Chapter Text
London, 3 a.m.
“Oh? Is that the London Eye?” You stumble a bit and reach out for anything sturdy that’ll keep you from eating shit. The sidewalk seems to liquify underneath you and like a baby taking its first steps, you make your way across it to rest your back against the side of a building.
There’s quite a bit (ahem, a very significant amount) of alcohol in your body.
You started the night off at a lesbian bar, taking shot after shot and quickly befriending an Irish film student and her best friend, a model from Greece. Upset that the bar lacked a dance floor, the three of you left to go to other clubs. The little clubbing group that you had unintentionally formed continued to grow, more and more people joining you after each club you entered and left, and you became the pied piper of London’s nightlife.
Oh, how easy it was to socialize when you were stupidly drunk!
But the partying ended when you got kicked out of a drag show. You did nothing wrong, but a girl you’d been talking to ended up getting sick and throwing up all over the ground. The bouncer assumed you two had come together, didn’t want anyone else getting sick, and refused to hear your pleas about you having no clue who this girl was.
Getting kicked out of the club had certainly dampened your good spirits.
Now, instead of finding the spinning environment amusing, it’s making you feel queasy and there’s a high chance you might end up spewing the entire contents of your stomach onto the street, very reminiscent of the girl at the club.
You swallow and close your eyes, trying to focus on the cool sensation of the stone at your back, but by closing your eyes, the spinning becomes unbearable and a bit frightening.
“Ugh, that’s enough of that,” You push away from the building and quickly trip over your own feet, arms instinctively shooting out in front of you to catch yourself in case you fall.
Miraculously, you don’t hit the ground. Instead, your palm strikes something warm and clothed — the hard chest of a scowling man.
You draw your eyes away from the ground and gaze up at the man’s face. Incredibly dark eyes look back down at you. Blinking slowly, you take in his features — a 5 o'clock shadow, black curls parted to the side, eye bags that put yours to shame — and give him a small, relieved smile. “Oh my gosh, I know who you are,” you admit almost gleefully.
The man seems suddenly alarmed by your words.
“Yeah, I totally know who you are,” a pause to keep from gagging. “You’re the guy from, uh, from the museum! Yeah, the gift shop guy, right?”
He doesn’t attempt to answer, but you can tell he has let his guard down a bit. His severe scowl turns more into an annoyed frown. That's an improvement, isn’t it?
Gift shop guy covers your hands with his and tries to pry you off his shirt. You slur your apologies and back away from him, but it’s a lost cause. The alcohol has really caught up with you and standing on your own two feet has no longer become an option. Almost immediately, you’re headed back towards the ground, but the man reacts swiftly and rescues you from the imminent danger of breaking your nose.
You find yourself giggling and gaping up at the brightly lit observation wheel. “It’s so pretty,” the man follows your gaze. “Have you ever been up there? I haven’t gotten the chance yet,” you painstakingly try to enunciate each word to make sure you’re understood.
“No, I haven’t had a chance either,” something about the man’s voice sounds so forlorn. But even weirder, the man has an American accent and even in your terrible, embarrassing state, this doesn’t get past you.
“You’re American? How come you spoke to me in a British accent at the—”
He cuts you off, “Let me get you a taxi. What’s your address?”
It takes a second to process his words and then another few seconds to try to think of your address. But the truth of the matter is that you had only recently moved to London and you barely remember your address, especially as drunk as you are.
“Mm, I live nearby,” you offer, sensing the man is becoming impatient.
“But where?” he answers gruffly.
“Mm,” you start again, eyebrows furrowing, “Somewhere near Russell Square.”
“Good enough for me,” he says under his breath, although you hear him quite clearly as you are still very much leaning against him for support.
He wraps an arm around your shoulders and guides you down the street until the two of you are at a slightly busier spot. There aren’t many cabs at this time of night so you both just stand around for a bit — you getting a little too comfortable in the arms of a handsome stranger and him wishing he hadn’t had this encounter at all.
Finally, a cab rolls around and the man stops it promptly. He opens the door for you and helps you inside. You slide across the cool seats and feel your head loll back onto the headrest, sleepiness washing over you. Gift shop guy gives the cab driver the location and starts backing out of the car door but he stops, eyes fixed on you.
“Are you going to be able to get home?” he asks. You think you reply affirmatively, but apparently not because the man sighs heavily and climbs into the cab next to you.
The drive doesn’t take long at all. In under 10 minutes, the driver pulls up to Russell Square and the man is carefully helping you get out of the cab. He pays for the ride and then turns to you.
“Okay, where to now?”
You look around, feeling great relief when you’re able to recognize your surroundings, and point just down the street.
Knowing that you’ve bothered this man enough, you walk up to him and say, “It’s okay, you don’t have to keep babysitting me. It’s just down that way. I can manage,” you reach down and dig around in your pockets, pulling out some money and handing it to the man.
He tries to give it back but you refuse, “No, no, it’s for the cab ride. Just keep it, okay? I appreciate all your help, really,” you start walking away, concentrating on successfully putting one foot in front of the other, and head towards your flat.
As you make it to the other side of the street, you turn around and holler one last thanks only to realize that the man from the gift shop has vanished.