One Too Many's Not That Bad

C.E | The Lost and Cannot Be Found

Pairing: Chris Evans X best friend!reader
Plot : (y/n) calls Chris one night after attending a college party, asking for his help finding something very important to her.
Warnings: college AU, heavy fluff, suggestive mentions, drunk reader, lord of curse words XD
Word Count: 1.9k words

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Usually, Chris would be at a party with all his friends on a Sunday evening, playing a great, neck-to-neck game of beer pong and pool, probably getting a lay for the night before they'd all go back to the normalcy of what made up 'college life.' Usually. If not at a party, he'd be sleeping the day off, not bothering to make any social connections with the outside world. But here he is, on the phone running back to (y/n)'s dorm, panicking.

Why?

"Chris, it's not here anymore; I don't know where I put it."

"(y/n), talk to me. What the hell did you lose?"

If Chris weren't the one drinking his ass off, of fuckin' course, it would be you. It's usually you dragging him back to his dorm, not the other way around. You and Chris have been best friends since you and your dad moved in next door when you were only five years old, a little (h/c) haired girl with innocent doe eyes and a one too large headband on your head. Being accepted into the same dream college was a one-in-a-million chance; the universe seemed to favor you two.

So what the heck was the universe up to this time?

Chris finally makes it to your dorm, and surprise, surprise, the door's unlocked again. He sighs, finally considering to write up a big ass note always to lock your door that you'd be able to read nine feet away before pushing it open, his eyes immediately falling on you, standing in the middle of the room in your tiny sleep shorts and a black bra, windows wide open and the AC off.

"(y/n)!" he scolded, pulling off his flannel and wrapping it around you, dragging you back and forth with him after noticing all of the blinds pulled up, exposing you to the outside behind the glass. "What the hell's going on? The fuck did they give you?" he asked worriedly, finally setting you onto your bed, putting a hand over your forehead, and tilting your face upwards to get a better look at you. He gently pulls down the lower lid of your eyes with his thumb, checking for any telltale signs in case somebody gave you a little too much something.

You hiccuped, starting to sob. "I-I don't know where I put it, Chris. I can't find it."

Chris sighs softly, thinking that it was all just drunk talk, pulling your arms through the sleeves of his red flannel. You were covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat, and he saw one of your special black numbers scattered off the floor beside a shirt and belt he knew didn't belong to you or your roommate. He keeps a warm hand on your knee as he reaches over for it, knowing how clingy you were when drunk, and picked it up.

He held it up carefully, letting it dangle from his pointer finger, trying to maintain eye contact with you and away from the pretty little lacy thing. "Is this what you lost?"

"Oh..." you stared, blinking at it before slipping your hand towards your shorts to check.

"No! No!" Chris immediately grabbed your hands, pulling them back to him and blushing deep red. "It's alright. You're wearin' shorts. You're fine." he assured you, putting the fabric on your nightstand drawer. "That was what you were lookin' for, right honey?"