(i think) there's a flaw in my code | camren

day 2

It's 4 AM when Camila wakes up in the most uncomfortable position she's ever been in. One of those positions that makes her wonder what the fuck her body does while she's asleep.

It takes her a few moments to remember where she is again—in Lauren Jauregui's living room, on the couch that looks more comfortable than it is after a few hours of balancing on the edge.

It takes her another few to realize why she woke up.

Lauren's home.

And loud. Really loud.

She's stumbling and tripping and cursing and singing all at the same time. She leans against the door when she takes her jacket off, attempts to put it on the coat rack but fails miserably due to messed up hand-eye coordination from obvious intoxication.

Camila jumps up to help her, picking the jacket up from the ground and putting it up. Lauren looks at her like she's seen a ghost.

"Do you even remember—" Camila closes her eyes for a moment, gathering all her self-control and willing herself not to lash out. "You need to drink water. A lot of it."

Camila's only been drunk once, on her friend Ally's twenty-first birthday party, and until the massive hangover the next day she'd enjoyed every minute of it. But she wasn't nearly as drunk as Lauren is right now, and she isn't sure water is even going to help at this stage.

Lauren stares at her, still leaning her back against the door to keep herself from falling over. "I do remember you. You live in my house." Her speech is slurred and the alcohol is making her voice even huskier.

Camila hates herself for the way it makes her heart skip a beat. "I guess that's one way to put it." She glances from Lauren to the kitchen and it looks like a marathon.

"Can you walk?" she asks, pointing at the kitchen. "We need to get you there."

Lauren points at her. "I can walk." And then, "I want a cigarette."

"No, no cigarettes. Water." Camila wraps her fingers around Lauren's wrist and tugs her towards the kitchen. To her surprise, Lauren follows her pretty steadily. But when Camila plants her down on one of the kitchen stools, she slumps forward until her forehead rests on the marble counter top.

"Right," Camila mumbles to herself. In any other situation she would've been amused, but considering the fact that Lauren left her alone in her own house to go to a party has her pretty annoyed. She doesn't want to sympathize with Lauren right now. She just wants to make sure she won't be hungover in the morning and decide it's a good idea to yell at Camila for no reason or something.

Camila looks through the cabinets for a glass and fills it up with water. She places the glass in front of Lauren. "Drink this."

Lauren sits up, her eyes glazed over and unfocused. "What?"

"If you don't want to be hungover in the morning you should drink a lot of water," Camila explains, pushing her own patience. She likes Lauren, she really does, but she's pretty sure that's just because she used to admire her so much as an artist, because there hasn't really been any reason to like her as a person, too.

Lauren reaches out for the glass and their fingers brush. Camila tries to pull away, but Lauren grabs her hand and holds it while she drains the glass. Her eyes rest on Camila the entire time, but Camila doesn't look up.

Lauren fucking Jauregui is holding her hand.

As much as she wants to be mad at Lauren for—well—everything, she feels all the anger leave her body. Lauren is refusing to let go of her hand. Camila's pretty sure this could cure any disease.