When I Look at the Stars, I Feel Like Myself

-Dalton-

"Stephan," I sing, hopping after him as he tries to make an escape for the drink cooler.

He seemed awfully embarrassed earlier. I can't say I blame him. We just met and my face was in his crotch. He even forfeited the whole game just to avoid taking the awkwardness further.

"Yeah?" he turns around, face still holding a tint of red.

"What are you doing?"

I hold out the "o" just because I can, and clasp my hands behind my back, rocking back and forth. He smiles at the action. The flush is slowly disappearing. That's good. I don't want him to be uncomfortable around me. He's the only other gay guy here right now. My own kind can't be upset with me.

Plus, he's cute.

Really cute.

So cute, I may not have minded being pushed up in his crotch like that.

"Getting a soda."

"No rum?"

What is Jack Sparrow without rum?

"I don't drink much."

"But you're Jack Sparrow. You drink rum."

"No, I'm Stephan Ashburton dressed as Jack Sparrow. I don't drink rum, and I'm sexier."

"Hmm," I hold my chin in between my index finger and thumb, pretending to size him up. "I'd have to say you're right. Sparrow's got nothing on you."

A dark red tint returns to his cheeks. Sweet mother of Professor Oak, this guy blushes easily. All I did was agree with him.

"I, uh, you're a lot better looking than Ash Ketchum, too."

"You can just tell me I'm sexy. I won't be offended. In fact, it'll pump my ego so high Calvin will have to hit me over the head to get me to shut up next performance." At the look on his face, I rush to say, "I'll hit him back, don't worry."

"Do you two always hit each other?"

"Just before performances," I pause, "And there was that one time where we played flag football and I hit him in the nose. But normally it's just before performances."

"Should I call social services? My band can adopt you."

"Alright, but you can’t be my dad because that would be incest."

Yeah right. Like my dad would ever become gay and use me for sex. No, he couldn't look at me for days after I came out. And, then, he snapped. Everyone turned on me, wouldn't let me stay with them when I needed it, wouldn't take me to the hospital to check my wounds.

Except Ross. He's always been there. He’ll always be there. He ruined his relationship with our family to help me. No one said he had to stay by my side through everything. I can't thank him enough for what he's done.

"Are you okay?" Stephan asks.

Jolted from thought, I reply quickly, "Fabulous."

"You sure? You looked a little off."

"I swear on my Jones Soda, I'm fine. C'mon, let's go sit."

"Let me get a soda first."

I cut off his efforts to reach into the cooler, pull out two Jones Sodas, and hold one out to him. He stares at it, then me, then back at it.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yeah, take it."

"Is this a test?" he looks at me, eyes dancing with amusement, "You're not going to tackle me if I take this, right?"

"How do you know I tackle people who take my Jones?"

"Wild guess."

I haven't even made a complete ass of myself yet and he already knows that I attack people who take my Jones Soda. Someone might have warned him, but he did walk by with my Jones Soda earlier.

Whatever happened to that soda?

Oh, well, not important.

"I'm not going tackle you, unless you want me to," I say, "I'm getting all the soda I can drink for a month for getting Holli-bear into that outfit anyway, remember?" I turn my head, looking for the soon-to-be couple. "Where are they?"

I spot them sitting on the couch. Holland is in Jack's lap, curled up against his chest, and Jack is running a hand through her hair, mumbling words to her that cause her to giggle.

They're going to make such cute babies.

"Hey, Jack-Attack," I yell. He looks at me, eyebrows drawn together. I hold up one of the sodas in my hand, "I think I need a new case."

Smile stretching across his face, he flashes me a thumbs up. He's okay with this arrangement now, but by the middle of the month, he's going to hate his life.

"Why are your band mates so tiny?" Stephan asks, taking a Jones Soda from me and cracking it open.

"What are you talking about? Calvin's a fat ass."

"Heard that," Calvin yells.

"He didn't really hear that," I say to Stephan, "He probably just heard his name and assumed I was saying something bad about him." I turn my attention back to Calvin and yell, "Did you hear that Calvin? It's not nice to assume things."

Calvin waves me off and returns to talking with Ross and RJ. Stephan laughs from beside me, and my stomach leaps into my throat. He's got a pretty laugh. That doesn't make sense. A laugh can't really be pretty, can it? It's not really visible, so it can't be pretty. But his laugh is...

Something else.

"I was talking about the girls," he says, laughter calming.

"Oh, yeah, I guess," I say, glancing around the room.

Riley is mixed in a puddle of people on the Twister mat. Holland is talking with Jack, still curled in his lap. And Elina is sitting on the couch, arms crossed, looking slightly upset.

Her mom's coming to the party. I don't know why she is, but I know Elina doesn't want her here.

It doesn't help that I'm talking, if not flirting a bit, with Stephan. She likes me, I understand that. But I can't stay single forever. Granted, I'm still young and I shouldn't be worried about being alone for the rest of my life yet. I don't know if she'll ever be able to handle me attempting to date fully, not until she allows herself to crush on someone else.

I don't think you ever get over your first love, though.

Regardless, I want a boyfriend, and if Stephan really is interested, this could go somewhere. I'll always be Elina's best friend, no matter what happens.

"Do they eat?"

"Elina forgets to eat sometimes, but I know she's not underweight yet. Riley eats pretty healthily. Not to mention, the holy powers above blessed her with a kick ass metabolism, and she runs a lot. Holli-bear... I don't normally see her eat, but her stash of junk food disappears pretty quickly, so I assume she does."

Holland has had pretty shaky health lately. She passed out during sound check a couple days ago, almost passed out at that one performance. I don't know much about her eating habits. I don't know much about her in general. And I definitely don't know what's going on with her.

"You're not worried about any of that?"

"I am, but what can I do if they won't tell me what's wrong? I can't force them to do anything. I can make myself open for them to talk to me. That's about all I can do."

A small smile forms on his lips. I like him better when he smiles. Even the tiny gesture makes his face that much more attractive.

But I don't like when people are unhappy.

He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a side hug. My heart leaps, my stomach flips.

"You're a great guy," he says.

"And you're packing," I return.

I don't have a very good mental filter.

-Holland-

"I think you should walk around in underwear from now on. Don't waste your time getting dressed in the morning. Because this is good," Jack says.

His fingers dance along my thigh, tickling the bare skin. The outfit seems to have caused him to forget all standards of personal space. He was bad enough before, but skin-to-skin contact has been constant since we went to the amusement park. It's like he can't go two seconds without touching me.

Not that I mind. I actually quite like the attention. Being dressed like this kind of makes me feel good. It may be the attention I've been receiving from Jack and the compliments I've gotten that are really attributing to my sudden comfort. I don't know if it'll last past tonight, but I'll enjoy it while I can.

"Jack, this is the last time I'm doing this."

"I don't think I can handle that."

"There's nothing you can do about it."

"I can strip you on stage."

"You wouldn't."

"Please don't tell me you actually think I have more morals than that."

"I can hope, can't I?"

"You'll only be crushed in the end."

In all honesty, he's right. I know he wouldn't be beyond walking on stage and ripping my clothing from my body. And, as much as I like the attention he's giving me now, I'd prefer he not do that.

We're not even a couple yet. I'm not walking around in my underwear everyday for him when I have no idea when he'll ask me out, or if he'll ever ask me out. I know he likes me, and I know he's done a lot to get this close to me. But I don't think he'll ask me out until he thinks my bulimia is gone, which would take a long time.

I couldn't even go all of today without forcing myself to vomit. We were having fun in the amusement park, I felt good, and I still wanted to do it. After I ate that chili dog, I had to do it. There was no way I could go on for much longer without vomiting. I tried to use the excuse that the roller coasters made me sick, but he didn't buy it.

I don't think we'll ever be an actual couple until this mess stops. I can't expect him to ask me sooner. Who wants to start a relationship with someone who has a problem like mine? Yeah, he's stuck with me through everything, he flirts with me, continues to show interest in me, but at the end of the day, my problem causes our relationship to be unhealthy.

He's here with me. That's all I can ask for.

Shit, I need a drink.

"Jack, I'm going to get something from the alcohol cooler. You want anything?" I ask, looking up at him.

He turns his attention from the Twister game he started watching while I had spaced out to me. His eyebrows are drawn, alarm clear on his face.

"You can't do that."

"Why can't I do that?"

I can see him searching his brain for a reason, anything to keep me from going to the drink cooler.

What is his problem? You'd think he would want me drunk.

Not that I'm a slutty drunk. I'm a very happy drunk. I laugh a lot. Almost nonstop.

I also vomit a lot.

I'm a lightweight. More than one drink tends to have as extreme affect on my body. With each round of vomit, I still laugh, even harder than before. I'm not sure why, but I do. Probably just the fact that I know I can handle vomiting and no one else does.

Jack's eyes light up. "You're not old enough."

"Really? You're telling me I'm not old enough? Jack, I'm sure you drank underage, too."

"Well... I... you know... I just... Holl."

He whines the nickname, a plead for me to stop.

I don't think I will.

"Why don't you want me to drink?"

His Labrador brown eyes dart from side to side. Whatever he's about to say, he doesn't want anyone else to hear. I couldn't imagine what it is.

There's only one thing I know he doesn't want to talk about around others, but I don't think that's his reasoning for not wanting me to drink. It wouldn't make sense.

He looks down at me again. "Can we go talk in the hall?"

"Sure."

I remove myself from the warmth of his lap. He pushes himself off the couch and slips his hand into mine, leading me out of the room unnoticed.

At least half the people here are too drunk to notice anything.

Hand-in-hand, Jack and I walk through the carpeted hall. We make it a few doors away from the party room, in front of his room, and he stops us.

"Holl," he sighs, "I don't want you to drink because I don't want you vomit."

I guess bulimia did have something to do with it.

"I won't force myself to vomit while I'm drunk. I'm afraid I'll choke myself trying."

True story.

"It's not that. You've done so well today. You only vomited once and that wasn't till after we had lunch. I don't want you to vomit from drinking too much. I feel like that would make you relapse."

"Vomiting from alcohol and forcing myself to vomit are hardly the same thing."

"They are to me."

"They're not."

They taste different. That would be the only real dissimilarity. Both are calming to some extent, and chugging down more than one drink when you know you can't stomach more is sort of the same as forcing yourself to vomit.

But that's not the point.

"Holl, I want to help you. I even avoided drinking tonight for you. I mean, I didn't know if you drank or not, but I didn't want to tempt you to take a sip. You don't look like you can handle much alcohol."

Self-prohibition for my sake? He'd do that kind of thing for me? I didn't know he could manage going the night without drinking. I noticed he hadn't had a drink, but I thought he would drink at some point, like when he lost energy or something.

"You did that for me?"

"Yeah."

That's sweet, in a weird way that only Jack could manage to pull off.

"Why?"

"Because I like you and I want to show you I can be considerate of your recovery, that getting over this matters to me, too."

"You didn't have to go Dry County to prove that."

"I did."

"You like to drink, Jack. You don't have to avoid drinking to help me stop vomiting. I don't want to stop you from having fun."

"Holl, I'd do anything for you."

Tears perch in my eyes. I bite my lip and blink to keep myself from crying. Jack stares down at me with concerned eyes, only making me more emotional.

"I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Yeah?" A smile stretches across his face. "I have something better to add onto that."

"What?"

"I don't know if you're ready for this," he teases.

"You're not going to push me into your room, are you?"

He glances at the door behind me and thinks over the option. He takes a step back, still holding my hand, and lets his eyes trail over my body.

"That's not a bad idea."

I push his shoulder. "Jack, come on. What is it?"

"Alright, you asked for it. If you cry, it's your fault." He takes a breath and continues, "Holland Kingston, you are possibly the sexiest woman I've seen in my life. I promise I'll strip you on stage every chance I get and help you on your road to recovery. The only thing I ask in return is for you to be my girlfriend."

I hide my mouth with my hand. The tears streak down my cheeks, shock forcing them from their perch. His delivery may be a little odd, but I wasn't expecting that. He's willing to be my boyfriend and help me get better.

What did I do to deserve something that great?

"Holl?"

I throw my arms around his shoulders, rubbing my face into the crook of his neck. "Yes," I say against his skin, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes."

He chuckles, arms sliding around my waist, and presses his lips to the top of my head.

"Good."