Kill This Love [MeanPlan - COMPLETE]

You Got Me All Messed Up

Plan woke up hungover and not being able to decide what was worse, his banging headache or his burning fever. Whilst he stirred, he promised himself he would never drink again. Ever. His semi-conscious mind wondered what illness he had contracted. Influenza? Alcohol poisoning? The plague? He felt so heavy, weighed down against the bed and unable to move, covered in a light layer of sweat. He wondered if he was still dreaming. He twitched an arm, a tentative attempt to see if his brain was still in control of his muscles.

As his arm brushed skin that wasn't his, it hit him. Mean. Mean was in his bed. He wasn't hot because he had a fever, what he had was fucking company. He was being crushed by the long octopus limbs that were circled around him whilst Mean snored lightly against his ear. Plan's eyes shot open, squinting against the harsh light of day as it shone in through his wooden blinds. The memories flooded back so quickly Plan's heart started to race. The pieces fell into place like a game of Tetris. He remembered why his bones felt like they'd been snapped and then realigned. He remembered why his best friend was asleep next to him. He remembered why he was naked. He remembered.

His stomach flipped over so violently Plan thought he was going to hurl. Not so much out of disgust, much to his own indignation, but out of fear. A fear of the consequences. A fear of the truth. He lifted Mean's arm off him, unravelling their entangled legs before practically jumping out of bed. He stood up and stared at him, arms wrapped around himself as if he'd been violated. Mean looked peaceful. Dark hair scattered across the pillow and wearing nothing except a sleepy smile. Thankfully, all his intimate parts were hidden by the covers and Plan decided to be grateful for small mercies. He reached to snatch his phone off the bedside table and then Mean moved. Plan froze, arms outstretched as if trying to lull him back to stillness, a warlock casting a sleeping spell. Mean snuggled closer against a pillow, subconsciously sensing his absence whilst the elder willed him comatose.

When Mean stopped moving, Plan thanked all the deities and promised he'd sacrifice anything they asked for as he retreated carefully to his ensuite, eyes on his intruder the whole time. As he turned to grab a worn pair of joggers, his eyes fell upon the discarded condom. Evidence. Aching legs weakened underneath him.

Once he'd fully backed up into the bathroom, he shut the door quickly and locked it from the inside. He leaned against it, sliding down until he hit marble tiles and grimacing at the soreness he felt below the waist. He bit so hard against his own bottom lip he thought he might make it bleed as he looked up to the heavens that were doing so little to protect him. He closed his eyes, wondering where he'd gone wrong in his life. Wondering when he'd become this person that had no control over who the fuck he was anymore. Was he gay now? How was that even possible? Since when? Why was this happening to him? If the memories flashing through his skull had been less vivid, he might have tried to convince himself that he was sick, possessed even. Except, he knew better. He might well be sick but his suffering was self-inflicted. He'd been there. He'd wanted it. Twice. He wasn't a virgin anymore. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

In an effort to stop panicking Plan drew his attention to his phone screen, to all seven missed calls and thirteen texts. They were all from the boys. Plan had his work cut out trying to decipher them amongst all the drunken spelling mistakes. Translated, they read something like this.

Where are you?
There's a vodka at the bar with your name on it.
Have you fucking ditched us?
Are you with Mean?
I am so drunk.
Mean's gone AWOL too.
Call me when your home.
Mark's making out with some girl.
Pick up your damn phone!
Have you and Mean eloped?
I wanted to be best man!
I got so much love for you man.
Are you alive?

Plan hadn't thought through what their excuses were going to be. He'd have to talk to Mean before answering, get their stories straight. They were such idiots. They'd disappeared in front of all their friends like no one was going to notice. He typed out one message. An S.O.S to his sister, letting her know that shit had gone down and that he needed urgent help. His thumb hovered over the send button before he backspaced up, deciding against it. Prim was clever. If he told her he'd gone home with a guy she'd know it was Mean in a heartbeat. She'd want to be the bridesmaid to Perth's best man.