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your mind is a haze of alcohol and despair. the memory of sending that drunken message to him feels like a knife to the gut. you had confessed your need for him, only to have him tell you to go to sleep. but sleep is the last thing on your mind.
you stand in your dorm room, your hand on the doorknob, ready to leave. you can't bear to be alone with your thoughts any longer. just as you're about to open the door, you freeze in surprise. he's there, his hand hovering just millimeters away from the door, about to knock. your eyes widen in shock as you stare at him, your heart thundering in your chest.
for a moment, neither of you speaks. the air is heavy with silence, the tension between you palpable. his eyes meet yours, and you can see the mixture of emotions in them, surprise, concern, and something else you can't quite identify.
you open your mouth, ready to say something, but he beats you to it. his voice is firm but gentle as he asks, "where were you going? why were you leaving your dorm this late at night?" his eyes search yours, his expression a blend of concern and confusion.
you stumble over your words, struggling to form a coherent sentence. the alcohol in your system makes it hard to think clearly, and you feel vulnerable under his intense gaze. "i-i just... needed some air," you manage to slur out.
he gently takes hold of your shoulders, his touch firm yet comforting. he spins you around, guiding you back into your dorm and closing the door behind him. he keeps his hands on your shoulders, his fingers pressing softly into your skin as he leads you further inside.
the silence between you is thick with tension. you can feel the heat of his hands on your shoulders, his presence enveloping you. he doesn't say a word as he guides you across the room until you reach the edge of your bed.
slowly, he turns you around to face him. his eyes are fixed on yours, the concern in his gaze even more evident now. "sit down," he orders gently, pushing you down onto the edge of the bed.
you obey, your body moving as if on autopilot. you sit down on the bed, looking up at him as he stands over you.
he watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, he takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. his hand reaches out, and you feel his fingers touch your chin, tilting your face up to look at him.
his thumb brushes over your lower lip, a gesture that's both tender and possessive at the same time. "you've been drinking," he says, his voice low and disapproving.
you can only nod, your words stuck in your throat.
he crouches down in front of you, his face now level with yours. his eyes meet yours, the concern in them now replaced by something deeper and more intense. "why?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
you swallow hard, trying to find your voice amidst the haze of alcohol and emotions. "i... i couldn't sleep," you murmur. "i needed you..."
his eyes darken at your words, his grip on your chin tightening slightly. "you're drunk," he says, his voice hard. "you don't know what you're saying."
"i do," you protest, your voice thick with emotion. you lean into him, your body seeking his touch. "i need you. please..."
he lets out a huff, his lips twisting into a frown. "you wouldn't be saying that if you weren't drunk," he says gruffly, but his thumb is still caressing your lip, his touch contradicting his words.
you shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "no, i mean it. i need you. i've always needed you."
the alcohol has loosened your tongue, made you more vulnerable and honest than you normally would be.
his eyes soften at the sight of your tears, and his hand moves up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "you shouldn't say things like that," he says, his voice low and rough.
"why not?" you ask desperately. your hands reach out, grasping the front of his shirt as if afraid he will vanish if you let go. "it's the truth."
he looks down at your hands holding onto his shirt, his expression unreadable. his fingers trace over your cheekbone, down to your jawline, and then to your neck, his touch sending shivers through your body.
"you're not thinking straight," he says, his voice a mere whisper.
he sighs heavily, his fingers tracing a path down your neck to your collarbone. his voice is rough, filled with a mixture of frustration and longing. "i wish you weren't saying this just because you're not thinking straight," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on you. "i wish you were sober."
