moomine

[moomine]

drunk words | warren graham

summary: (warrengraham x reader) Part II to "sober thoughts". The morning after the Vortex Club party, you and Warren get breakfast together at the Two Whales.

word count: 2,143

warnings: no trigger warnings (just fluff here)! all characters are 18+

now playing: Radiohead - "House of Cards"

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Warren woke up Friday the thirteenth with a pounding headache and vision so blurry he considered scheduling an eye appointment. He found it fitting, as a film buff, that on this day of all days he’d wake up with the worst hangover of his life. The soft morning light that crept through his blinds made it hard for him to see, his eyes squeezed shut as he slowly sat up in bed. He looked around the room, trying to ground himself as his mind came back to him. His dorm was exactly as he left it before going to the Vortex Club party. Piles of unfolded clean and dirty laundry were strewn across the floor, papers and books cluttered his desk, and his laptop was asleep on his futon with harddrive plugged in, still open from the movie he started before the evening began.

His gaze wandered around the room before settling on his nightstand. A bottle of room temperature water and two Tylenol sat side by side. Warren’s head throbbed as he reached for the pills, quickly popping them into his mouth and washing them down with the water. It tasted faintly of plastic, but at that moment it was the most delicious thing he had ever drunk. In a matter of seconds, the bottle was empty and the boy was trying to get every last drop from its plastic vessel. Alongside his saving grace was his phone, plugged in and face down. A wave of anxiety crashed against his back as he swallowed the last sip of water, reaching out to pick it up and check it.

It was almost exactly what he had expected, practically nothing. Nothing other than a few texts from you…

good morning! :))

i’ll be coming down around 10:30 to make sure you’re still alive

also i hope you haven’t forgotten about breakfast bc that’s still happening, k?

Warren’s eyes immediately darted to the time at the top of his phone screen, only widening when he saw it was already 10:28. He shot out of bed in a frenzy, stumbling to his feet and quickly grabbing whatever he could find to wear on the floor. The pounding in his head was slowly but surely going away. He picked up a graphic tee that he knew you liked and smelled it, making sure it was clean. It’ll do, he thought, pulling the soft cotton shirt over his head. Your footsteps could be heard as he scrambled to grab a pair of wrinkled jeans, hopping around his room as he clumsily pulled them to his hips. With one hand he zipped and buttoned his jeans, with the other he grabbed a pair of socks and shoes. Warren slid to the ground and quickly put a sock on either foot, then slipped on his Chucks before tying them securely around his feet. A knock to the tune of the Doctor Who theme song sounded from just beyond the door as grabbed a button down, putting it on as quickly as he could.

“Warren?” Your voice called, causing the boy to freeze in place. “You up or what? One of Joyce’s mushroom stuffed omelets is calling your name!”

His eyes wandered over his body one last time, turning his attention to the mirror beside the door. He looked okay, or at least as okay as someone who was disgustingly hungover could look. Then it hit him that he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet, and he raised a hand, breathing into his palm, before grimacing at the funk that wafted from his mouth. Shit.

“If you’re dead don’t say anything!” You shouted from the other side of the door, clearly teasing the poor boy.

“Not dead,” Warren called back with a small frown, reluctantly getting the door. As it swung open his eyes met yours with a faint flush in his cheeks. “Unfortunately.”

You shamelessly eyed Warren up and down, noticing his slightly disheveled appearance and the characteristically common bags under his eyes that appeared slightly darker than usual. A sympathetic smile spread along your lips as you reached out to straighten his shirt and button-up, smoothing the wrinkled material to the best of your capabilities.

“I’m glad you made it through the night,” you laughed. “How are you feeling?”

“Straight out of Night of the Living Dead. Remind me to never drink that much again,” Warren said, rubbing the back of his neck shamefully.

“I bet. Let’s get some grease in your system, okay? You’ll feel a lot better with some food absorbing that crap.” Your voice was probably the most incredible thing he could have heard first thing in the morning, with your laugh being a close second. “I’m gonna get the car started, and give you a chance to finish getting ready,” you said, waving a hand over your nose in a teasing fashion. “Meet me in the parking lot in fifteen?”

Warren let out an embarrassed chuckle, nodding as you spoke. “Yeah, sorry about that… I’ll see you then.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, zombie boy.” 

With that you turned on your heels and made your way toward the front door. Warren stepped out of his room and watched you as you left, respectfully disrespectfully appreciating the way your hips swayed with each step you took. He gathered his things and grabbed his toothbrush, making his way for the showers so he could brush his teeth. As he finished getting ready, the events of the night before started to haunt him. Each memory hit him like a truck, a head-on collision of embarrassment and shame. Anxiety that Warren hadn’t felt since middle school crept behind him, clinging to his back like some kind of demonic presence. Once he felt adequately prepared to face you again, he left the dorms and walked to the parking lot, happy to see you standing beside your old beater.

You immediately perked up as he approached, a warm smile ear to ear on your face. “There you are,” you chimed. “Right on schedule. Color me impressed, I thought I’d be waiting for you forever.”

“I aim to please.” Warren’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“Let’s get this show on the road. I’m sure you’re starving,” you said, laughing it off like it was no big deal. It really wasn’t, you had known Warren during the depths of his puberty and well after it. The two of you were friends with pimply faces and raging hormones alike. It seemed like nothing he could do would really phase you, not after the time you’d spent together.

Warren walked up to the driver’s side door, catching you off guard, and held it open for you. If he wasn’t so hungover, the boy would have insisted he drove the two of you in his own tin can, but for today he’d have to settle himself in the passenger seat. He knew you liked to drive anyway. You offered him a tender smile before sliding into the plush seat, feeling your cheeks burn as he closed the door behind you and ventured tiredly around the car. Once you were both settled and buckled in, you started the car and pulled out of the Blackwell parking lot, heading for pancakes and bacon along the coastal road.

The Two Whales wasn’t far at all, but the ride there felt longer than usual, filled with awkward silence occasionally interrupted with brief and pointless small talk. Warren’s memories came trickling back to the front of his consciousness, as all of it slowly revealed itself to him in choppy cuts. A series of blurry scenes came into his mind tauntingly, his own words feeling particularly regrettable. It was all starting to feel like a nightmare until he remembered your own words. You liked him too. The thought alone was enough to make his heart soar and stomach do backflips.

As you parked the car again, this time outside of the diner, Warren looked over at you with a sheepish smile. “Hey, look, about last night… I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, reaching over to put a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to say anything. You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

The tension in Warren’s shoulders seemed to relax as you comforted him. Subconsciously, he leaned into your touch, savoring it like the last bite of his favorite meal.

“I think I do. I mean, that was bad, and you deserve some kind of apology,” he insisted.

“You can buy my breakfast. How does that sound?” you asked. You gave his arm a small squeeze before you unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out of the car.

Warren followed your lead, closing the passenger side door behind him and jogging to your side. “Deal,” he said with a laugh.

Cool air brushed against your faces as the two of you walked inside the Two Whales. A Top 40s country song played from the jukebox quietly in the background, muffled under the sound of indistinct chatter and the clanging commotion of the kitchen. You scanned the lobby, pleased to see your typical booth was empty and tidy. The two of you walked up to the table and slid into the tacky, faux-leather seats, making yourselves comfortable within the easy-going atmosphere of the diner.

Warren looked over at you from across the table and couldn’t help but wonder what was going through your head. You were acting so nonchalant, so cool about everything that happened. It was driving him crazy, teetering on edge of whether to say something and risk killing the vibe or let this just be a good moment. Two friends grabbing breakfast after a crazy night. Nothing more, nothing less.

“You okay?” you asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just thinking.” His words came out hastily. A jumbled mess of thoughts all blurred together, coming from a boy whose brain was clearly scrambled.

You tilted your head, a clear sign that you weren’t believing a second of it. “Do you want to talk about last night?”

Warren sighed and nodded almost immediately. “Please? It’s been eating me up inside.”

“I could tell,” you said lightheartedly.

“Can we just do all of that over again? Fresh start, clean slate. A total Groundhog Day.” His face softened as he spoke. The intensity that once conquered his otherwise soft features started to fade away as he looked at you. Despite his nervousness, you were still able to calm him. With a small laugh, you nodded and allowed him to continue. 

“Okay… Here goes nothing,” Warren said, sitting up straight. There was a brief moment of silence as Warren gathered his thoughts, his mind still clouded from his hangover. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now. We’ve… we’ve been friends for so long, and you mean so much to me. You make me feel like more than some cliche science nerd. Like, you see me for me? You know? I don’t know what I’m saying… This is just going terribly.” He took a deep breath. “I like you. Like, as more than a friend. You’re one of the most important people in my life, and I’m too bad with words to explain that any better.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but were quickly interrupted. “And I want to take you on a real date! Something a little more romantic than breakfast at the Two Whales. Not that I think this is a bad date! I mean, I’m really fucking happy you asked me out at all. That’s crazy-”

“Warren,” you said, butting in with a tender, reassuring look on your face. “Slow down, all right? I would love to go on a proper date with you.” 

You reached across the table, taking his clammy hands in your own. He looked down at your hands on his, and he smiled instantly. It was like all of the tension in his body had disappeared, evaporated into steam and wafted away.

“All right, you two.” Joyce dropped two menus onto the table with a hint of pride in her voice. “Why don’t we stop ‘canoodling’ and think about what we want to eat?”

Warren froze, feeling his cheeks burn so hot he thought his face might light on fire. The sound of Joyce’s kitten heels tapping against the linoleum floor was deafeningly loud to the two of you. You looked back to Warren, smiling from ear to ear, and he did the same. Warren had completely forgotten about his hangover, the Vortex Club party, and his behavior from the night before. The world around you seemed to disappear as you two looked at one another, staring into each other’s eyes with so much affection it was nauseating. Neither of you cared. That was quite possibly the happiest either of you had been since the semester began.

[moomine]

come with me | jesper the guard

(psa! this is total self-indulgence... the jesper the guard follower mod/skyrim guard tales literally have me giggling and kicking my feet)

summary: (jespertheguard x dragonborn!reader) (she/her pronouns) After the reader discovers she's the Dragonborn she bonds with Jesper, a Whiterun guard that understands her. The Dragonborn returns to Whiterun after a long time of adventuring and convinces him to leave the city and come with her.

word count: 1,627

warnings: mentions of blood/bloodshed, trauma very briefly explored (mostly fluff here)! all characters are 18+

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

As of late, Jesper’s watchful eye felt less and less inquisitive and more so on the side of admiration. Underneath the protective sheath of his helmet, the young guard watched as you walked throughout Whiterun in awe. Upon your initial arrival, he was unsure of you. Who wouldn’t have been off-put by a young woman —dressed in ill-fitting Imperial armor, covered in scrapes and bruises, approaching the city gates with a dire look in her eyes? Better yet, someone who claimed she had information about the dragon attack on Helgen.

Within a short period of time, your name began to carry weight around Whiterun, and the word of the last Dragonborn consumed the entirety of Skyrim. Everyone, man and beast alike, sang praise of the rise of a new hero. Nobody saw you as the woman you truly were, a woman thrusted into a life of adventure and risk without much experience with either. Other than Jesper.

He was used to being overlooked, and when he was noticed it was typically at his own expense. The rest of the Whiterun guard took pleasure in tormenting him. Most of the time they were harmless pranks, just enough to make poor Jesper uncomfortable and his comrades laugh. His experiences outside of the city walls were vastly different. Maybe it was because Jesper took the time to get to know you before you absorbed that dragon’s soul, and the first cry of the Greybeards in centuries could be heard. Maybe because he took great concern at the sight of your disheveled appearance and the obvious shellshock in your eyes when he first saw you. Whatever it may have been, Jesper saw you as more than a hero. He saw you as the woman you were before your legendary quest began.

It had been a number of days since Jesper had seen your return to Whiterun, and his normal anxiety seemed to grow astronomically with each sun that set. When he finally saw you enter the Bannered Mare, seemingly unscathed but clearly exhausted, he felt a weight immediately lift from his shoulders. He watched from afar as you approached Hulda, handed her a fist full of gold, and took a chilly bottle of mead into your gloved hand. He felt his heart begin to race as you turned around and looked about the room, scanning the crowd of merry men and women chatting amongst themselves and listening to the sound of Mikael’s famously sweet lute. As your eyes met his masked face, he felt a smile spread along his lips without his knowledge. It was like an impulse. The second you saw him he felt lighter, felt seen. Somehow you always knew it was him.

You approached, armor clanging against itself as you walked, and nodded to the empty seat across from him with that tired smile of yours. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Jesper said, almost too quickly, and sat up straight.

You didn’t hesitate, dropping your heavy satchel to the floor as you sunk into the rather uncomfortable chair. A long, drawn out sigh blew through your lips. The wooden chair creaked beneath you, warping from the weight of your armor. By your reaction, Jesper would have thought that was the most comfortable chair you had ever had the pleasure to sit in. Realistically, he realized that might have been the first time you sat in a chair at all in days. Ashen logs crackled as the fire ate away at their bark flesh, filling the inn with warmth and the haunting smell of smoke. It had been several months since what happened in Helgen, but you were still tense around fire and smoke.

“You must have had quite the adventure,” he remarked with an amused voice.

“You could say that.” You sighed, popping the cork from your mead before taking a long gulp of the crisp ale. “How’s Whiterun been treating you?”

Jesper grimaced under his helmet. “You really want to hear about how I’ve been? I’m worried I��d bore you to death if I told you.”

“You could never bore me. You have no idea how much I miss the simple life.”

By your expression alone, Jesper could tell you were being genuine. You looked as though you needed to hear about something other than dragons and bloodshed for once.

“They won’t let me take gate duty anymore,” he paused, turning his attention to the wooden sword sheathed at his hip. “And I’m not allowed to carry a blade either.”

Your brows furrowed instantaneously, and you sat up in your chair. “What? Why?” you asked, your gaze piercing and angry.

Jesper felt a shiver go down his spine. “I let a thief into the city. So, now I’m stuck with tavern watch. Making sure drunkards don’t break out into fist fights or harass the barmaids, and all that.”

“As if there aren’t already thieves in this city. That’s outrageous. I’ll talk to the Jarl, we’ll sort this out. I promise-”

“Don’t…” His voice was weak, quiet. “I prefer this. The other guards don’t bother me here, and Hulda’s letting me rent the attic room. It’s better this way.” His eyes fell almost shamefully back to the toy he was burdened with.

“Why do you stay here?” you asked bluntly.

“What do you mean?” he responded, taken aback by your question.

“Why stay in Whiterun? You deserve so much more than this, Jesper. You’re capable of so much more.” You placed an assertive hand on the table, an offering. An understanding. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Come with me.”

Jesper’s face softened as he looked back to you, although you couldn’t see it. “I shouldn’t… I-I mean I can’t. I have a responsibility here. My life is here, in Whiterun. If I go now I’ll be letting everyone down. My family, my brothers and sisters in arms, the Jarl, maybe even you. I can’t just give up because some of the men tease me.”

“They aren’t just teasing you, Jesper. They’re cruel.” Your tone was stern but not harsh. It held a softness you saved just for him, for the rare moments where the two of you could talk. Truly talk. “Come with me. We could go to Solitude, you could join the Bard’s College.”

Your honesty was hard for him to digest, getting stuck in his throat as he tried to swallow the bitter truth. There was little left for him in Whiterun, other than his career and barely notable status. What little he had to his name was either already on his person or overhead, tucked away in that small attic room he had come to call home. Beneath his helm, Jesper’s eyes wandered away from the intensity on your face and toward the fire as it popped, cinders rising from the flames like torchbugs in the night. Your hands tensed, fingers curling into your palms to form fists, as you suppressed a flinch.

“You remembered that?” he asked earnestly, his gaze still fixed on the flickering flames ahead.

A sweet smile crept onto your face as you leaned closer, resting your elbows on top of the table now. “How could I forget? It’s your dream, isn’t it?”

“That’s all it is,” he mumbled. “Just a dream.”

“Don’t you see? We could make it a reality. You can make it a reality,” you said gently.

“I don’t know. They’ll consider me a deserter, you know? I’ll never be allowed within the city walls again.” The discouragement in his tone was starting to become disappointingly familiar to you.

You reached across the table and placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. “You, my friend, are fortunate enough to know the Thane of Whiterun, remember? It pays off to have friends in high places, huh?” 

There was truth to what you were saying, but it was clear to Jesper that you were trying to ease his worries through humor. Since your arrival, he finally had a bit of influence in the city. Although, it was worthless without you physically there to back him up.

Silence fell over the two of you as you stared at one another. Mikael plucked the strings of his lute softly and the commotion of story-telling and conversation echoed throughout the room. Jesper weighed his options, grateful that the conflicted look that surely took over his face was hidden behind the veil of his helmet. After a long moment, he finally nodded, seeming far more sure of himself than before.

“Yeah, okay. If… if you’re certain, then I’ll come with you.” His voice was higher, more excited than before.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” you replied. 

Your face was lit up like the nearby fire, spreading warmth to Jesper’s cheeks as they flushed. Almost reluctantly, you peeled your eyes away from his face as you took one last swig from your bottle. The chair beneath you croaked as you pushed it back, scratching against the stone below. You came to your feet swiftly, despite how clearly fatigued you were. Jesper couldn’t help but frown as he watched you stand.

“Where are you going? The… the night’s still young,” he questioned. He didn’t want the night to end, to stop talking to you.

You smiled tenderly as you looked down at him. “I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ve had a proper night's sleep in days.” You bent over, grabbing your satchel and the rest of your equipment. “I expect to see you by the stables at sunrise. It’s a long ride to Solitude.”

“I’ll be there!” Jesper replied eagerly, watching as you walked away with a gleam in his eyes. You turned to him one last time with an affectionate smile, then closed the door to your room. “I promise,” he mumbled.

[moomine]

sober thoughts | warren graham

summary: (drunk!warrengraham x sober!reader) You and Warren have been friends long before getting accepted to Blackwell Academy. One night, you find Warren drunk after a vortex club party, and make sure he gets home safely. Little do the two of you know, you're both interested in being more than just friends.

word count: 2,577

warnings: no trigger warnings (just fluff here)! all characters are 18+

now playing: Radiohead - "Thinking About You"

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Once a week, the evening at Blackwell Academy was consumed by loud, bumping house music and drunken teenagers partying like it was their last day on Earth. The Vortex Club, Blackwell's royal family, would commandeer the swimming pool to host their lavish soirees. You had been to a couple, but the noise and the smell of drunk, sweaty teens quickly became unappealing. As the semesters went on, you started leaving campus to avoid the events altogether, deciding to occupy your time studying at the public library, grabbing breakfast for dinner at the Two Whales, or walking the beach. Anything that sounded remotely more interesting.

That night was different. It seemed like you were the only person who didn't want to attend tonight's party, let alone be anywhere near campus. Around 11:30 at night, you decided to pack up your things and return to the dorms for bed. As you pulled into the parking lot of Blackwell, you could already hear the loud music and ever-familiar chatter. you parked your car and turned off the ignition, stepping out into the cool September night air with a slight shiver. The music was intolerably loud, and you realized that, regardless of the time and your distance from the school, you'd still hear it faintly in your dorm that night.

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair as you looked around the parking lot at students coming and going from the party. In the corner of your eye, you noticed a familiar figure, Warren Graham, sitting on the curb, curled in on himself with his head in his arms.

You and Warren had been friends for a while. Science and math were never your strong suit, unlike him. You much preferred writing and the arts to experiments and calculations. When you were freshmen, he helped you when you started to fail biology, tutoring you after school and being your buddy in class. After that, you two started hanging out from time to time. You watched movies, talked about video games and comics, and bonded over your mutual fade-into-the-background-ness back at your home school and, unfortunately, when you guys were accepted to Blackwell as well. However, Warren never faded into the background for you. Even before the two of you became friends, you noticed his presence very quickly. When the sight of his nose wrinkling while he laughed made your heart skip a beat, you realized that maybe you liked him as more than just a friend.

Your expression softened as you approached him. Whatever negativity you harbored toward the party was washed away, now replaced by worry and concern for the boy sitting alone.

"Hey, Warren," you said, softly, crouching to his level. "You okay?"

It was like your words stirred Warren back to consciousness. Not necessarily that he was asleep, but rather that he wasn't all there. Like he was sinking into the ground and hearing your voice was enough to bring him closer to the surface again. He lifted his head like it was too heavy for his neck to support, almost immediately using his shoulder as a rest for his head of dirt-colored hair. A tender, excited smile stretched across his thin lips, making his eyes crinkle ever so slightly and his cheeks lifted with happiness. He looked tired, but behind the fogginess in his eyes, you could see he was happy to see you.

"Hey, you..." he slurred as he tried to sit up a little straighter. "I'm much better now." His words dragged, dripping from his lips in a sing-song, honeyed tone.

You smiled. "Oh yeah? How much have you had to drink?"

Warren looked off for a moment, staring past you rather than directly at you. Slowly, the gears in his head were starting to turn, twisting with each other as he traced his memory back for each shot he had taken along with the handful of beers he had either sipped on or shotgunned. The boy who was usually so good at math was struggling to work out simple addition, the alcohol hindering his intelligence. He looked down at his hands, now counting out on his fingers before he stuck both of them up in the air with a proud smile. While holding down his pointer finger with his thumb on one hand, he expertly determined he had had about eight drinks (which was most certainly a vast overestimation on his part). Your eyes widened at the realization, shaking your head with a sigh.

"That's... a lot," you paused, "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"I feel funny. But not bad funny," Warren started, leaning in as his voice dropped to a loud whisper. "I'm so happy you're here. I missed you."

Your cheeks flushed a subtle pink. Under the light of sparse street lamps in the parking lot, it was hard to see but you could certainly feel it. Heat rose through your body as he leaned in. You swallowed, your throat suddenly feeling extremely dry.

"I missed you too." Your tone was soft and genuine. You tried your best to hide your flusteredness, but you knew you were failing. At least he was wasted, you thought. There was no chance Warren could tell in the state he was in. "How about we get you to your dorm?"

The boy huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in protest. "Noooo... I don't want the night to end. I'm not even tired."

"You don't have to go to bed, silly," you tried to convince him. "I just thought you'd want to get out of this boring parking lot."

"Can we watch a movie?" His eyes lit up as he spoke, and his hands found your shoulders.

You nodded with an amused smile, and your body rocked as he shook you. "Sure thing, whatever you want to watch. Now, let's get you up, okay?"

You reached for Warren's hands, taking them in your own as you came to your feet. With a good pull, you were able to get him clumsily on his own. Warren swayed from side to side as he tried to gain his balance again, rocking on his heels.

"You got it?" you asked, keeping your hands out to catch him in case he fell.

"I think so," Warren mumbled, putting a heavy hand on your shoulder to balance himself.

"Here, I got you," you started as you pulled his arm around your shoulders. "We'll do it together."

"You're the best. I'm so lucky you're my friend," he mumbled. His head rested against yours like a heavy stone.

A small laugh slipped through your lips and you nodded —once again grateful for the darkness cloaking your flushed face, as you two started your walk to the boy’s dormitories. With each step you took, Warren struggled to keep himself up, leaning against your body as he put his full weight on you.

"I wish you would have gone..." he murmured, staring ahead with a blank expression.

"Gone where?" you asked.

Warren waved haphazardly with his other hand, trying to motion back to the noise behind you guys. "The party, duh."

You tried to look up at him but couldn't, his head keeping you from meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you wanted me there."

"I only ever want to see you," Warren slurred.

Your eyes widened at his words, but you shook it off. You reminded yourself that he was drunk and not completely in control of his words. Plus, Warren was known to be a bit of a drama queen.

"What if I go to the next one with you? Would that make you feel better?"

"Yeah." Within an instant, his tone became lighter, happier.

The music grew quieter the further you got from the party. Straggling students lingered around the courtyard before the dorms, talking amongst each other and seemingly enjoying a break from the excitement of the party. Cricket's song and the breeze through tree branches created an atmosphere that was far more relaxing within the night air. It felt like a whole other world in comparison to the flashing lights and chaos several feet away.

You two sunk into the dorms, and the warmth from inside wrapped around you like an inviting hug. It was close to silent within the hallway as you approached Warren's dorm room.

You reached for the door handle, the knob not budging as you attempted to open the door. "You have your key, right?"

Warren hummed in acknowledgment. He dug into his pocket, lazily pulled the key from his jeans, and handed it to you. You unlocked the door and walked him inside, leading him to his bed so he could sit down. The room was dark before you turned on his bedside lamp. Warren was very much a no-overhead-light-ever kind of person, something we had in common. Warm yellow light illuminated the small space once the lamp was switched on. Along his brick walls were posters of comic book characters, bands, and his favorite movies. A mess of loose papers and clothing was scattered across the floor. As per usual, Warren's room was a wreck but not disgusting. Sure, he'd leave dirty clothes on his floor, but any food waste he had was quickly and efficiently thrown out.

On his windowsill was a line of nursery pots, all with individual tabs labeled with different notes and specimens. Must be an experiment for one of his classes, you thought. His desk was covered in notebooks and textbooks alike, both marked up with sticky notes with some containing actual notes and others being doodles depicting his agony with chemistry. You laughed a little at the sight of it.

Warren let out a soft, content sigh from behind you as he eased himself into his bed. He looked over at you with a lopsided grin. "I haven't thought about the periodic table once tonight. Can you believe that?"

"I can actually. I'm surprised you can think at all after all you've had to drink," you teased, taking a seat beside him on the edge of his mattress. You reached over to untie his Chucks, pulling them from his feet and tossing them to the ground. There was no way you were going to change him, but the least you could do was help him get a little more comfortable.

He sat up beside you, laughing as you picked fun at him. "Hey... can I tell you something?"

You turned to face him and realized he was much closer than you had thought he would be, his face less than a foot away from yours. Your throat went dry as a desert, and you swallowed in an attempt to wet it.

"Of course," you nodded. "You can tell me anything."

"You promise?" Warren mumbled, averting his eyes from yours and focusing on the ground instead. His face was slightly flushed, his freckled cheeks dusted a soft pink.

"I promise." you reaffirmed, looking him up and down questioningly.

"There's been something I've been wanting to tell you, but I've always felt too..." he trailed off, his voice wavering. The alcohol on his breath served as a reminder of just how drunk he really was. "I've always been too nervous to say anything. But I'm not right now."

"Warren, you're drunk," you said, trying to deter him from continuing. A part of you wanted so desperately to know what he had to say, but you knew that once he was sober he'd likely regret telling you. If he'd even remember at all, that was.

Warren whined in a not-so-quiet protest. "I'm not that drunk. I'm feeling pretty sober now."

"You're wasted." You shook your head immediately.

"Please." He leaned in, his face once again rapidly growing closer and closer to yours. "Just let me finish."

Your eyes trailed over his face, fixating on his eyes and his lips. The warm brown of his irises was so inviting and only popped more in contrast to the dark circles forming under his eyes. They were like a warm, light cup of coffee first thing in the morning. His lips were stuck in a small pout of desperation. It was like he had been dying to let something off his chest, like once he said what he needed to everything would be okay forever. Or maybe it wouldn't, but it seemed like that was a risk he was willing to take.

"Warren, I..." The words felt caught in your throat, clinging to your dry tongue for dear life.

"Please," Warren pleaded, staring directly into your eyes now. "I like you. I have for so long and it's been eating me up inside." His words came out in a rushed flurry of emotion. He looked at you intensely, his eyes overflowing with admiration and something you couldn't quite place. "You don't have to say anything... Hell, you don't even have to like me back. I just wanted to tell you..."

"Hey, hey, hey. Slow down," you said, putting a hand on his knee to grab his attention.

Warren's eyes dropped from yours to your hand. His lips parted as he fell silent, staring back at you with uncertainty abundantly clear all over his face. The alcohol in his system made him feel more confident, but not so much that he didn't care about what happened next. You felt bad watching him sit there at the edge of his seat.

"Maybe we should talk about this in the morning? Y'know, when you're more clear-head—" Warren cut you off before you were able to finish.

"No," he insisted, looking you dead in your eyes. "I mean it. You... you gotta believe me."

"I do," you said as you leaned in closer. "I like you too."

"What?"

"I said I like you too." You smiled at him, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. "But right now you're drunk and it's late, and I think we should talk about it more tomorrow, okay? What if we grab breakfast at Two Whales in the morning? Like a date."

"You... you wanna go on a date with me?" Warren's expression was priceless, filled with excitement and disbelief.

You nodded. "Of course I do. The sooner we get to sleep, the sooner we can. So you better get some shut-eye, got it?"

Without a word, Warren was lying on his back and struggling to get under his covers. You couldn't help but laugh as you stood up, leaning over once he was all tucked in and giving him a small kiss on the cheek. His breath hitched and he giggled like a little girl. As Warren started dozing off you searched around the room and situated a quick "hangover kit" for him on his nightstand. He was going to need it in the morning.

"Goodnight, Warren," you said, heading for the door. "Sleep on your side, okay?"

He hummed and turned over so he was facing you. The fight to stay awake was quickly becoming too much for him as his eyes began to slowly flutter closed. "Mhm, goodnight..."

Your gaze drifted to him once more before you stepped out of the room, closing the door behind you. As you walked up the stairs to your dorm, you felt your heart start to swell thinking about the fact that the Warren Graham liked you too. And that you were going on a date with him tomorrow morning. Maybe those Vortex Club parties weren't all bad after all.