The scotch seemed to burn against his throat at stomach, not really taking in count the number of glasses he had had before. With a grimace, Nick placed the glass down.

"Hit me."

The bartender, a man in his late forties wearing a plain crimson shirt, a white waist apron covering his dark dress pants, looked at Nick warily, squinting his eyes slightly. "Kid, are you sure...?"

Nick looked up at the man, his eyes shooting daggers at whoever was to come in his way. "Look," he snarled, "just get me another drink, got it? You want money?" Nick pulled out his wallet, taking out a hundred dollar bill and letting it fall on the stool. "There." His eyes meeting the older man's once again, he finished. "And don't fucking call me kid."

The man seemed taken back by Nick's answered, his eyes widening at him, then turned around and left. A couple of seconds later, another glass of scotch was placed in front of him. His fingers, once again, started roaming the edge, his eyes barely focused.

It was bad enough that he had to settle for the hotel bar when all he wanted was leave the goddamned place and find some hell hole in the middle of nowhere where he would forget his sorrows in a mindless number of Scotches. It was something that the place was kinda somber and that there was soft music in the background, not that Nick was paying too much attention to it anyway.

At least the man hadn't given him much of a fight for the liquor. He was sure the guy thought that if Nick could afford paying the inhuman amount of money for the room, then he at least had to be over twenty one and not his very visibly nineteen years old.

Now, as he looked at his sixth glass, his own vision blurred with the incessant colors dancing in front of his eyes, he tried to calm himself -- to force himself to breath. Everything around him seemed so very subreal, like he wasn't really living the moment, but like he was trapped in a bad dream, in his very own hell made by his over acting imagination.

Nick snorted. Yeah, right. He knew it wasn't a dream. He knew he wasn't sleeping and he wouldn't wake up to realize that it had all been a nightmare in the middle of the night. He knew this was his fucked up present and he had to deal with it the best way he could.

Bringing the glass to his lips, Nick drank it whole. "Agh," Nick grimaced aloud this time, the burning in his stomach intensifying as he remember that he was drinking on an empty stomach.

Shit, just what I needed. Now I'm gonna be praying I was dead tomorrow morning.

Not that he hadn't hoped that before. Or at least that what was his reality could somehow be altered and that his emotions could change at his own free will. Yeah, he had been thinking that only by wanting to change everything around him he could do it.

Stupid fool, he thought to himself, stupid fool. Stupid fucking fool who once thought that something could happen.

At least the liquor could calm down his senses. At least he had that much comfort in the amber liquid he kept pouring down his throat. He wanted to be sore and numb. He wanted to forget the whole fucking day. He wanted to forget the laughter he heard in the room, the happiness from the guys, the congratulations going back and forth. He wanted to forget how he had to plastered his fake smile and hold on his trembling hands as he hugged the older man. He wanted to be numb enough not to feel the lack of oxygen in his lungs, the coldness in his limbs and the breaking of his heart.

Fuck. Nick wanted to slap himself for thinking about it. It was pointless. It was down right fucking pointless to think about it. Meaningless. He had come down here to forget about it, not to dwell on it.

Oh, yeah? Then what are you doing with that empty glass in your hands? Forgetting or dwelling on it?

Nick shook his head unconsciously, not wanting to think about it. It didn't matter what he was doing -- even if he himself didn't know for sure. All he did know was that the more he drank, the less he remember and the less he hurt. That was something.

He had used to try drinking to find answers to his never meant to be asked questions, but that had also ended in a lost and very bad morning the next day. What had happened, had happened. And whatever the fuck he felt, he felt. He couldn't change it. He had tried enough already and it hadn't worked, so why bother anymore?

"Another one."

Nick heard his own voice, heavy and slurry. His throat felt dry and raspy. He knew it was hence to the amount of alcohol he had already consumed, but it didn't stop it from stunning him.

This time the guy didn't say a word as he placed the oh so wanted glass of Scotch in front of him. Nick barely even lifted his eyes to look at the guy as his hands moved to either side of the piece of glassware.

"You know you shouldn't be drinking, right?"

Nick snorted loudly, recognizing the voice of the man entering the small bar. To hell with him. The last thing he wanted -- needed -- was to talk with him, let alone hear words that were often spoken by the man who still behaved like his father.

Nick's chest contracted at the memory. He didn't want that. He didn't want to remember at all, that was one of the reasons he had come down here.

He could feel the man approaching him, taking the stool on his right and looking right at him. Nick didn't acknowledge him, and he sure as hell wasn't about it.

"You're underage."

It was barely a whisper, no way the bartender could have heard, but Nick didn't care either.

"Fuck you."

He heard his friend soft sigh of frustration and, again, Nick didn't care.

"I came here to talk with you."

Nick turned around, his eyes meeting Brian's soft blue ones, then back at his drink. "I don't wanna talk Bri, so you may just leave." He swirled the drink twice before cleaning it in one single shot. He grimaced, then placed the glass back on the bar. "Another one."

"Nick--"

He turned around suddenly, surprising Brian. His usual calm and clear sea blue eyes darken and angered. "I don't want you here. Do you hear me? I don't fucking want you here." Nick turned again, his head lowered, his shoulder slumped, his eyes on the dark bar as he waited for his next drink. "Go upstairs, to your friends. " Nick laughed sarcastically, a sound that scared and hurt Brian deeply, being able to recognize it -- raw sorrow. "Shit, they were drinking in honor to your wedding too, so why shouldn't you be there?"

"It doesn't have to be like this." Brian's own voice was calm and steady, trying his best to reach his hurt friend. He had known it would end up like this and, as he was afraid -- or maybe relieved, he himself didn't know --, he had been the only one to notice. "Ke--"

Nick stood up in one quick motion, his hands moving to Brian's collar before the older man even knew what was happening. The blond brought both their faces close together. So close that Brian could smell the liquor in Nick's breath. "Don't say his name." Nick shook Brian forcefully, his tall frame hovering over Brian's more than visibly shorter one. "Don't you fucking dare to say his name, do you hear me?"

Brian nodded instinctively, mostly worried about his friend than afraid of him -- even if Nick was pushed further than necessary, he would never hurt Brian. Then again, Nick had never been placed in this situation so far, now had he?

Nick let his friend go, his hands dropping to either side of his already exhausted body, then sat down warily, his eyes focused on his drink in front of him. "Don't say his name," Nick muttered, more to himself than to Brian.

Letting out a soft sigh, Brian couldn't help but worry for his younger friend. In their flight back to the hotel after the holiday break, when Kevin had told him that he had proposed Kristin. Brian had been completely happy for his older cousin, but he had also known that Nick, out of the four of them, would take it hardest. How was he not suppose to, after feeling how he did for Kevin?

"He didn't know it was going to hurt you. He didn't know--"

"I know that Brian," Nick sighed, his fingers moving around the soft edge of the glass, his eyes still on the amber liquid, "I know that. He doesn't know. He won't know. I don't want him to know, but that doesn't mean I can deal with it." He turned to look at his best friend for the past six years, his own voice hoarse. "That doesn't mean I have to be happy for him."

It was too much. It was too much for him to handle and for Nick to face, Brian knew so much. However, there wasn't much either of them could do. Nick wouldn't want anyone else to know -- and Brian sure as hell wasn't planning on breaking Nick's confidence in him like that -- and Kevin was going to marry Kristin on June. With a sigh, Brian couldn't help but think that the only one who could help Nick was the very same person who is making him suffer right now.

Even now, five months after he had pried the information out of Nick, Brian didn't even know how Nick could deal with so much by himself. How he had dealt with it for the past two years not even being able to trust his closest friends as were the guys. And now, when things were going to get worse before even start getting better, Brian didn't know what to do to help him.

Brian placed a hand on Nick's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. He knew it wasn't enough, it wouldn't bring mental peace to his younger friend, but he wanted to let Nick know that Brian was there for him.

Nick laughed ironically, more out of frustration than out of fun. "I thought I could deal with it, you know? I knew Kevin would ask Kristin, it was bound to happen, and I thought I could face it with a stoic face, even be happy for him. But I just..."

"No one is asking you to be happy for him. You've got every right to be hurt."

Nick shook his head, his eyes still downcast. "No, that's the point. I should be happy for him. He's my friend. He's one of my closest friends, the last thing he deserves of me is that I'm happy he's found someone as great as Kristin and that he himself is happy with her."

"Nick--" Brian wanted to interrupt that guilty trip that Nick seemed to be imposing upon himself, but was cut of by Nick, like he had never even disagreed about it.

"Still I just can't," Nick's voice was pained, suffered and stricken with sorrow down right to the core and Brian couldn't help but shiver at the amount of sadness that seemed to emanate from someone so young and usually so joyful as Nick. "It was one thing when I loved him from the distance. Even though I knew nothing would ever happen, I still could hold some hope that somehow -- someway -- he would realize that I loved him and love me back." Nick laughed again, barely controlling himself before it turned into a sob. "Stupid I know."

"It wasn't stupid," Brian whispered softly, wishing he could so something to help him.

"I mean, I had known he was straight all my life, right?" Nick turned around, his eyes founding Brian's, not really looking for an answer. "Bringing girls into his room, talking with AJ about this or that hot chick they saw in the venue, and always -- always -- being with Kristin." Nick's eyess lost focus for a moment, seeing something on the side of the bar that wasn't actually there, as he continued. "But now... now I gotta see him making plans for his wedding. I gotta see him introducing Kristin as his fiancée, the woman he plans to spend the rest of his life with." A single small tear started making its way from the corner of his left eye down his milky white cheek. Nick brushed it back brusquely, acting like it hadn't been there at all. Biting his lower lip, his blue eyes brimming with tears, Nick said softly, "I don't think I can make it Brian." Nick breathed in, shocking back a sob, "I don't think I can see him marry her and pretend I'm happy for him."

"Oh god, Nicky," Brian breathed out, wanting to engulf the taller man, now looking so much younger and so very much smaller than he actually was, in his arms and take away all the pain Nick felt at the moment. "God Nick."

Nick covered his mouth with his hand, trying to get a grip on the tight leash that his emotions had been held in so far, not wanting to break now -- here -- and most certainly not with Brian at his side. He turned around once again, his eyes falling to his already forgotten glass of scotch. Taking it in his hands, Nick drank it in one shot. His already calm and settled stomach burned with the heat of the alcohol, gratefully taking his mind away from the overwhelming pain he had almost succumbed to. His eyes stung with unshed tears, but he decided to deceive himself, wanting to believe that the reason was the alcohol instead of the pain.

He would mourn over what he had lost -- or was bound to loose -- for good in a couple of months. But in the privacy and secrecy of his room, just like his love had been.

They stood like that for a minute -- or maybe even more --, neither of them saying anything. Nick looking at his empty glass, hurting inside, and Brian looking at his friend, hoping he could help him, ease his pain.

"Come on Nick," Brian placed his hand on Nick's shoulder once again, squeezing softer this time, "we better head upstairs."

Nick nodded, his mind not really focused on what was going on around him, but in standing up and reaching his room in one piece. He got a couple of bills from his wallet and left it on the bar, knowing it was enough to pay his check and the rudeness with which he had treated the older man. Taking one step forward, Nick turned slightly, his eyes barely meeting Brian's before loosing focus once again. "I can't... I don't wanna go there again. I don't wanna..."

Brian's arm moved along Nick's shoulder, supporting him enough so the younger man wouldn't fall. "It's ok," Brian said, "it's ok. You don't have to go back. I'll tell the guys that you aren't feeling well and that you went to bed. You don't have to go back in there."

He continued walking, slowly and as steady as he could muster, murmuring his thanks to Brian. Brian's own arm bringing Nick closer to his chest as the younger man shivered unconsciously -- if it was either ought to the coldness of the night or of his own pain, Brian wasn't sure.

And as a short man with strawberry blond hair helped a taller man with shinning gold locks into the dim hallway of the hotel at this late hour of the night, a soft song could be heard in the small bar, the accords of the first lines running through the air. The singer would have been recognized by both of them, even if the song itself wasn't as familiar, and its only achievement would have been evoking even more pain in the young and already tortured soul of a man who shouldn't be facing the hard truth he was at the moment.

This was never meant to be
All the signs were there to see
From the first moment that we met
I knew this was never meant to be... (*)