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She hated that the layer of sweat shining on his face was attractive somehow. His dancing was decidedly less appealing. How was it that he looked like a deck chair that had been enchanted by the magic of the Beast's castle?
"I just wanna say-" he said, for the third time in as many minutes. He then burped; something dangerously close to vomiting. She took an automatic step back.
"What's that?" She asked, feeling increasly impatient and nervous.
"Sorry." He slurred, his eyes making the effort to focus on hers. "I'm sorry." He sighed, swaying slightly. "I've made a mess." He shrugged, a small smile on his face.
"A mess of what?" She asked, taking a swig of distraction and courage. She knew he wasn't referring to the sick in hia cup Why was she nervous? How pathetic.
"I never-" he belched again, his chest and face constricting. "Oh shit." He spat into his cup.
"Lovely." She gritted out.
"I never should've said that- in the text." He focused on her again. "Always want you, to be around. " he gestures camply. She couldn't keep the smile from her face.
"Are you saying that cause Ola dumped you?" She couldn't keep the accusation from her tone.
He sighed, before barking out a chuckle.
"She did me a favour." He didn't say it cruelly, he said it with his Otis honesty.
"Can I-?" He gustured toward the stairs before all but collasping onto it, one eye closed as he attempted to focus on her.
She sat beside him.
"Have you drank before?" She asked, knowing the answer.
"Had wine with dinner once." He said, thinking hard. "Yip. That's it." He concluded.
"You're making up for it now." She replied.
He seemed to sober for a moment as he looked at her then.
"I have a lot to make up for." He said solemnly.
Her stomach flipped.
"I'm done being an idiot, Maeve."
"If you say so."
He grinned.
"I love you." There was a levity to how he said it. The way a friend might say it after a particularly good joke.
"I love you." He said it again, but this time it was hushed, intense, raw.
He offered his hand to her, palm upwards, resting on her knee. She nearly jumped at the contact. My god he was hammered; the dutch courage was spilling over. Would he even remember this in the morning?
"I know I'm drunk." He explained, as if reading her mind like always. "But I mean it."
She took his hand, ignoring how sweaty it was. He was a furnace of alcoholic fumes, but that didn't stop her from resting her head on his shoulder, and he rested his cheek on the crown of her head.
"You smell nice." He said.
"You do not." She sniggered.
"Oh." he pulled away. "M'sorry."
She turned and kissed his cheek, probably getting drunk from that alone, in more ways than one.
"You've said that enough." She murmered.
He turned to her, their faces closer than they had ever been. His eyes were piercing even in their bloodshot state.
"Won't kiss you right now." He shook his head comically. She laughed.
"Yeah, please don't." She scrunched her nose at him.
He smiled.
"Will though." He hiccupped; a promise.
Yet again, her stomach flipped. She stood.
"I'm going to get you water and paracetamol." She announced, taking his sick cup from him, grimacing.
"Ok okay. Thank you. " He said, still smiling like an idiot. "Do you want chicken?" He said louder, as if having the best idea of his life.
"Sure. Later." She chuckled, walking to the kitchen and trying to ignore the look on Aimee's as she passed her.
Not a bad party, as parties go, she thought.