Right Where We Are

With Conscious Impulsivity

A/N: Just a quick note, readers! This is a story that has been completed and is going through revision. It's a story I hope to try and publish, so feedback is highly and greatly appreciated. Tell me what you like, what could be touched on more, what feels forced, what works well, etc. And please, please be sure to hit the vote button! Help this story get noticed some more! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!! The next chapter will be posted once this one gets to 50 reads! <3

MISAEL-

Misael's stomach felt weak and sore. His limbs felt heavy. His head felt bruised. His tongue was dry. He couldn't remember anything after the body shots.

He groaned and opened his eyes, trying to gauge his surroundings. It wasn't his room. It wasn't Sebastian's. It definitely wasn't Caleb's house. He pulled himself up and glanced around before he realized someone was sleeping on the floor.

Son of a bitch.

On the floor, sleeping peacefully, mouth slightly open, strands of light brown hair over his face as the rest splayed on the pillow, one arm under the pillow the other bent over his head, was Luke. Misael suddenly felt sick and made a dash for the bathroom, not even trying to be quiet.

He kneeled at the toilet and gagged, but he had nothing in his stomach left to expunge. "Misael?" Luke went into the bathroom right along with him, which Misael found bizarre.

"Get out!" he snapped.

"Oh, please. Who do you think was helping you stay upright last night?"

Misael scowled and looked away. That's when he realized he was wearing clothes that weren't his. "This isn't.... These aren't my clothes." He looked over at Luke who was leaning against the door, his hair in a disarray, his calm hazel eyes, steady on him. Panicking, he picked himself up and walked over to him, gripping the front of his shirt. "What... what did we do last night?"

Luke sighed and pried his hands away, not breaking eye contact. "Nothing. Relax."

"Then why am I here in your room, wearing your clothes, waking up in your bed?" he asked through clenched teeth.

The freckled brunet's eyes remained calm, still puffy with sleep. "You got really drunk at the party. You got into a fight and I had to pull you away. So I called an Uber and got us back here. But I didn't want to walk you to your dorm since you kept stumbling, and I figured you might choke on your own vomit; I brought you here. You started getting sick. You...." Something in his eyes tightened, turned solemn and worried, and Misael hated it. Misael felt his stomach churn, and his hands started shaking as he stared at Luke. What had he done? "You'd gotten your clothes dirty. So I asked if I could help you change into different clothes and you said yes, so I did and then I put you back to bed. That's all."

He pressed a hand to his forehead and walked away from him anxiously. "Fuck," he hissed. "You of all people," he muttered under his breath. He turned away and looked for his clothes, for his shoes at least. "I have to go."

"Misael, please wait," he said in a voice so gentle it caught him off guard. He froze and tried to catch his breath as he waited for Luke to speak. "I.... Look, I know you don't like people worrying about you. I know you don't like people prying. But I'm worried."

A cold shiver ran through Misael's body and he reached out a hand to steady himself with the desk. "You have a really bad hangover. You should lay down. I'll get you water." Misael wanted to tell him off. He wanted to tell him he didn't need or want his help. But he did. He wanted someone. And considering Luke hadn't told Misael to go to hell after the way he acted with him, both sober and drunk, he figured Luke didn't deserve it.