This is not happening.

This is NOT happening.

Of course, what is easily said is not easily done—or what is real cannot be changed into fantasy. As much as I wished it wasn't, it washappening. I could never in my life have augured this (okay, so maybe I could've predicted it a little—Gold's sexuality is always in question, since even though he's an enormous flirt with the ladies, he's never actually gone home with them), that I would be the "lucky" one and literally wake up to find the weight of the world on my shoulders.

And what was happening was that I was in bed, fully naked, beside a deeply slumbering and also naked Gold and a condom in the plastic trash can next to Gold's desk in the corner.

Oh Arceus, this is happening.

Try as I might, I couldn't remember a lick of what we did last night that could have even remotely brought me into this horrifying state of affairs. I vaguely recall being here in Gold's apartment, playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreasor some other forgettable video game, and Crystal phoning the landline to ask us if we wanted to go clubbing with her and Lyra. We turned off the console, pulled on jackets to combat the cold, and then… nothing. As far as my memory was concerned, last night following nine o'clock did not even occur.

Oh no. Oh no, no. Come on, remember! I can't draw a blank! Gold and I… did we… we couldn't have! We're just friends! I-I mean… friends, right? Friends don't have sex with each other, do they? Even gay sex? What?

I cradled my head in my hands, barely aware of the rat's nest that had tangled itself in my long, alarm-red hair, hopefully not from any specific activitythat I had zero recollection about. A migraine thundered with the cheek of a herd of rhinos in my skull, my vision blurred from the intense pain. Tides and waves of depression washed over me suddenly, an emotional mélange. I had a hell of a hangover, so I must have been dangerously drunk last night. Which wasn't exactly a positive thing, for I held my liquor about as well as a damp cloth soaked up water. Had that impaired my judgment and led to this?

Wait. I glanced over at Gold as he peacefully slept face-down on the bed, the covers scarcely concealing his nether regions and exposing the skin of his bronzed back. His scraggly black hair was shining from the sunlight peeking in through the cheap blinds of the single window looking into the bedroom. Opening his mouth in the throes of a dream, he snored loudly and messily, sounding like a waterlogged beaver. Gold has a cast-iron stomach. He downed five beers once at Crystal's birthday party and could still walk in a perfectly straight line. If he slept with me… he must've been really drunk. Or…

My face went pink.

… I was the hammered one and came onto him, and he just… accepted.

I shook my head wildly and catapulted myself out of bed as quietly as possible without rousing Gold, getting to my own two feet with the stealth of a ninja. This was, of course, before I remembered that Gold was a heavy sleeper. We'd had a few sleepovers ("Bro-overs," a term Gold coined) where he'd dozed off early and I did numerous things to try and wake him up, such as clanging pot lids and pans together or lighting firecrackers outside his first-floor apartment window. On no account had I gotten him up. Not once.
Shrugging, I snubbed the thought decided to do some investigating. As I made my way over to the first model of circumstantial evidence—the condom in the garbage can—I realized that I was not sore nor stiff by any means, as I figured one would be after… taking it… there.

Another errant thought froze me in my tracks. Did I top?

Silver, stop it.

I resumed my journey and ended up before the fuchsia trash can that Gold had unearthed in a local junkyard before purchasing this apartment—he'd taken me used furniture shopping and came up short for a garbage can. There were indents on its side beneath the white plastic bag that currently lined the inside—probably teeth marks from a wild Growlithe hunting for food. Gingerly, I reached into the can and pulled out the flesh-colored condom.

It was soggy and heavy and most definitely used.

… We did, didn't we?

Repulsed—not just because of the fact that we did indeed have sex, but because I didn't really know whose seminal fluid I was handling—I tossed the condom back in the trash and stood up, fisting my fingers in my hair. "Oh," I moaned. "No, no, no." Shuffling over to the heap of my clothes on the floor, I grabbed numbly for my jeans and pulled them on before sitting back down on the edge of the bed, wrapping my arms around my middle and huddling in an attempt to make myself not vomit from bleak horror.

There was a rustling in the sheets behind me and a noise of confusion. "Silver?" Gold's soft but strong voice asked sleepily, still brash even in half-consciousness. "What're you doing here? Better yet, why am I naked?"

I didn't answer. I didn't turn to look at him. I couldn't. Not after what we did.

I heard Gold sit up and stretch. "Man, we went crazy last night, I guess," he commented, not at all fazed by the fact that I myself was partly nude. "Cripes, it's like someone is screaming in my ear. I haven't had a hangover like this since I was a kid. Suppose I had a bit too much to drink."

"Gold." My voice cracked.

"Oh, so you can talk," Gold said with his usual jesting tone. "Mind explaining how I got here with no clothes on?" I craned my neck just slightly to watch him out of the very edge of my eye as his sharp, intelligent golden eyes darted around his bedroom, assessing silently anything that might have been vandalized or stolen while he was asleep. His bemused gaze settled on the trash can I had violated, the condom draped over the side like a towel.

"… and why there's…"

Gold paused to cogitate. It must have started to dawn on him, for when he continued, his voice was thin. "… a used condom in the trash can?"

A deathly and incredibly awkward silence followed.

He turned to look at me, his face uncharacteristically pale.

I turned to look at him, my face pale as it normally was.

He cleared his throat. "Did we—"

"Yes." I finished his sentence for him. "I'm pretty sure we did."

More silence. Gold coughed. "Was I the dominant one?"
I slammed my hands down angrily on my thighs and stood up in a rush, so quickly that Gold jumped. "Are you serious, Gold?" I snapped. "We had sex with each other last night when we have absolutely no mutual, sexual attraction between us, and you're worried about what position you were in?"

Raising his hands, Gold cried, "Don't blame me, Silver! At least you remember that we did it at all! I can't even pick out what I had for lunch yesterday!"

"I DON'T REMEMBER EITHER!"

"Don't yell."

"AND NO, YOU WEREN'T ON TOP, BECAUSE MY ASS DOESN'T HURT!"

"My ass doesn't hurt either, bro."

"THEN I GUESS I'M JUST THAT GOOD! AND I'M NOT YOUR BRO! WE DID EACH OTHER!"

"What are you, then?"

I groaned and placed my hand against the wall, as if to stand steady from my own outrage. "I don't know and I don't care," I said wearily, ready to collapse on the bed again, exhausted from the extreme stress of the situation. "I really, really don't." Tired and acrimonious, I sat back down, making a notch in the mattress from the gravity of my body.

Neither of us moved for a minute or two—I wasn't counting—until Gold shifted from his seat and scooted over to my side of the bed. "No mutual attraction, you say?" He questioned.

"No. Have you ever had erotic whims about me?"

His answer caught me off guard. "Actually, yes I have."

Shocked, I whipped about to face Gold. His eyes were lidded and rippling sensually with desire, a pool of liquid bullion that beckoned me to swim and his face leaving no space for breathing room between us. He let out an embellished exhale onto my face, reeking of ripe morning breath. "Lots and lots of times, Silver."

And he bridged the rift, touching his lips to mine and plunging into the kiss with his entire body.

When he broke away, I surprised myself in that I had not resisted his advance—in fact, the touch had been welcome. Gold smiled at me, pleased that I'd taken his bait. "Wanna try again?" He purred. "This time, I'll give you something to remember."

He kissed me again before I could answer, persuaded that my answer would have been "yes"

Cocky bastard.

Crystal frowned and lifted her head from the rerun of The Golden Girlsthat Gold had taped on his television in the living room of his apartment, perked with sudden alertness from the shouting that had subsided only moments ago. "You hear that?" She asked Lyra, who had her knees tucked to her chest as she sat on the scuffed hardwood floor, vacantly staring at the screen.

Lyra ducked her head back to look at her friend, black bags hanging beneath her eyes from lack of sleep and profusion of alcohol the night before. "No," she hissed with a hostile timbre. "Now shut up. I'm trying to watch TV. It's annoying enough, listening to you talk every five seconds with this hangover." She rubbed her temples severely. "Ow, my freaking head."

Ignoring Lyra's grumbling, Crystal said, "It sounded like arguing." She turned to Gold's closed bedroom door, where no noise was emanating. "It couldn't have been Gold and Silver. They're still asleep. It's only been five hours since we got back."

"Why are you so chipper?" Lyra moaned.

"I was the designated driver last night, remember?" Crystal prompted. "I drank soda. Other than having to go to the restroom every five minutes and possible weight gain, soda pop has no effect on your mood."

"Truthfully, I don't remember," Lyra mumbled. "What the hell happened, anyway? Why am I sitting here watching some crappy show from the eighties and why are Gold and Silver in the same bed?"

"We went partying last night," Crystal began.

"Excellent deduction, Sherlock."

"You and I ditched Gold and Silver for a while. You don't recall that?" Crystal regarded Lyra with a furrowed brow of confusion. "We decided to go into a singles' bar and leave Gold and Silver to do whatever. A few hours later, after you got smashed, I left you in the car and went on a manhunt for the boys. I found them in a strip club without any clothes on."

"The customers don't strip in a strip club," Lyra snorted.

"They were so drunk they didn't care," Crystal said. "And they'd gone to a pharmacy and bought like, ten bottles of baby oil and a box of condoms, and then filled the condoms with the oil and threw them around the club, claiming they were having a 'water balloon fight.'"

In spite of herself, Lyra laughed. "Oh, man."

"The owner was having a fit. When I told him I was their friend, he dumped them on me and told me to 'get these insane nudists the hell out of my bar!' So I did. All three of you were so intoxicated and on the verge of vomiting that I knew I couldn't waste time taking you home separately. Gold's apartment was the closest to our location, so I drove here, unloaded Gold and Silver onto the bed, and situated you on the couch. The strip club owner gave me the responsibility of disposing of the baby oil condoms. I think I put them in Gold's trash can. I'll explain them to him when he gets up." Crystal glanced at her cell phone clock. "That was… at two in the morning, so yup, about five hours ago."

Yawning, Lyra cracked her knuckled and rubbed her eyes. "You put the condoms in his trash can?" She repeated. "If Gold sees them, he'll probably think he and Silver had sex or something. Men are so stupid."

Crystal chuckled and turned her attention back to the television. "Maybe."