fratboy!chris gets wasted and knocks on your door..
à§à~à§à~à§à
it was around two in the morning, when you heard three uneven bangs against your apartment door.
you frowned, pausing the movie you were watching and looked at the clock.
another knock.
"who the fuck..." you mutter, getting up and grabbing the lamp from the dresser, just in case. you walked over to the door and checked through peephole who was disturbing your peace.
the hell?
you blinked confused and unlocked the door, yanking it open, the lamp still in your hand. "are you insane? it's two a.m."
a slow grin spread across chris's face. "yo."
he was leaning against the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him from eating dirt. his hoodie was half unzipped, curls a complete mess, and there was a split on his lower lip with dried blood running into the corner of his mouth. he was completely wasted.
"what the fuck happened to your face?"
"what?" he frowns as if you'd asked him a calculus question. "i look bad or what?"
"you're bleeding, idiot."
"really?" he looks genuinely confused, lazily touching his lip with two fingers, looking at the blood, then shrugging. "mmm, might've missed a step or two on my way here..." he slurrs.
you raised your eyebrows. "i'd like to see that, honestly."
"sweet," he hums. his eyes narrow at the lamp in your hand. "is this... a fuckin' lamp....?" he looks back up. "you want to kill me with this?"
you look down at the lamp, then back at him. "unfortunately i think you'd survive that."
he grins. "you'd need soooooo much more than that."
"alright, chris, what the fuck are you doing here?" you ask, putting the lamp down. "you're barely standing, how did you even get here?"
he scoffs, pushing himself off the frame. "i'm perfectly standingâ" he took exactly one step and his foot caught on absolutely nothing. he pitched forward. "oh, for god's sakeâ" you caught him before he could facepalm your floor this time. he looks down at your hands gripping his hoodie. "mhhhm, see? always so quick to touch me."
you take a deep breath.
"stand still," you say, the wall being helpful for him to keep his balance. the second the door clicked shut, chris looked around the place like he'd never seen it before. "cleaner than i remember."
"fuck off."
you crossed your arms across your chest. "what are you doing here?"
he squinted at you. "i walked."
"barely," you huff. "why here?"
"'cause i wanted to?" he looks at you like you're the idiot here. "...the party was dumb and loud."
"frat parties are always dumb and loud."
"m'realizin' that you might've been right," he mutters. "matt's on my ass lately, attendin' every party every single week.... he's annoying as fuckkkkk."
"he's probably worried," you reply. "what did you do?"
he looked offended for a second. "why do you think s'my fault...?"
"it usually is," you reply honestly. "and you have a talent for doing stuff and then acting surprised when people react, so."
"stop psychoanalysin' me," he mumbles, pushing himself off the wall. you grab his shoulder just in case. "m'crashin' here," he announces.
you scoff, "absolutely not."
"what, you gonna kick me out? what if i freeze to death?"
"it's almost june."
"i can overheat."
you sigh, helping him to get into your room. "i actually despise you."
"mhhhh, i know..."
you didn't necessarily want to deal with him, but he was rightâ you couldn't kick him out in this state. calling nick or matt wasn't an option either, because they'd ask questions, and the last thing you need is anyone knowing you and chris fuck again, after swearing you'd have never talked to him again in this lifetime.
once he drops onto your bed, you disappear into the bathroom, soon coming back with a small first-aid kit.
"matt's mad," he mumbles. "says i smoke too much 'n shit."
"do you?"
he shrugs. "he's doin' too much and he's got nick into that... now they both askin' and i don't need that shit."
you step between his knees, tilting his chin upward with your fingers. he whistles, "am i gettin' what i got the other night?"
"you want your eyebrow split open as well?" you ask, dabbing the cut with alcohol. he hisses, "owâ!"
you give him a look. "relax, tough guy."
"this shit hurtssssssâ"
"try not to fall next time then."
"you're so bossy tellin' me what to do."
you grimace, stopping to glare at him. when his smirk grows bigger, you press a little harder onto his cut. the cocky expression is gone in seconds.
"ow, fuck!"
you smile and finish cleaning his cut, while he pouts like a child.
"so, you had enough of the frat and your brothers, and thought it's a great idea to come here?" you ask slowly, trying to put the pieces together. "why's that?"
"ugh, stop askin' difficult questions..." he complains, leaning back on your bed and covering his face with his arm. "you don't care 'bout me or my state. also kinda hoped you'd shut the door in my face."
"i totally should've," you reply, staring down at him. he looked almost pathetic. you've never seen him like this before.
"m'wonderin' why you talk t'me again," he mumbles, words coming slower now.
you knew he'd ask this at some point.
"and i wonder why you showed up to fuck after a year."
"surprised?"
"no," you reply honestly. "i actually kind of expected you earlier."
he slowly gets his arm off his face and looks at you, expression hard to read, even when he was so drunk and supposed to have his walls down.
"hm.... really?"
you nod. "didn't think you'd actually respect someone's decision for once."
"hey, c'mon, now... you said you couldn't look at yourself, what else could i do?"
"i didn't think you'd care about that."
"i didn't," he mutters and you can tell his being genuine. cool. "but i've got some respect, man. thats the least i could do."
you hum, not really believing him, but in his state you weren't exactly sure if he'd be able to lie. "so your respect for me is gone or why'd you come back?"
"nah," he shakes his head, propping himself up on his elbows and looking you up and down. "let's just say my body wasn't exactly cooperatin'..."
"likeee...?"
"likeeee," he repeats. "stress is bad for business."
your expression shifted ever so slightly, but you refused to let yourself feel disappointed. this was chris, after all. and yet, somewhere deep down, a tiny part of you had hoped he might have changed after last year, but he obviously hadnât. he still treated women like toys meant for his own satisfaction and that had to change.
"so i was supposed to fix that?" you scoff.
"didn't say that."
"you implied it."
"did i, really...?"
"yeah?"
"hm," he shrugs.
"did i fix that?"
"you sucked me off two days ago, didn't ya?" the corner of his mouth lifts up.
your eyes narrow. "yeah, you got hard in seconds."
"that's your answer."
any hesitation you'd had vanished on the spot. if lowering yourself to his level had felt questionable before, it didn't anymore. that made what you had in mind a whole lot easier.
"so," you started slowly, tossing the used wipes into the trash. "that's why you talk to me again?"
"you don't sound as pissed as i thought you'd be."
"why'd i be pissed?" you ask, opening the window.
"you're usually pissed no matter what i do."
"âcause you do shitty things," you shot back, barely controlling your growing irritation. you wonât allow him to have an effect on you again. he wonât ever get under your skin like he did last year.
you're planning on getting under his, though.
"but as you said, i don't really care," you add. "that's why i'm not mad. couldn't expect any less from you."
"ouchhh, y're breakin' my heart..." he dramatically puts a hand onto his chest. he keeps grinning, not even taking your words seriously. you couldn't tell if it was alcohol making him so fucking full of himself, or was it just his casual self.
"i wish," you sigh, looking him up and down. "you're making my room smell like shit, by the way."
he looks offended, looking down at his body and sprawling across your bed more. "i smell amazing," he huffs.
"like vodka and weed."
"amazing. stop complainin'," he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. "it's fuckin' hot out here."
you roll your eyes. "you're like a child."
"m'overheatin'," he slurrs.
"take that hoodie off."
"didn't think of that," he mumbles, managing to get one arm halfway out, before somehow getting stuck, the sleeve twisting around his elbow. he stares at it for a few seconds. "why's everything against me?"
you pinched the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath. "i never thought you could be even more annoying than usually."
after letting out the longest sigh he'd heard all night, you walk over to him. "first of all, fucking sit," you say, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. "arms up."
he scoffs, "don't talk t'me like i'm a child."
"you like to act like one," you grab the fabric, pulling it over his head. "though, i believe even kids are smarter than you."
his hair stick out in every direction and he drops back onto the mattress with a relieved sigh, his hands moving to his belt. "you're the only person who talks back t'me," he mutters. "impressive, really... think that's why my dick likes you so much."
"would it hurt for you to just say that you like me? you always have to say it like your dick is a whole ass person?"
his eyes narrow and because of his state, you're able to see something unreadable to flicker across his face. "like you... hmmmm..." he tilts his head. "what makes you think i'd like ya?"
you snorted, swapping his hands away and unbuckling his belt. "hm, i don't know. maybe i'd assume you have to, at least, tolerate someone a little, if you keep fucking them."
his eyes drop to your hands unzipping his pants. "wellll.... that part seems pretty... logical."
you look up at him. "nothing you do is logical, chris."
he drunkenly raised a finger in the air with a goofy grin and slurred, "disagree."
"you came here half conscious at two in the morning."
his grin fades. "valid point."
you scoff, shaking your head and getting rid of his pants, then moving to take his shoes off. "but that means you gotta like me too, though," he mumbles after a moment, watching you intensely. "since you fuck me."
"wow, i know this might be news to you that someone liked you, since it's hard to do so with your brilliant personality, but unfortunately i haven't thought you're so bad, so we can count that, i guess."
he groans, rubbing his eyes. "ughhhhh, so much hard wordss... and why'd you use past tense for this...?"
you roll your eyes and put his shoes down, straightening up and ignoring his question. "all done. go to sleep now." your eyes unintentionally move up his body, stopping at the boner in his boxers. you give him a disappointing look, "really?"
he shrugs, smirking, barely keeping his eyes open. "see what you doin'?"
"move," you say, smacking his arm to make him lay on your bed like a normal person. once he does, you throw a blanket at him.
"i'm hot, take that shit offâ"
"don't," you stop him from throwing it off himself, glaring at him. his smile gets bigger. "just say you can't look at my body, 'cause it's turnin' you on."
you scoff, letting go off his wrist. "god, you're such a guy."
"gonna take that as a compliment," he replies, then frowns, seeing you walking to the door. "where you goin'?"
"to get you some water. dehydration makes your brain smaller than it is."
"y'know what will never be smallerâ?!"
you leave the room before he can finish that sentence.
the moment you stepped into the kitchen, the apartment finally fell quieter. you grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with cold water as you leaned one hand against the counter. you frowned, thinking about his words and behavior. he literally makes no sense.
chris had never struck you as someone who got in his own head over anything, let alone sex. confidence practically leaked out of him. he flirted with anything that breathed, carried himself like the world revolved around him, and somehow always managed to back it up, so what the fuck happened?
stress is bad for business, he said. he's completely wasted, complaining about the frat house or his brothers, and you know he's been smoking more lately. what is he even stressing about? and more importantly, why'd you somehow fixed his problem? you hadn't done anything different, you'd been exactly who you'd always been. why'd you work for him, but others didn't?
the thought lingers longer than you wanted it to. you can't start overthinking, he's just saying bullshit and acts like a total idiot, as always. you need to stick to your own plan.
with a quiet sigh, you grabbed two painkillers from the cabinet before heading back down the hallway. when you nudged the bedroom door open, chris hadnât moved much. one arm was draped over his eyes, the other hanging lazily off the edge of the mattress, his breathing had already slowed. you honestly weren't sure if he was asleep.
"... chris."
he lets out a quiet grunt. definitely not asleep.
you walked over, setting the pills on the nightstand, before sitting at the edge of your bed and nudging his shoulder. "sit up," you say.
"no."
"don't piss me off and sit up."
he flips you off. your eyes narrow at him, "i'm gonna kick you out of here."
he shifts his arm to open one eye, slow smirk spreading across his face. "nah, you won't."
"just sit the fuck up, you need water."
"m'like ninety percent water."
"and one thousand percent dickhead," you remark. "sit. the fuck. up."
a long, dramatic sigh escapes him, before he reluctantly pushes himself upright, moving like every bone in his body had suddenly doubled in weight. you hand him the glass and he looks at it with visible disappointment. "was hopin' it'd be vodka."
you give him a look. "you've had enough."
"sooo judgmental...."
"just drink."
he obeyed without another argument, taking a few slow swallows before handing it over and leaning back. you put the glass down, standing up. "go to sleep."
he glances over at you, blinking slower than usual. "you sleepin' where?"
"on the couch."
he snorts. "stop actin' like a virgin, it's not the first time we'd sleep in one bed."
"yeah, but usually we're busy."
"could be again," he grins.
you roll your eyes. "you never stop being a freak? even in this state?"
"my state's great, thanks."
"can barely form complete sentences."
"soooo dramatic..." he sighs, closing his eyes. "c'mon. i don't bite."
"not so sure about that," you mutter, but despite yourself, climb into your bed, turning the lights off. he was a talker tonight and you had a feeling its gonna be an opportunity.
he rolls over onto his stomach, mumbling something into your pillow. "i don't think this position is a good idea," you say, turning your head to look at him. "you might throw up."
"m'good..." he replies, voice muffled. his free hand flails out blindly toward you, ligthly hitting your stomach and staying there, warm and heavy even through the fabric of your shirt.
"bro."
you raise an eyebrow, looking at his hand in the darkness and then back at him. "bro, what?"
he slowly lifts his head up, opening his mouth to say something, but thenâ
"hic."
he blinks, frowning. "naaaah... s'not what... hicâ" he mumbles, dragging out the words. "fuckkkkk...." he tilts his head slowly, squinting at you with one eye, like you're the confusing one here. "...m'tryna tell ya somethin' important..."
"spare me hearing that bullshit," you reply.
"hicâ" chrisâ face scrunches up, like heâs actually offended by that. he shoves his face deeper into the pillow for a second, muttering something about "bitchy," before turning back to you with red cheeks and messy hair sticking everywhere. "so where's that self respect ofâ hicâ yours....?"
you roll your eyes. "again about that?"
"just curious... 'cus you started the other day and i didn't even have toâ hicâ try.... so, like...why we talkin' againâ?"
"why do you think about this so much? isn't that what you wanted? i fixed your little problem."
"s'notâ hicâ little...." he rambles, shifting to lay on his side now. "s'just that, my intuition's tellin' me, something's off."
"you're off. drunk off your ass, bothering me."
"maybeee..."he grins, putting his chin onto his hand. "i've been bored... hicâ fuckâ...when you weren't around....ya keep me on my toes, never know what to expect."
you hum, voice full of sarcasm, "wow, is this some kind of appreciation i'm hearing?"
he glares at you with one half-lidded eye. "naah," he mumbles back stubbornly. "s'not appreciation, just facts."
"well, i guess, it's 'cause no one else can handle your bullshit, like i do."
he huffs, rolling back onto his back and almost falling off the bed. "one split on your face ain't enough?" you ask, grabbing his wrist to keep him from falling.
"this shit's pathetic," he grunts, brushing a hand over his face.
you nod, "at least you're aware."
"thanksâ hicâ fuck, m'gonnaâ hicâ fuck!"
you snorted, looking at him. he scoffs, "this ain't funny."
"it absolutely is," you remark. he hiccups again. "you need water or...?"
"no," he mumbles. "shut up."
"nah, i don't think i will. i'd actually like to know what exactly happened that you ended up like this. that strong and tough, nonchalant christopher sturniolo attacked by hiccups. so, gonna share?"
his jaw shifts slightly, like he's chewing on whether to say anything at all.
"no."
"okay, damn," you say, letting go off him once he stops moving around. "hopefully you won't show up here like this again. i'll have to shut the door in your face for real this time."
"you wouldn't."
"do we wanna check that?"
"god, you're such aâ hicâ"
"bitch?"
"yeah."
"and you're a dick. guess it lines up."
"hicâ guess it is.... thought you'd hate me longer though."
"oh, don't worry, i still do."
he smiles, throwing an arm over his eyes again. "tell me how much."
"a lot."
"tell me."
your eyes narrow as you look at his side profile, realizing he's one foot in his sleep already. he won't even remember.
you let out a breath.
"so much that i hope one day someone does to you exactly what you've been doing to everyone else."
he doesn't move, so you keep going. "i hope someone gets under your skin so bad that they break whatever's left of your heart and then leave."
silence.
"maybe then you'd finally stop walking around like the whole world owes you somethin," you swallow, staring at the ceiling. "maybe then you'd stop assuming everyone's gonna hurt you, before they even get the chance. not every girl is out to manipulate and ruin you, chris."
a bitter smile pulls at your lips. "but if that's the version of the world you wanna live in, then i'll happily become one of them."
chris is quiet.
for so long that you think he's fallen asleep.
then, he speaks, his voice barely a whisper. "that's... a very.... you thing to say..." his words slur together. his eyes stay closed, a lazy, almost empty, smile ghosts across his face.
âthat's why you remind me of her."
your head snaps toward him. "huh?"
but he doesn't reply. his breathing has slowed, his expression softened completely.
he drifted off, leaving you with your head full of thoughts.
© sturnisstuff
