[for Marissa]

[whiskytango_rto]

Sometimes Ray feels like the only sane person he knows, except the part where he knows Nate Fick who is only arguably insane for dating Brad Colbert.

Because, you know, Brad is kind of fucked up, especially as of late, and that's totally fine and he'll get over it, and it's not really Ray's problem anymore anyway, but when he goes home he's got Walt

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[shareofdevils]

At around two o'clock is when Marissa finally decides she's had enough. Enough making friends, enough sweets, enough watching what seemed like everyone but her getting drunk (Or at least close to it). It defeats the purpose of the thing to leave early, but she made her appearance and surely that's good enough; school's on and she's tired and not sure she can make it through to morning.

Ray's in bed when she gets there, taking up the whole bed and drooling on his pillow, and a sudden swell of affection hits her hard enough to leave her a little breathless. Tired and emotionally exhausted, she crawls into bed beside him, nudging heavy limbs around until she can tuck up against him, nuzzle the back of his neck and will herself not to cry.

[whiskytango_rto]

For a moment he's stiff, half-awake and thinking he's in his own hut, thinking what the fuck Walt before he remembers where he is and why. Turning over, he lifts a hand and ends up rubbing her arm affectionately, settling somewhere between sleep and a general sense of confused, but glad to have her next to him. "This is not a girls slumber party," he points out.

[shareofdevils]

"I wanted to come home," Marissa says, and sucks in a tremulous breath, focused on the warm space between their bodies because it's easier than looking Ray in the eye just now, even though none of what she's saying is a lie. "I was getting tired, didn't want someone writing on me in Sharpie because I passed out."

[whiskytango_rto]

There are certain key phrases that Ray really hates being related to his girlfriend in any context: passed out ranks right up there with kidnapped and by an assassin who needs her meds. "Oh," he says, voice flattening like he didn't already know, "it was one of those parties."

He's not starting anything, he tells himself--he's close enough that he'd know if she'd had anything to drink--there are just times when he's got the mental block against HEY SHE'S SEVENTEEN in place and ends up a little in awe of her judgment. "So you came here, to pass out next to me, because I can be trusted not to write on you," he says mildly. It's actually something he'd hoped to do to Brad at least once in their lifetimes, before Brad decided to be a) gay for their lieutenant and b) a douchebag.

Drawing a mustache on the woman emblazoned across Brad's back is possibly one of Ray's top-five life goals, and since it's way too fucking early and his girlfriend smells pleasantly of things that aren't booze, he is compelled to say as much to her.