Eric Coulter Imagines

What If: He is Drunk (Part 2/3)

The soft light of morning slipped through the narrow window, illuminating the small room in a muted glow. Eric stirred, the dull ache of a hangover pounding in his skull. He shifted slightly, but something—or rather, someone—was pressed against him.

Y/N.

She was asleep, curled against his side, her breathing steady and slow. Her head rested lightly on his chest, and his arm, still draped over her waist, held her there. His mind raced to catch up with the situation, fragments of the previous night flashing back—showing up drunk at her door, forcing his way in, and pulling her down when she tried to get him to the couch.

What the hell am I doing?

The closeness was unnerving. It wasn't like him, and yet here he was, lying in her room, feeling the warmth of her body against his. His chest tightened with frustration. He had let himself lose control, and now, in the sober light of day, he didn't know how to handle it.

Eric's first instinct was to pull away, to leave before Y/N woke up and realized the awkward situation they were in. But as he shifted to move, Y/N stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

The second she realized where she was—and who she was pressed against—she sat up quickly, her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

"Eric?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with surprise. She pushed her hair back, her fingers trembling slightly as she avoided his gaze. "What are you doing here?"

Eric sat up slowly, forcing a smirk onto his face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You didn't exactly push me away."

Y/N stood up, brushing her hands over her casual clothes, trying to collect herself. "You were drunk. I didn't think throwing you out would be... safe."

Eric watched her closely, his eyes narrowing slightly. She was flustered, clearly uncomfortable with what had happened. But then again, so was he. And that irritated him.

"You're lucky," Eric muttered, his tone clipped. "Lucky I didn't stay longer."

Y/N turned to face him, her expression hardening. "You didn't have to stay at all."

Eric clenched his jaw, standing up. She was right—he could have left. But he hadn't. He'd stayed, pulled her close, and fallen asleep without a second thought. And now, he had to deal with the consequences. His instinct was to brush it off, to say something cutting and leave without another word, but as he moved to grab his jacket, Y/N stepped closer.

"You think too much," Eric muttered, his tone sharp, trying to regain control of the situation.

"And you think too little," Y/N shot back, surprising him with the intensity of her words.

Before he could respond, Y/N did something that completely threw him off balance. She stepped forward and, without warning, wrapped her arms around him from behind, hugging him. Eric froze.

It wasn't a tight hug, just enough for him to feel her warmth, her closeness. For a moment, Eric didn't know how to react. His body tensed, his heart beating fast, caught between pushing her away and... something else. The closeness was unexpected, and for just a split second, it made him feel something he didn't want to acknowledge.

She held him for only a second longer, then let go and stepped back, her expression unreadable. "See?" she said softly. "Who's the liar now?"

Eric's muscles were still stiff, his mind reeling. She had called him out, and worse, she had proven a point. He wasn't unaffected. He wasn't as indifferent as he tried to pretend to be. But instead of admitting it, he turned his back to her.

"You're making a mistake," he muttered, reaching for his jacket again, his voice rougher than usual.

Y/N crossed her arms, her voice sharper now. "Maybe. But at least I'm not lying to myself."

Eric clenched his fists, refusing to turn around. He could feel the weight of her words sinking in, but he didn't want to deal with it. Not now. Not ever.

"Please go," Y/N said, her tone softer but firm. "I don't want to see you right now."

Her words hit harder than they should have. Eric's jaw tightened, and he yanked the door open without another glance back at her. He stepped out into the hallway, the cold air biting at him, but he hesitated, just for a moment. Her hug, the way she'd called him out—it lingered in his mind.

But he couldn't show that. He couldn't let her see.

Without a word, he walked away, his heart pounding and frustration simmering beneath the surface. But as he left, one thought echoed in his mind.

Who's the liar now?