Something About Us

When the doorbell rang, Jess stood up from his chair, but Heather quickly stopped him. "I'll answer it," she said. Jess understood the unspoken message—they didn't know whether it was the delivery guy or someone else, and they didn't want to cause trouble before their next album's release.

Heather opened the door and greeted the delivery guy, letting him place the food on the living room table. Once he left, the guys helped carry the food to the dining room.

Since there were six of them, Heather had ordered four boxes of pizza, a pasta dish with chicken sausage, corn, leeks, and mushrooms, one-pot shrimp and asparagus fra diavolo, and two buckets of fried chicken. Jess pulled a few bottles of beer from the fridge and passed them around, except for Dave—since he was still underage. Heather poured orange juice into glasses for herself and Dave.

"No fair," Dave said, sulking as he stared at the others.

Heather leaned in and whispered, "Let them drink first. We'll have ours later, once they're drunk or tipsy." She handed him his glass of juice.

"Okay," Dave replied, though still feeling left out.

As they ate and drank, Heather checked on baby Dave in the crib every so often. The guys were starting to get tipsy, and Heather noticed it too. She went to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of beer, busy pouring one into a glass when Rhys appeared behind her.

"What are you doing?" Rhys asked, his voice low.

Heather jumped, nearly dropping the bottle. "Jesus!"

"Nope. Just me." He smirked. "What's with the two bottles? I only allowed you one."

"Come on. Are you my dad now? Stop nagging." She kept pouring the beer, though her voice softened. "The other one's for Dave. We'll just have one bottle each… I think," she muttered, not wanting him to take back his permission.

When she finished, she returned to the table and handed Dave his glass. Rhys sighed but followed her.

Hours passed, and the guys were well on their way to being drunk. Dave, who had only a single glass of beer, was stuck cleaning up. He threw away the empty pizza boxes, gathered the used beer bottles, and tossed them in a large garbage bag.

God, am I their babysitter or what? he thought, looking at the mess.

Henry, the oldest of the group with a higher alcohol tolerance, wasn't as drunk as the others. He decided to help Dave out by clearing the used plates and utensils from the table, washing them quickly so they wouldn't leave a mess for Heather to deal with later.

Meanwhile, Heather was getting seriously drunk. While the others were distracted, she kept pouring beer into her glass, unaware of her limit. It was her first time drinking, and she didn't know when to stop.

By the time the others noticed, it was already too late. Her face was flushed, and she was giggling uncontrollably at whatever Jess or Emmett said. She'd cling to Rhys, attempt to climb into his lap, and even try to take off her top, complaining it was too hot. Rhys would hold her hands firmly to stop her.

They decided to cut the night short when Heather suddenly looked pale and announced she felt nauseous, running straight for the bathroom, with Rhys following close behind.

Inside the bathroom, Heather leaned over the toilet, throwing up. Rhys stood behind her, holding her hair back. When she finished, he flushed the toilet, helped her stand up, and guided her to the sink so she could wash her face and gargle with mouthwash. Meanwhile, the guys had quietly said their goodbyes and left.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," Rhys said gently, guiding her out of the bathroom.

"Nooooo~ we're still not done..." Heather tried to push him away, but he didn't budge.

"We are. They've already cleaned the dining room and kitchen."

Heather looked toward the kitchen and dining area, and sure enough, the empty pizza boxes, beer bottles, and used plates were all gone.

"Wow, that was fast," she said, blinking in surprise.

"No, you were the one who took forever in the bathroom," Rhys teased, a smirk on his face.

Heather's face turned even redder. She stomped her feet, determined to climb the stairs on her own, but tripped on the first step. "Ow!"

"Silly girl. Are you okay?" Rhys rushed to her side and gently checked her knees. When he found no cuts, he sighed in relief.

He helped her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her shoulders to steady her as they made their way upstairs. When they reached her room, he gently placed her on the bed, flicking on the bedside lamp. He was about to stand and leave when Heather grabbed onto his shirt.

"Nooo... don't go, Riri... My head hurts... stay," she murmured, her voice small and tired.

Rhys looked at her for a moment, a soft sigh escaping him. She hadn't called him that in years—Riri, a nickname she'd given him when they were kids. He used to complain about it, thinking it was too girly, but over the years, he'd gotten used to it.

"Why did you drink so much?" he asked softly, his expression gentle but firm. "I only allowed you one bottle."

"But it was so fun drinking with you guys... You're the only ones I know here. I won't do it again... not until I'm of age. So, please don't be mad anymore." She gave him her best puppy eyes and pulled him closer to the bed.

Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly exasperated. "Okay," he finally relented, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Heather's face brightened, and she flopped down onto the bed, her eyes already half-closed. She remembered how they used to sleep over at each other's places when they were younger—sometimes in his room, sometimes in hers. Rhys's older sister, Crystal, would join them too, whenever she stayed over.

It didn't take long for Heather to fall into a deep sleep. Rhys stayed beside her, making sure she was settled. But after a few moments, his own exhaustion hit, and despite his best intentions, he finally followed her into sleep.