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"Baby." The word is severely slurred and overly exaggerated, but she doesn't put it past the boy as he slides into view from the living room, pointing a curved finger at her.
"What?" she laughs from the island, turning around on the stool to fully face him.
"I love you." The statement is half-sung half said as he gives a lopsided grin. She chuckles at his antics, shaking her head.
"Ok, Steve."
It's been about ten minutes since Steve Harrington had showed up at her front door, and she knew from the moment she looked through the shades and saw him standing there that he was hammered. Naturally, she opened the door for the ecstatic boy and he'd stumbled right in like he owned the place. With her parents out with friends for the night, it gives her free reign of the house and her companion the ability to make as much of a drunk ruckus as he wants.
"See this is a two way thing." Steve approaches her quickly, stopping near of being completely on top of her before leaning his face close enough for her to smell the alcohol on his breath.
"What's a two way thing?" She puts a hand on his chest to keep him a healthy distance back so he doesn't slump over on her.
"I say I love you, and you"— he takes her hand, folding all of her fingers down except her index and pressing it against his nose— "say it back."
"You're real drunk this time, Steve." She pulls her hand away and he turns on his heel, heading for the fridge. He opens the door, a little harsher than he probably meant, pulling out the orange juice and looking at it.
"I don't know," he says to it. "I don't know why she acts like this."
"Oh great." She slides off of the stool, walking around the island and taking the jug from him. She sets it on the counter and takes two cups from the cabinet before turning back, setting them down as well. Steve comes up next to her as she pours them both a glass.
"What're you doing?" he whispers, putting his chin on her shoulder, facing her.
"Making orange juice," she whispers back, pulling away to put the jug back. He nods in approval, picking up one of the glasses and examining it.
"Do you think oranges have feelings?" he asks, and she can't help but laugh. He looks down to her and she closes her mouth at the seriousness of his gaze, trying to hold it in.
"No, they don't," she answers through a hitched breath.
"Are you sure?" There almost seem to be tears in his eyes as he takes a sip of the drink.
"Yes, I'm sure," she assures him. He nods, sniffling as a single Hollywood-esque tear falls down his cheek. "Ok, come here you big baby." He sets down the glass as she opens her arms to him.
"It's so good," he hiccups, leaning down to set his forehead on her shoulder.
"I know, it's ok," she rubs his back until he sort of pushes into her. "Steve, don't." He slumps his full body weight down on her before she can stop him and she tries to turn to brace against the counter and hold him up, but she doesn't make it back in time, the two falling to the ground.
"I just have to lie down for a second," he tells her as she leans her back against the island, his face now buried in her stomach as he lays between her legs.
"Big baby," she repeats, rubbing his shoulder. They lay like this for about five minutes before Steve groans, picking his head up.
"Why're we on the ground?" he asks, looking at her through dilated pupils.
"Because we fell," she answers, patting his shoulder.
"Oh," he pushes off the ground, grabbing her by the arm and hoisting her up. "Why'd we do that?"
"Why not?" she sighs, picking up her glass of orange juice and taking a sip.
"You have a point," he agrees, turning around abruptly and heading right for the stairs.
"Steve," she calls, setting her glass down, but he's got his sights set for those stairs and god help anyone who thinks he's not going up them. She sighs, setting her glass down and hurrying after him. "Where're you going?" He doesn't answer, just continues his trek up the steps. She follows close behind him as he walks down the hall and right into her room, flopping not so gracefully down on her bed.
"Can I live here?" he asks, rolling over on to his back.
"No, you cannot live here, Steve," she shuts her door with her back.
"Please, I'll be such a good roommate, I swear," he slurs, sitting back up.
"No," she repeats, and he throws his hands down next to him in a tantrum like motion.
"Why not?" he whines, letting his head lean back slightly.
"Because you can't." she steps forward, and he reaches out, grabbing her wrist.
"You wouldn't even know I'm here," he puts his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, "I'll be so quiet."
"I have a hard time believing that." He pulls her between his legs, looking up at her all puppy dog like.
"I think you're being unfair," he says and she rolls her eyes, causing him to pout his bottom lip out. She pats his head sympathetically.
"You'll be ok," she assures him, pulling away.
"Don't kick me out all alone in the cold," he falls back on the bed. "I won't survive."
"Don't be dramatic," she walks around the other side of the bed, laying down on her back next to him, her head by his legs, his by hers.
"I'm never dramatic," he replies.
"I'm not so sure about that one, Steve."
"Can you tell her to stop being so mean to me?" He pokes her calf. She scoffs, maneuvering herself around on her stomach, her head by his now.
"My leg is still apart of me you know," she informs him.
"I thought maybe she was nicer," he lets his head loll to the side.
"I'm not mean, Steve Harrington, I'm just right." He stares at her in a way that can only be described as drunk before he reaches his hand out, putting it against her cheek before craning his neck to press his lips to hers. She pulls away fast, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. He pouts his bottom lip out again as she lays dumbfounded, her eyes wide.
"You called me by my full name," he says.
"What does that have to do with anything?" she asks, her voice having gone up a pitch.
"I like it when you say my name," he answers, and for a moment he's entirely sober and her heart is fluttering... until he points down to his pants. "He likes it too."
"You're beyond fucking drunk," she huffs, getting up off the bed.
"Don't use that kind of foul language," he scolds as she opens up her closet, pulling out a few blankets. She then goes around her bed to the side not visible by the door, setting up a little bed on the floor.
"You can be my roommate just for tonight, how does that sound?" she asks, grabbing two pillows from her bed and tossing them on the floor.
"Yes," he pumps his fist, backwards rolling off the bed and on to his makeshift one. She laughs at him before going to her dresser, digging through a drawer and pulling out an oversized sweatshirt she often wears to sleep. She tosses it to the boy before pulling out a different one and a pair of shorts.
"Put that on, please." He grins at her, not hesitating to peel off his shirt and pants, leaving his boxers as he pulls the crewneck on.
"It smells like you," he muses and she rolls her eyes for probably the thousandth time, moving to the other side of the bed.
She sits down on the floor as Steve sets his chin on the edge of the bed, watching intently as she maneuvers her pants off, pulling on her shorts. She then half ducks down to pull off her shirt and bra, putting the sweatshirt on quickly.
"You're no fun," he tells her as she stands, untucking her hair. She shakes her head, crawling under the covers of her bed as he lays back on the blankets.
"Comfortable?" she questions.
"I don't know," he answers truthfully, shifting some more.
"Great," she turns off her lamp before retreating her arm back under the covers, rolling on to her side. It's quiet for a while, surprising enough, so much so that she scoots to the edge of the bed, leaning over to make sure Steve's still breathing. What she finds is him laying on his back, sweatshirt over his nose, hands crossed over his stomach. He looks to her.
"Do you really smell like this all the time?" he whispers.
"I think so."
"That's unfair," he says, pulling it off his nose. "Can I keep this?"
"No, it's one of my favorites," she sets her chin on her palm, looking down at him.
"Can I give you one of mine to wear so that it'll smell like you?" he asks. She stares at him for a moment, heart racing, though she's not entirely sure if it had stopped since he'd kissed her.
"Yes," she answers.
"Sweet," he digs his shoulder blades into the blankets and she sighs, slipping out from under her duvet and dropping down on the floor next to him. She nuzzles her body into his side, leg and arm thrown over him, head on his chest. He wraps his arm around her back. "This is the best day of my life."
"You're so drunk," she replies, shutting her eyes.
"I know," he holds her tighter to him, kissing the top of her head.
"Goodnight, Steve."
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