It is early on a Sunday morning and already there is sunlight filtering through the windows. Snow falls gently on the windowsil Cheli is currently holding in a deathgrip, against the door Brett is slumped against. The only sound is the crackling of water over ice and the occasional pathetic groan.

Quite frankly, it is the worst morning of Mathieu Dandenault's life.

He rests his cheek against the cool porcelain of the toilet seat and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shut out the incessant pounding in his skull. There is aspirin in the other bathroom's medicine cabinet; after this long he knows Boyd's cabinets like the back of his hand - better, actually, since he can't remember spending much attention to his hands - but moving doesn't seem to be much of an optionas his whole body feels like a deadweight.

Someone wanders by, tries the handle and knocks feebly, ignoring Mathieu's admittedly pathetic "Fuck off," to knock louder. The first thing his fumbling fingers can curl around is the conditioner bottle -who the fuck uses conditioner anyways?- which he throws at the door. There is a soft grumble, the sound of feet shuffling, and then only blissful silence.

That is, until there is a strange strumming sound outside the door. Mathieu manages to identify it as a guitar just as someone begins to sing.

"Seems like somebody's feeling a little sick today," Boyd sings softly and barely on-key. This time, Mathieu manages to find the shampoo bottle- it hits the door with a satisfying thud that makes Mathieu's head protest. Boyd only laughs and changes his chord.

"Seems like someome's feeling a little ill," he continues.

"You must really hate me," Mathieu mutters as he squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that when he opens them this will all be a bad dream and he'll be safe in his own bed, without guitars and Boyd and nausea.

No such luck.

"I think he had a little too much to drink last night..."

"I swear to god, I won't be responsible for my actions when I get out of here." Mathieu groans. "Why do I put up with you?"

"Because I left Advil on the counter." Mathieu raises his head and indeed, there it is, cap unscrewed and all. He drags himself to his feet with some help from the wall, knocks several into his palm, and downs them with a handful of tap water, washing his mouth out for good measure.

"Thank you, Boyd," Boyd says pointedly. Mathieu ignores him and slumps against the wall, sliding down until he is sitting with his legs splayed out in front of him. On the other side of the door, Boyd is humming to himself, far too cheerfully for Mathieu's liking. He remembers them matching each other drink for drink (although not much after that), so shouldn't he at least feel a little of Mathieu's misery?

"What happened last night?" he asks hesitantly, more to keep Boyd from humming than an actual desire to know. Instead of answering, Boyd begins to play again. Dread settles in Mathieu's stomach at the first few chords, dread comfirmed as Boyd begins to sing:

"You shook me all night long-"

Mathieu has the sudden urge to scream. And then the overwhelming urge to vomit. Boyd waits graciously for the dry heaves to subside.

"I didn't," Mathieu porotests weakly, slumping back against the wall as he pulls his knes to his chest.

"Well, no," Boyd agrees amicably, "but we did."

He can't help it, the idea of Boyd rocking out to AC/DC makes him chuckle Which leads to laughter. Soon, he is clutching his stomach and laughing uncontrollably while Boyd mutters and tunes a string in annoyance. "Your faith in my dancing skills is inspiring," he grumbles, which just sets Mathieu off again. "You didn't find it so funny last night."

"I was drunk. It's not like I had the most discriminating taste."

"You're a bastard," Boyd says after a short pause.

"But that's why you love me." Boyd doesn't seem to feel like dignifying that with an answer so Mathieu takes the opportunity to close his eyes and relax, wincing slightly as he shifts and-

Oh, no. No, no, no.

"Uh, Boyd?" A noncommital hum is his only answer. "That's not all that happened, is it?" Boyd is strangely silent; Mathieu lets his head fall between his knees. "I didn't."

One beat, two. "Well, no."

It isn't said, but Mathieu understands anyways.

-But we did.-

"Oh, fuck."

More silence, uncomfortable this time. Mathieu is considering screaming just for the sake of noise when he hears Boyd say, "I'm sorry," soft and careful.

"Yeah. Me too"

Mathieu stands carefully; his hand hesitates above the doorknob before he decides to go with his instincts and open the door. Across the hall, Boyd scrambles to his feet, guitar set to the side, hair sticking up in every direction with an almost frightened look on his face. Mathieu takes one look, decides he really doesn't want to deal ith this, and moves to shut the door again-

Only to be stopped by Boyd's foot.

The automatic apology dies on his lips as Boyd's hand hits the doorframe with a solid thud and he shakes his head. "No more apologies. Because really, I'm not sorry. About what happened or anything else and I'll totally understand if you don't feel the same, since it's not like-" Mathieu recognises he beginning of a ramble and takes pity on him, grabbing the collar of Boyd's tanktop and yanking him inside.

"Cheli was coming," he lies by way of explanation. Boyd nods carefully, eyes darting towards the cabinet, the shower, the door, anyhere but Mathieu.

"So," Mathieu begins uncomfortably, "what really happened last night?" Boyd's eyes finally meet his; they both blush.

"I... you... we... danced. Someone put in the CD and you dragged me up and into the middle of the room." His voice is soft but not wavering, the blush spreads to his ears. "I guess you started to dance."

Ah, he remembers this. Boyd's hands raised above his head, drunk enough not to care about any audience, druk enough to let his hips find the rhythm. "And so we danced." Boyd steps closer, nodding. "In front of everyone?" Another nod.

"You, uhm, slid a hand around a waist, kept on dancing, I think it was Stevie that whistled-" laughter, catcalls- "you just winked and pulled me closer."

"And then?"

"And then..."

"And then I kissed you." Jokingly at first, a response to the teasing. But he had definitely meant it moments later in the kitchen, pressed against the fridge, a fistful of Boyd's shirt in his hand, a leg pressing up and against him, knocking his head against those fucking idiotic ABC magnets, hot and wet and desperate-

"Yeah, you did." Boyd shakes his head quickly, shrugging. "And one thing lead to another and... well..."

Mathieu is suddenly aware of how close they are and closes his mouth quickly, backing up to the best of his abilities. He hits the counter- a whole two inches back- and does his best to sit nonchalantly, aware he must look like a complete tool. Boyd is focused on some point in the mirror behind him, biting his lip. Mathieu taps his fingers nervously against the counter as Boyd runs his hands over his bare arms. Someone groans and tries to open the door; Mathieu bangs on it with his fist.

"We're, uh, kind of tying this room up, aren't we?" Boyd asks, finally cracking another smile.

Mathieu shrugs; "It's your bathroom." He nudges the shampoo bottle with his foot and it rolls sadly towards the bathtub. They both watch it hit the wall and wobble, Mathieu stealing glances at Boyd out of the corner of his eye. He is surprised to catch Boyd doing the same- even more surprised to find himself blushing.

Boyd opens his mouth to say something, pauses, closes it again. Before Mathieu can wonder what he was going to say, what little space left between them is gone; their noses bump as Boyd leans in and kisses him softly, more of a slight brush of lips than anything else.

It isn't anything like what Mathieu remembers, but he doesn't have time to decide if this is a good thing or not- Boyd is already pulling back, one hand resting awkwardly on Mathieu's shoulder as he licks his lips nervously.

"Are you going to apologise for that one?" Mathieu asks, clearing his throat as Boyd's eyes go wide and his fingers tighten.

"Well-"

There is no fake Cheli to blame and no doors to hide behind and Boyd looks dangerously close to babbling again; Mathieu rests a finger softly against his lips to keep it at bay. "Kidding," he clarifies, replacing his finger with his lips. One second, two, and Boyd begins to relax, his hand slipping to the back of Mathieu's neck-

"Boyd?" Another pathetic knock, Jason's feeble voice is barely loud enough to be heard through the door. "You in there?" Mathieu shakes his head with a sly wink.

"Sorry, Wills," Boyd calls, backing up until he reaches the shower, pulling a still-smiling Mathieu along with him, "I'm kind of busy." He shoves Mathieu in, taking a moment to pick up the shampoo bottle before following and pulling the curtain shut behind them.