Why Do You Love Me ── MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

xiii. the seating situation

.·゜゜·　　·゜゜·．

REINA'S POV

I have a pounding headache, and all I want is to down multiple cups of coffee and watch reruns of a cartoon. I'm still in my clothes from last night, which isn't ideal considering I have to have about three different alcohols stained on my shirt alone. I groan as I shed the clothing, wrapping a robe around my bare body before padding downstairs.

I'm expected to see a mess when I went down, but I'm pleasantly surprised to see the house has been cleaned. You wouldn't even be able to tell there was a party the night before if it weren't for the two large garbage bags I see settled on my backyard porch. At least Dylan and Stef kept their promise to clean up after themselves.

As far as morning afters go, I could be having a worse one. My house is clean, it's quiet and I had just enough coffee left to make myself a cup. While I wait for the coffee to be done, I hop up onto my counter, my feet swinging below me. I remember last night, I remember all of it so clearly that I'm actually mad about it. Because part of me wanted to just forget, to pretend none of it ever happened, and I didn't get myself to such a state that I actually needed people taking care of me.

Here's the thing, I don't like it when people need to take care of me. Would it be nice to occasionally let go and let myself be taken care of? Yeah, in fact, that's all I want. But yesterday wasn't like that. Yesterday was the sort of instance where I didn't have a choice, it was either I let Stef and Matthew take care of me, or I pass out on the steps of my own house.

And Matthew, god, Matthew.

I was in such a state last night, and to have him be there while I was in that place...it's like when he found me after my breakdown except the opposite end of the spectrum. The last thing I expected when Stef and Dylan used us to be the maid of honor and best man was for me to find myself not once, but twice being held together by Matthew. Yet, there I was, head in his lap and fighting the urge to pull him into a kiss when he comforted me.

Which, by the way, what the fuck.

I'm a known flirty drunk, Stef makes fun of me for it all the time because I always wind up trying to kiss her throughout the night. But I usually go for people I actually like, not someone like Matthew. I think that desire to plant one on him just goes to show how far gone I was last night.

The bubbling of my coffee is what snaps me out of my thoughts, and I'm quick to hop off the counter and turn off the stove. Once my mug is poured, I make my way to the living room to sink into the couch and go through my plan of watching cartoons until my hangover fades. But I freeze in the doorway when I see the couch isn't empty, but occupied by a gangly figure with brown curly locks covering his face.

I frown at the sight of Matthew, quickly putting my mug on the coffee table, and dropping to my knees where his head lies. I poke at his cheek gently, causing him to stir but he doesn't wake, just moves away from my touch. I poke at him again, and again, and again until eventually, his eyes open slowly. He looks surprised to see me, head jolting back like it isn't my house he fell asleep in.