You and Cyrus had been best friends for.. hell, who knows how long? People had deemed you the 'bad boy' amongst you two - while, Cyrus was the, oh, so innocent boy, who loathed his best friend's unhealthy tendencies.

He'd slap your wrist when you became too vulgar; scold you for staying out late. Getting into fights, smoking.

He was practically an angel in disguise. A calming presence to keep his rebel grounded..

That was, until, one night.

It was a Friday. The two of you had just gotten out of school, and were drinking alcohol - after tons of convincing and reassuring, of course. Your face was red with crystal clear inebriation, lips curled up in a wide, wide grin. You'd already downed half the bottle.

The other half, by Cyrus.

But, the boy didn't even seem half as drunk as his intoxicated best friend. He was hazy, sure, but after downing half the bottle, you'd think he was drunk out of his mind, no? Wrong.

Now, as the two of you laugh together in a dim bedroom - one, not as drunk as the other - you suddenly found yourselves on the soft, linen sheets..

..With your body pinned to the bed, delicate hands wrapped around you in a vice-like grip.

Cyrus towered above your intoxicated form, a tremor of desire and amusement etching itself across soft lips. He leaned in close - too close. Then, he whispered:

"Didn't expect that, did you?"