//hate to feel//

//6//

The sun awoke Layne the next morning, and he groaned. Why were his blinds open? He always had them closed.

He sat up, grumbling as he did so, and then flinched in pain. He was extremely sore.

"Motherfuck-" he stopped abruptly when he realized where he was.

Suddenly, the events from last night began to replay in his head. He normally wasn't one to forget drunk nights. He was so used to being high and drunk that his memory always stayed intact.

He nearly squeaked when he felt an arm wrap around his slender waist in order to pull him back onto the bed.

"Stay here. 'Wanna cuddle some more." Jerry mumbled against Layne's hair.

Layne sighed. He was such a fucking idiot. He was supposed to avoid Jerry and stop himself from falling in love with him. But now he couldn't deny his feelings.

Jerry had treated him so tenderly last night, telling him he was beautiful and made sure he was feeling only pleasure. And he was.

When they finished though, something stuck with him. When the two cleaned up, Layne had whispered, "goodnight Jerry." And to which Jerry replied, "Goodnight Layne."

Layne didn't think of it the night before, being that he was drunk. He wasn't just intoxicated by alcohol though, he was intoxicated by Jerry.

But now that he lay in bed with the man who didn't even know him, he realized that Jerry knew who he was the entire time. But would that change when Jerry woke up? A part of him didn't want it to. It would be so much easier if Jerry still knew. But if Jerry didn't remember anything, Layne would leave.

He wanted to stay in Jerry's arms longer, but his head was pounding. So, he quietly slipped out of bed, and ventured down the long hallway.

Layne was surprised by Jerry's apartment. It was extremely roomy, and it was clean, and open. Layne felt a pang of jealousy run through him.

He turned to the left and ventured into the bathroom, in search of something to take for his headache, but he couldn't find anything. Cursing, he reached farther into the cabinet and rummaged through more bottles of pills until he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist.

"Morning cutie." Jerry pressed a kiss above Layne's tattoo, "how'd I manage to score you last night?"

Layne bit his lip. "Do you not remember Jerry?"

Jerry reached over the singer and grabbed him the pill bottle he was looking for. "Not really," he held out the bottle to Layne, "I'm sorry."

Layne looked down at the bottle, his lip starting to bleed from biting it so hard. He wasn't sure when he began to cry, but Jerry did everything he could to calm him down. Layne didn't hear him though. It was better that Jerry didn't know who he was. He was an addict, a piece of shit, he didn't belong with someone as amazing as Jerry. It was better that the guitarist didn't remember him.

Without a word, Layne walked back into Jerry's room, grabbed any piece of clothing he could find, and left the apartment.

Because of his tears and sobs though, he didn't hear Jerry call after him.