bea & danny; end of the night. [complete!]
“It—” He was trying to come up with what to say, because that certainly wasn’t something he’d ever intended to do with Beatrice, but then Danny’s face paled.
The gently-spinning world around him had just tilted, sharply, and his stomach flipflopped.
Not from butterflies or nerves, but rather from the rum-and-coke in his belly finally giving up the ghost.
“I gotta,” he started, then rapidly untangled himself from Bea and stumbled/scurried towards the boys’ restrooms by the wall, their surroundings blanking out into a haze as everything narrowed down to one basic objective: get to the toilet before you hurl.
Luckily, he managed to bury his head in the porcelain just in time, groaning and miserable as he clutched the rim. (He didn’t want to think about how many people had used this public stall, and how long it had been since the school employed anything like a janitor.) Five minutes later, Danny had just about recovered enough to realise that he wasn’t alone. She had followed him in, and was now rubbing soothing circles over his back.
“Noooo,” he said, although it wasn’t entirely certain which part Danny was protesting.
“I don’t usually get this reaction after kissing, you know,” Bea teased quietly, her hand moving up to rub at the base of his neck and thread her fingers gently through his hair. It wasn’t like it was getting in the way of his vomiting but she hoped the touch was still comforting. “You done puking? C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
He missed her first sentence, staring balefully into the bowl, and feebly tugging at the lever to flush away all evidence of his lack of control. But Danny caught her last suggestion, and nodded woozily.