That night at the bonfire, you found yourself letting loose around Tom's family. You felt like one of them, or like you had known them forever. There was no weirdness or filtering by then, either. All of you had enough to drink that you were speaking freely and having the time of your lives. Tom proved to you yet again that he was a musical god, but eventually you had enough wine and wanted to go back up to your room.
Shortly after you attempted to walk from the sand onto solid ground you felt a large hand on your shoulder. "Let me help you." Tom said lowly.
"I'm fine," you told him with a struggle as you climbed the staircase.
Tom didn't look like he was having any easier of a time making his way up. Although he showed a lot more composure than you did. You were groaning and laughing as you gripped the railing with both hands.
The floor didn't feel any more even at the top of the stairs. "Here's your stop," Tom pointed to the cracked open door of his room that you had been staying in. "I guess I'll go to bed too," he slurred.
"Okay," you grabbed his hand. At first it was to stop him from leaving, but it turned into a necessity. You were getting dizzy and needed him for balance. "I'm dizzy," you could feel your inhibitions melting away because of the liquor and you couldn't do anything to stop it.
He smiled a crooked smile and led you into the room and onto the comfortable bed. "You need to sit down," he chuckled. "Before you hurt yourself."
"Everything is moving," you admitted, wavering a little. Then you laid back onto your back and shut your eyes. "This kinda helps."
When you heard some shuffling near your head, you cracked one eye open and saw that he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the night stand. He closed his eyes as well and you noticed how long his eyelashes really were. A light red color tinted his cheeks and he had hair matted to his forehead. "Why are you on the floor?" You asked. "Isn't that uncomfortable?"
"This knob digging into my neck hurts like a bitch," he admitted.
"Come sit up here with me." You patted the empty space next to you. "There's plenty of space up here for both of us."
"That crosses a line, (y/n)." He slurred.
"We're drunk and in your bedroom. I just spent a weekend with your family. We're drunk!" You shouted as you giggled a lot and started to cough before you recollected yourself. "What fucking line is there left to cross?"
He let an airy laugh escape his mouth, though you were pretty sure he was laughing at your own snickers and giggles than your actual words. "Just hand me a pillow," he said. You tossed him the pillow with the green pillowcase and he positioned it behind his neck. "Much better," he sighed.
There was a moment of silence between you that could have been awkward, except that awkwardness basically disappears when you're under the influence. "Do you want to talk or something?" You asked him, rolling onto your stomach and propping your head up with your arms.
"What about?" He opened his eyes once again and looked at you. For the first time, you were close enough to really see his eyes. They were darker from far away, but up close they were speckled with different shades of brown. "Stop staring at me," he caught you.
"Let's just play twenty questions," you suggested. "No matter what, we have to answer honestly." He hummed in response but then followed it with a couple of quick nods. "You go first," you offered.
"Hmm," he chewed on his bottom lip, then cleared his throat. "Have you ever broken any bones?"
You rolled your eyes. "Lame question. I shut my finger in a car door when I was in elementary school and refused to go to the doctor because I was too scared." You held up your index finger on each hand in front of him. "If you compare how they feel, you can tell which one was broken. Go ahead, just run your finger down the side of them." You demostrated what you wanted him to do.
