Intentando divertirme ♥️

Squinting your eyes groggily, you gradually brought yourself back to the realm of consciousness. Panic set in as you frantically scanned the room, the haze of the previous night's events slowly unfurling in your mind. The memories were like fragments of a puzzle, and you struggled to piece them together.

As you surveyed the room, a flicker of recognition brought relief. A familiar face, Chanyeol, walked towards the doorway, carrying a glass of water and what you presumed were hangover pills.

Sitting up, the realization hit you like a freight train. The words echoed in your head: "Why am I in your apartment?" Your voice, scratchy from both the sudden awakening and the regrettable indulgence in one too many drinks, grumbled.

"I'm never gonna drink again," you vowed internally, the regret echoing in your thoughts.

Chanyeol, bemused by your disoriented state, leaned against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow as if he found your confusion amusing. Your attempt to piece together the events of the previous night felt like solving a puzzle with missing pieces.

Your threat was half-hearted but genuine. "Park Chanyeol, I will fight you," you declared, a glare with a mix of hangover-induced irritation and amusement at your own predicament fixed on him.

"Oh, calm down," he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You called me in the middle of the night, complaining about how your cat isn't pink, started crying, then you threw up, and the—"

You winced at the mental image of your drunken dumbassery, the embarrassing details surfacing like unwelcome ghosts. Memories of your intoxicated antics seeped into your consciousness, and you couldn't help but groan, burying your face in your hands, a futile attempt to shield yourself from the embarrassment that lingered in the room. "Alright, I get it."

Chanyeol approached, his footsteps resonating in the room as he handed you the glass of water and a couple of hangover pills, offering a lifeline to your throbbing head. Grateful, you mumbled your thanks, though a lingering question tugged at your mind like a persistent itch.

"But why didn't you just take me back to my apartment? You know my address anyway," you questioned, gingerly nursing the hangover that seemed to intensify with every passing moment.

Seating himself on his gaming chair, Chanyeol emitted an audible sigh, his hand running through his disheveled hair. "I did," he deadpanned, locking eyes with you. "But your dumbass forgot your door's PIN code." A shake of his head conveyed both disbelief and amusement. "And being the good friend that I am, I couldn't leave you alone outside your apartment to fend for your blacked-out self."

His emphasis on 'good friend' carried a subtle hint of teasing, leaving room for potential future favors, but he left it at that, a mischievous glint lingering in his eyes.

You playfully rolled your eyes at his theatrics but expressed gratitude nonetheless.

As you prepared to delve into the details of your antics from the night before, a sly grin adorned Chanyeol's lips. "Also, did you really think you could fight me? That's so cute."

Daggers shot from your eyes, but his teasing smile only broadened. "I could totally take you in a fight!"

An arched eyebrow and an unconvinced expression met your claim. "Sure, babe. Whatever you say."

The reality of the situation hit you, and a wave of panic washed over you once more as you glanced down at the unfamiliar clothes adorning you. Sure, your dignity remained intact with your panties, but your legs were bare, and you were drowning in an oversized shirt that undoubtedly belonged to Chanyeol.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you attempted to coax your brain into replaying the events of the night.

The neon lights of the bar flickered in a chaotic dance as you stumbled out, a giggling mess with your heels dangling from your fingers. You were seeing a kaleidoscope of colors, and your laughter echoed like a tipsy melody. It was clear–you were drunk. Very drunk.

In your intoxicated haze, you fumbled with your phone, squinting at the screen to dial the one person you knew would be your savior in moments like these—the one person whose number was etched into your memory like the back of your hand: Chanyeol. The phone rang, teasing you with each passing second. Just as hope started to wane, a deep voice echoed through the device.

"Hello?"

"Yeol...lie," you slurred, your words a tipsy melody that only you seemed capable of deciphering.

A pause hung in the air, and for a moment, you feared Chanyeol had hung up. Then, a sigh reached your ears. "You okay?" Concern seeped through his voice, cutting through the fog of your alcohol-induced haze.

"Nope, not okay. I can't feel my tongue," you declared with an unusual seriousness, your fingers tracing across your lips as if verifying their existence.

"Send me your pin. I'll come get you," he stated, his voice carrying a mix of worry and determination. You nodded in agreement, forgetting that he couldn't see your affirmation.

"Don't move, okay? I'll be there in a few minutes," Chanyeol assured, the sincerity in his tone comforting despite your intoxicated state.

This time, you managed a hum in response, a feeble attempt to signal your confirmation, mind lost in the whirlwind of loud music, neon lights, and drunken whimsy.

It wasn't long before a tall figure with an all too familiar face appeared in front of you. There he was–Chanyeol, your knight in shining armor, or rather, in a casual hoodie and jeans that still managed to carry a certain heroism about them.

Excitement bubbling over, a foolish grin stretched across your face as you stumbled toward him, exclaiming, "Chanyeol! My hero!" With the gracefulness of a newborn fawn, you wrapped your arms around him in a wobbly embrace, the warmth of his presence a welcome anchor in your sea of inebriation.

Chanyeol held you with a steadying grip, preventing you from tumbling in your inebriated state. His gaze reflected a blend of amusement and concern as you practically collapsed against him.

He chuckled, his deep voice a warm, soothing balm to your intoxicated senses. "What happened to you?"

"I had an epiphany about cats," you mumbled, your words slurring slightly as you rested your head against his chest. "They should come in pink. It sucks that they don't."

Chanyeol, ever patient and indulgent, entertained your whimsical drunken thoughts. His hand found its way to your hair, ruffling it fondly. "Pink cats would've been super cool," he agreed, his tone carrying a touch of warmth and amusement. In that moment, in the glow of neon lights and the haze of alcohol, Chanyeol was not just your knight but also the willing co-conspirator in your intoxicated musings.

As he guided you towards his car, a wave of emotions washed over you, and for some inexplicable reason, tears began to well up. Sniffing, you halted in your tracks and looked up at Chanyeol, uncertainty etched across your features.

Concern crept onto Chanyeol's face as he observed your trembling lips and furrowed eyebrows–telltale signs that you were on the verge of tears. Before you could articulate your feelings, tears started streaming down your cheeks.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Chanyeol's voice held a gentle reassurance as he wiped away your tears with his thumbs, his touch offering both solace and comfort. "It's just so unfair. You're so tall," you bawled, your words a mix of a sob and laughter. The irrationality of your emotional outburst only intensified as Chanyeol's towering presence loomed over you.

Upon hearing those words, an unexpected burst of laughter escaped his lips. "Come on, let's get you home," he suggested, his amusement evident but not devoid of understanding.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to relax against the plushness of the passenger seat in Chanyeol's car. The vehicle cruised through the city, but the memories of the car ride to your apartment and his, vomiting your guts out, as well as the events that transpired at his place were all like distant echoes.

After a brief yet vivid flashback, you turned your attention back to the present, meeting Chanyeol's eyes with a mix of gratitude and embarrassment.

"Wait, we didn't... right?" you stammered, your voice caught between horror and confusion. In a sudden surge of modesty, you instinctively felt the need to shield yourself from Chanyeol's view, arms awkwardly covering your chest.

Chanyeol, ever the mischievous tease, feigned innocence, placing a hand over his chest in mock surprise. "Wait, you don't remember? Did I not give it to you good enough?"

A brilliant shade of red painted your face, matching that of a ripe tomato. "WAIT WHAT THE FUCK? ARE YOU SERIOUS?! OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE WE—"

Chanyeol then burst into laughter, interrupting your frantic outburst. "Calm down!" he held up a hand. "Nothing happened. Contrary to what you believe, I do have self-control, and you were clearly not in any condition to consent to literally anything."

Relief washed over you, and you released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "Thank goodness."

A sly smile crept onto Chanyeol's face. "But you were definitely something." His words hung in the air, a playful acknowledgment of the night's escapades. It was at that moment that you recalled the last missing piece of your memory, a realization that played out in the connection between his amusement and the events you now remembered.

Chanyeol gently guided you to sit on his bed, a silent understanding passing between you as he moved to retrieve something from his dresser. Returning promptly, he stood in front of you, only to be taken aback when you abruptly stood up, cupping his face with your tiny hands.

"I know I'm drunk, but I love your eyes. They're pretty," you boldly declared, your gaze locking onto his. At that moment, the air between you thickened with the unexpected weight of your words.

Chanyeol's response was a mere whisper of your name, a sound that hung in the air and felt oddly intimate. The silence that enveloped you both was far from uncomfortable; rather, it was a suspended moment of shared vulnerability. As you stood so close to him, the warmth emanating from Chanyeol seeped through your skin, his proximity becoming a cocoon of comfort amidst the haze of your inebriation.

From this close range, the scent of detergent on his hoodie mingled with a faint trace of his cologne, creating an olfactory symphony that, in your inebriated state, proved oddly soothing. You found solace in him, a realization that surfaced amidst the chaos of the night.

Your hands, initially cradling his face, ventured down to his chest, where the steady thumping of his heart met your fingertips. It was an unintentional exploration, the touch fueled by a liquid courage that blurred boundaries. Before you knew it, your hands traveled further, daringly sliding down to his belt, attempting to unbuckle it. Such audacity would have been unthinkable if you were sober, but in the realm of alcohol-induced confidence, inhibition seemed a distant concept.

“No, no—hands off my belt, ___! I’m trying to change you out of your disgusting, vomit-ridden clothes, for God’s sake!” Chanyeol exclaimed in a panic, his panic slicing through the charged atmosphere like a reality check.

Undeterred by his plea, your hands persisted. Driven by an intoxicated determination, you hurriedly stripped your tank top off, and in a bold move, placed Chanyeol's large hands against your bare chest. It was a surreal and audacious attempt to playfully challenge the boundaries between you two.

In the midst of your inebriation, a misguided sense of seduction overcame you. "Are you finally going to touch me like I deserve?"

Dumbfounded couldn't quite capture Chanyeol's reaction. He stood there, looking everywhere but your chest, utterly bewildered. He was struggling to comprehend why you were acting in such an unexpected way. Pushing you away gently, he managed to distance himself from the unexpected advance, leaving you to land back on the bed with a series of giggles, as if the entire incident had been an amusing charade.

“What? No! Absolutely not!” Chanyeol's denial was firm, the disbelief evident in his eyes.

A hint of confusion lingered in his eyes, and if you strained your ears enough, you could have sworn you heard him mumble under his breath, "No. Not like this."

Chanyeol, perhaps out of a mixture of bewilderment and concern, took charge of the situation, helping you change your clothes–this time, with your explicit consent. As the fabric of his shirt slid over your skin, the atmosphere shifted, the charged energy replaced by a more subdued intimacy.

Soon, you found yourself snuggled beneath the warmth of his comforter, a sense of comfort settling in. With a gentle bid of goodnight to you, he closed the door, leaving you to drift off into the whimsical landscapes of dreamland.

Emerging from the flashback, a profound sense of embarrassment settled over you like a heavy cloud. You groaned, grabbing a pillow to smother your face and unleash your frustrations in a muffled scream.

"Chanyeol, I'm so sorry."

"It's all good, don't worry," he reassured, his tone carrying a mix of understanding and lightheartedness. "I could just tell people that you tried to fight me naked instead. That'd be a great story."