Work Text:
Neuvillette wakes with a pounding headache, mouth painfully dry. Severely dehydrated, he can tell that much - like he's been left out to dry in the sun, or in front of a roaring fire. It is, unfortunately, not a new sensation.
He pushes himself up, frowning when he finds that he's sitting on the floor, slumped against the couch. He squints at his dim surroundings - Furina's small apartment, caught between meticulous organization and utter disarray as always - then winces at the sunlight forcing itself through the curtains. Even indoors isn't safe.
He finds Furina herself taking up the rest of the couch, tangled with pillows until Neuvillette can barely tell them apart. Further investigation reveals two empty wineglasses on the table nearby, the culprit of his and Furina's current condition between them: a disturbingly empty bottle of vodka. His shoes are discovered under the couch, along with his phone - it lights up with a notification that he notes to himself to open later - and upon further inspection, his coat is tangled with Furina and the pillows. Thankfully, the rest of his clothes appear to have stayed on. There are many reasons he prefers not to get drunk, if he can help it.
"… ow…" Furina stirs, pillows falling as she pushes herself upright. Neuvillette picks them up and piles them back on the edge of the couch, drawing her gaze. "Oh - good morning, Neuvillette. What... happened...?"
"Good morning. I believe we overindulged. I do not think anything else happened," he assures and hopes.
"Oh." Furina squints at the table, and Neuvillette leaves her to her contemplation as he gets the wineglasses, fills them with water, and hands one to her before taking a long sip out of his. The cold shocks awareness back into his body. He sighs in relief.
Furina nurses her own glass, staring into it. She looks utterly miserable. "I feel like I'm going to puke."
"Please don't."
"It's not like I could choose not to." Neuvillette begins to stand, ready to guide her to the bathroom, but she snorts and waves a hand, so he sits back down. "I'll be fine, just - give me a moment. Don't - ? Right, you don't have work today."
"Do you?"
"No, thankfully. I don't think I could show up looking like this."
"Don't forget to drink plenty of liquids and rest."
"Yes, yes, I know."
Neither of them bother to say this won't happen again. Dropping the lie is almost a relief, despite the circumstances. They're sitting in the same room, not too far apart and not too close, quietly commiserating non-ideal decisions made together. No longer coworkers, just... friends, perhaps. He does not need to ask, to clarify, or to stir up things when they've settled into some sort of companionship. This is... nice, he decides; hangover notwithstanding.
Idly, he opens his phone. The screen is less painfully bright, now, and he's wondering who texted him.
...
He stares.
"... Furina," he calls.
"Hm?" Furina looks up.
"What do you remember from last night?"
"Not much - why do you ask?"
Neuvillette considers, before standing up and settling on the couch beside her, angling the screen towards Furina to show her the message timestamped last night:
Neuvillette: [Deleted message]
Then, just this morning:
Arlecchino: Good morning.
Arlecchino: Might I ask you to explain the message you sent last night?
Furina inhales sharply. "What did you send?"
"... I don't remember. Do you?"
"I definitely wasn't involved in this." At Neuvillette's flat stare, Furina huffs. "Can you definitively say I was involved in this? I don't remember! Tell her it was autocorrect."
"I don't know if it was autocorrect," Neuvillette counters.
Neuvillette: Good morning. Apologies, I was feeling unwell last night. That was likely not meant for you.
Polite, apologetic, offering a vague explanation. Furina hm's and shrugs. "Acceptable," she declares.
The typing bubble immediately pops up, disappears, then pops up again. It remains there for a little too long, before the phone buzzes with the new message.
Arlecchino: So you didn't intend to send me "You're very hot. Please step on me." ?
Furina lets out a horrified giggle. Neuvillette closes his eyes for a long, long moment, his cheeks burning. There are no large bodies of water within walking distance from Furina's apartment for him to step into and hide within for as long as needed, preferably forever, so he does not get up from the couch and begin walking. Flashes of memory are beginning to return to him, snatches of giggling, the clear sensation of his fingers against the phone screen, Furina cheering him on, the panic of rushing to delete the message. No, no matter how ill-advised it was, he had intended to send that message.
Furina pokes his shoulder. "Say something," she hisses.
"What, exactly, should I say?"
"I - Tell her we were drunk - no, don't, don't you dare tell her I was with you."
Neuvillette: It was extremely inappropriate; again, my apologies.
"You didn't deny it?"
"I do not want to lie." Neuvillette watches the typing bubble pop up again. "Besides, it's likely she'd figure it out somehow."
"That's true - but still."
Arlecchino: Apology accepted. Though I must say, you flatter me.
Arlecchino: And I'd be happy to, you only need ask.
Neuvillette clears his throat and puts the phone facedown on the table, casting his gaze away from it. Beside him, Furina coughs. "Do you think she'd be happy to step on me too, or..."
"Why don't you ask her yourself," he says flatly.
Furina's laugh is tinged with hysteria. "That... won't be necessary. Well, enjoy, I suppose?"
Neuvillette finally gives in to the urge to bury his face in his hands.