The bourbon sears your throat, and you relish the feeling. The world spins and blurs, the lights kaleidoscopic in your head. You get up to go upstairs, knowing you have work tomorrow. You stumble like a child just learning to walk. As you move upstairs, gripping the handrail, you pass his room. A draft of cold air is wafting from the room like he has a window open to the January air. In your drunken haze, that irritates you. You open the door to tell him to shut the fucking window, it's cold outside and you don't pay for heating to waste it on open windows in the dead of the winter. But he's not there, and the window is indeed wide open. You call his name, but no reply. You shuffle across the room, almost tripping over the Vans he obsesses over having and keeping oh-so-meticulous and also in the middle of the goddamn floor. You grumble loudly, cursing him. You reach the window and lean out into the frigid night. There he is, sitting on the rooftop like some angsty teen, hoodie zipped up all the way and headphones over his head. You call his name again, and this time he turns around. He raises an eyebrow as he realizes you're shitfaced drunk and raises them even higher when you begin climb out the window. He laughs and begins to push you back inside, but you drunkenly bat him away and continue moving to join him on the roof. He backs off but keeps his hands hovering over your body should you fall. You finally manage to clamber out the window and sit at his side, but not before you slip on the tiles. His eyes widen and he grabs you quickly, hands warm and calloused against your tattooed arm, dragging you back to safety. He lightly admonishes you for coming up drunk, hands lingering on your arm. You give him a dopey smile in return. You lean back against him, head falling on his shoulder as you gaze up at the stars, breathing in the bitter January air. He tenderly wraps an arm around you as the world and the lights of the city on the horizon blur and move across your vision, scattering beads of light across your brain. But the combination of the alcohol and his arm around you warms you. You don't know how long you stay up there with him, but you don't care because you're warm and safe and with him and the stars are watching over you and him.
You wake up. The bed next to you is cold and your head aches. He's not there. It was just a dream, and the bourbon is empty.
