks he might be naked, which is embarrassing, but he’s not actually quite sure. This is all wrong, he can normally outdrink most everyone he knows, but now he’s utterly shitfaced from maybe three quarters of a cup. That might actually be even more mortifying than the being naked thing, which he’s definitely sure of now, because there’s a mouth sucking on his exposed skin and -ow, he just got bitten- he can feel a faint breeze in places it is absolutely not supposed to be.
Kurt can feel his back getting scratched up from the rough texture of the wall he’s being pushed against, and he can feel the person’s teeth sinking into his skin again and again, and most of all he just feels gross.
What if someone sees him like this? The person currently groping at him seems to be a man, and if word gets out that he's a fag his life will be instantly over. Not that he is gay, obviously, he likes girls like a normal person and only thinks about guys the normal amount.
He's pulled out of his reverie by a hand, a hand somewhere he doesn't want to think about hands being. The man's face is blurry, and the bright lights flashing at him from every which way help with absolutely nothing.
He just wants this to be over already.
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RAM’S POV
The party had finished twenty minutes ago, and Kurt was still nowhere to be found. Ram had searched everywhere he could think of, in search of his best friend. Kurt really shouldn’t be this hard to find, he was more than six feet tall and normally could never shut the fuck up. Not that Ram minded much.
He also never, ever went missing at parties. He and Ram were normally attached at the hip, and the only reason they weren’t tonight was because Heather Duke had dragged him off as soon as he got here. Ram carefully steps over someone passed out on the floor -or at least he tries to, he’s a bit drunk and not fully in control of his limbs- and heads outside. Maybe Kurt left early, maybe he found some girl to take home for the night, which was unusual, sure, but not entirely unheard of according to the entirety of their school. Kurt had never personally mentioned any sexual escapades, though.
Ram’s truck was parked around the back of the building, so he ambled over in that direction slowly, kicking at the ground. The moon illuminated the area, covering the grass in a silvery light, which could have been pretty if there weren’t cigarette butts and red solo cups littered everywhere.
A retching noise sounded from the bushes to his left. He glanced over, curious as to who was drunk enough to be vomiting in the bushes this late, and to his surprise it was the one and only Kurt Kelly. Odd, seeing as his friend could even outdrink Ram himself, but he walked over anyway to crouch down beside Kurt.
And Jesus Christ, he looked like shit. His skin was pale and damp, bags under his eyes a dark, bruised purple, and he even had a split lip, still oozing sticky looking blood. Before Ram could even say a single word, Kurt doubled over again, clutching his stomach as he dry retched some more, nothing much left to come up other than a few strings of bile. His lunch -and maybe breakfast- had clearly already made a reappearance.
When Kurt finally looks up at Ram, his usually clear blue eyes are foggy and unfocused, his mouth still hanging slightly open.
“Aw, Jesus shit Kurt, I thought you said you weren’t going to drink much tonight.” Ram grumbles, not actually annoyed but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Kurt just stares back at him for almost a minute, looking hazy and lost. Ram stands, his knees clicking as he does so, and offers a hand to help Kurt up, when Kurt finally speaks.
“I-I didn’t- don’ think I did anyway…” Kurt’s words are slurred and spoken softly, quietly, while he stares up at Ram with those wide, baby blue eyes. Ram snorts. If he hadn’t drunk much he wouldn’t be vomiting in the bushes, would he?
Kurt takes his offered hand eventually, standing up and stumbling almost immediately. Ram catches him, wrinkling his nose. Kurt stinks of vomit, although there’s not really an alcohol smell to it, which is weird. It just smells of puke.
Ram somehow manages to half drag Kurt to his truck, an extraordinary feat for the two drunk teens. He shoves the taller boy in the passenger seat, not bothering with the seat belt before slamming the door. Logically, he's aware that driving when drunk isn't the best idea, nor the safest, but whatever. Who cares about the law anyway? It's not the first time he's done this, and it won't be the last.
He clambers into the driver's seat, fumbling in the pockets of his jeans for the keys, before shoving them in and starting up the truck. He knew the way back, he'd lived in this shitty little town his entire life and Heather Chandler's place wasn't exactly new to him either.
He decided to just take Kurt -who's head was now lolling against the window, blue eyes still hazy- back to his place. Both of their dads were out on one of their increasingly common fishing trips for the week, and shouldn't be back until at least next Friday. Plus, even Ram knew that people this drunk shouldn't be left alone- some sort of safety thing.
As the local police station came into view Ram mustered all his brain power to look at least relatively sober, not that the cops cared much about what was happening. They were all fat useless fucks who sat around all day doing nothing and eating donuts. Nothing interesting ever happened in Sherwood.
And then finally, he saw the turnoff for his and Kurt’s street, and managed to successfully park his truck in the driveway. It wasn't straight, not in the slightest, but it was good enough.
Kurt still hasn't said anything, just staring out the window blankly. It was all weird as fuck, and not in a good way. His buddy was normally incapable of shutting his mouth for more than two seconds, and he was always moving. This new behavior was creeping Ram out.
He had to half carry the other teen inside, which would have been significantly less difficult if Kurt would pick his feet up more than half an inch of the ground and actually get up the steps. With a loud, dramatic sigh, Ram simply scooped Kurt into his arms and carried him the rest of the way to the front door before realizing that, in his drunken state, he'd left the keys in his truck. Fuck.
He tried to lean Kurt against the wall, but this guy must have drunk at least two or three times more than usual as he just sort of slid down the wall and landed in a heap among the strewn about shoes on the porch. Heaving a sigh, Ram left him there to go fetch the keys to let them into the house, ignoring Kurt crawling over to dry retch into the bushes. Of course, nothing came out, as he had been doing that exact thing back at Heather's for a good ten, twenty minutes. All previous contents of his stomach were long gone.
Somehow, he managed to get Kurt inside and on the couch. It was a miracle, really, the blonde had seemingly given up on moving anywhere by the time Ram had unlocked the door. Seeing as he wasn't exactly sober himself, he wandered over to the kitchen in search of something to eat and some water, in the hopes of reducing his inevitable hangover tomorrow.
After that, he decided bed was a fantastic idea, and ended up flopped on top of the covers fully clothed, shoes still on, and was unconscious in seconds.