#quotev archive

Just a week ago, things were simple. Steve had Nancy Wheeler. Pretty, smart, the kind of girl everyone expected him to like.

But then there was you.

He didn't know much about you besides the fact that you sat behind him in history and would sometimes let him copy your notes after a long weekend. He didn't even remember the very first time he noticed you. He just remembered the moment he realized you were suddenly…everywhere. Already looking at him before he would look at you.

And Steve tried to ignore it. He tried to keep his head on Nancy.

Nancy, the safe choice. The obvious choice. The girl he had pined over for months, and the girl he should be happy with. 

But every time Nancy drifted towards Jonathan, every time she pulled away from Steve even a little, he found himself turning towards you instead. And you were always right there, offering kindness without asking for anything, laughing at his idiotic jokes, softening his edges until he forgot he had them…

But while Steve was sitting there, completely zoned out of this class, all he could think about was Nancy's argument over Barb going missing, Jonathan's stupid photos...

Seeing them sat together on her bed last night after she declined plans with him. Wearing his jacket. His arm around her. 

The bell rings, ripping him out of his thoughts, and he watches you start packing your things.  "Are you busy tonight?"  Steve blurts the words out before he could even stop himself.

You freeze, your hand halfway to your bag, the zipper caught between your fingers. The words hang in the air, sharp and unexpected, and for a second you wonder if you had imagined them. But Steve is looking right at you, his expression caught somewhere between nervous and determined, like he’s already regretting saying it but can’t take it back.

Your heart stutters. For weeks, you’ve watched him with Nancy, watched him smile at her in ways that made you feel invisible. And yet, every time she drifted toward Jonathan, every time she pulled away, his eyes found yours. You had noticed but, told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That you were just a classmate. That you were just…there.

But now, he’s asking you. Not Nancy. You.

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady, though your pulse is anything but. “No,” You say softly, meeting his gaze. “I’m not busy.”

Steve's shoulders relax just a fraction at your answer, like he'd been holding his breath this whole time. He quickly looks away, suddenly very interested in adjusting the strap of his backpack, anything to avoid seeing how you're reacting.

"Cool," he says, trying way too hard to sound casual. His voice cracks slightly on the word and he mentally curses himself for it. 

He risks another glance at you while pretending to organize papers that don't need organizing. The classroom is emptying around them but Steve doesn’t move from his seat, like if he stands up now this moment might end.

A beat passes where neither of you speaks before Steve blurts out again, "Do...do you wanna maybe get food or something?" 

You let the silence stretch just long enough for him to squirm, then tilt your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Food sounds good,” you say, steady but soft, like you’re giving him permission to breathe again.

The tension in Steve's body uncoils all at once, his entire face lighting up with relief, like he'd been braced for rejection and now can't believe it didn't come. 

"Yeah?" he asks, voice too eager before he reins it back in. He clears his throat and attempts to play it cooler, "I mean...yeah. Great." 

He finally stands up, too fast, nearly knocking over his chair, and grabs both your bags without thinking (a habit from carrying Nancy's stuff). 

“Guess you’re full-service now,” you tease lightly, not snatching the bag back, letting him carry it if he wants to.

Steve blinks, momentarily stunned out of his nervous state, then grins sheepishly, his relief growing at your easy banter. 

"Yeah, well," he shrugs, readjusting both bags on his shoulders as he starts walking towards the door, "I'm a man of many talents."

You can’t help the laugh that slips out, shaking your head at his attempt to play it off. He’s trying so hard to sound smooth, but the sheepish grin on his face betrays him.

“Talents, huh?” you tease, falling into step beside him as the two of you head toward the door. “Carrying bags, tripping over chairs…what else you got?”

The hallway hums with voices and lockers slamming shut, but it feels like the world has narrowed to just the two of you

Steve pretends to think about it for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before a smirk spreads across his face. "Well, let's see...I'm a pretty decent basketball player," he starts, his steps falling into time with yours. "Great hair, obviously," He flashes a cocky grin, running a hand through his styled-to-perfection locks as if to emphasize the point. 

"And..." He lowers his voice and leans in close so that only you can hear, the hallway noise fading into background static. "I'm really good at making pretty girls laugh."

For a second, you almost laugh—because it’s such a Steve Harrington thing to say—but then the reminder hits you like a weight.

Nancy.

Your smile falters just a little, enough for him to notice if he’s paying attention. “Pretty girls, huh?” You murmur, tilting your head toward him. “Shouldn’t you be saving those lines for Nancy?”

Steve’s eyes flicker, caught off-guard by the sudden change in tone. He sees the subtle shift in your voice, the slight hesitation. The way you subtly pull back. The way you bring up Nancy. 

His cocky facade falters too, and for a moment he looks slightly guilty. He knows exactly what you're referring to. He lets out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. Right. Nancy."

You feel the name settle between you like a stone, heavier than his laugh could disguise. The sharp edge of it cuts through the easy banter, reminding you of everything that still ties him to her.

That easy banter is gone now, replaced by an uncomfortable silence as you both walk down the packed hallway, surrounded by people oblivious to the tension between you. 

Steve glances at you briefly, his gaze flicking over you like he's trying to gauge your reaction. But your face is neutral, giving him no clues. He's not sure if you're mad or disappointed or...something else. 

His shoulders hunch a bit, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his usual confident stride turning into something more like...guilt-ridden shuffle.

By the time the two of you push through the doors and the cool air hits, the noise of the hallway fades, replaced by the quiet hum of the parking lot. 

Steve seems to relax at the sudden absence of noise, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. He walks over to a shiny red BMW parked at the edge of the lot, glancing at you to see if you follow. 

He puts your bags in the backseat before turning back to you with a forced casualness, his hands jammed in his pockets again. "So, uh, any preferences for food?" 

There's a hint of hesitation there, the easy flow of banter absent now, replaced with an unspoken awareness of what you brought up. Of Nancy.

You shift your weight, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Anything sounds fine,” you say, steady but quiet, then add, “but Steve…you’re still with Nancy.”

The words come out softer than an accusation, but they carry the truth he’s trying so hard to ignore. You see the way his jaw tightens, the flicker of guilt in his eyes. He wants this to be simple, wants it to be easy, but it isn’t. Not when everyone knows Nancy Wheeler is still his girlfriend, even if she’s always with Jonathan now, even if she’s pulling further away.

You glance at the bags he tossed in the backseat, then back at him. “So what is this, really?” you ask, your voice low, not cruel but not letting him off the hook either. “A hangout because she’s busy…or something else?”

Steve lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He knows exactly what you're getting at, what you're implying. And he can't argue with it. 

"It's not...I don't know," he grumbles, kicking a pebble in the parking lot, avoiding your gaze. "It's just..."

He looks back at you now, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions - guilt, frustration, confusion, something that almost looks like desperation. "Nancy and I..."

He trails off again, unable to find the words.

You swallow, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even though it hurts. “Steve,” you say quietly, steady but not unkind. “If you don’t know where you stand with her…then you shouldn’t be standing here with me.”

The words taste bitter, but they’re the truth. You can’t be the distraction, the in-between, the person he turns to when Nancy isn’t there. And yet, even as you say it, you feel the pull—the way his eyes linger on you, the way his silence begs you not to walk away. 

And you should've said this back in the classroom, but you were so caught off guard, you didn't.

Your words hit him like a punch in the gut, the harsh truth of them landing right where it hurts. He knows you're right—he knows. 

He takes a step towards you, the space between you growing even smaller, his voice a pleading whisper.

"I know, okay? I know, but…I can't stop thinking about you. You're the one I look for in a crowd, the one I want to talk to when something good happens. Every time Nancy pulls away, every time I see her with Jonathan, it-"

“Steve…don’t you see?” you whisper, the weight of it pressing heavy between you. “She’s already halfway gone. Every time she’s with Jonathan, every time she chooses him over you - it’s not just friendship anymore. She’s giving pieces of herself to him that should still be yours.”

Steve flinches like you've slapped him, the words cutting deeper than he wants to admit. His throat works around nothing for a second, because yeah, of course he sees it. He's seen it.

He remembers Nancy laughing at one of Jonathan's stupid jokes last week, how her fingers lingered when she handed him his jacket back after wearing it all night. The way she used to save every smile for him and now...not so much.

His chest aches with something raw and painful that he doesn’t even have a name for yet, betrayal? Fear? The sinking realization that maybe Nancy stopped loving him weeks ago without bothering to tell him directly?

"I know," Steve finally admits in a hollow voice, staring down at the pavement between your feet like if looks hard enough there'll be an answer written there. "I just…didn't wanna believe it."

You shift slightly, the pavement cool beneath your shoes, and force yourself to hold his gaze even when he won’t look up. “Steve,” you say quietly, steady but not unkind. “You already know. You’ve known for a while. Pretending otherwise doesn’t change what’s happening.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair again, frustrated and overwhelmed by the harsh truth of your words. A part of him wants to snap back, to tell you to stop saying all this, to stop being so damn right all the time and just…let him be in denial for a little longer. 

But another part, a quiet little part that's been growing louder these past few weeks, knows you're right. 

He finally looks up, his gaze meeting yours again, weary and weary and desperate. "What the hell do I do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You take a step closer, not unkind, but firm. “Figure out what you want. Figure out who you want. And then…be honest. With her. With me. With yourself.”

The silence that follows is heavy, his eyes searching yours for something

Steve's shoulders slump under the weight of your words, the harsh reality settling in. He opens his mouth to speak but the words seem lodged in his throat. You're right...he knows you're right. But the thought of confronting Nancy, of facing the truth that's been staring him right in the face…

He swallows hard, his gaze never leaving yours. There's a mix of resignation and something else, something he can't quite place.

"And what if I already know who I want?" he murmurs.

You shift your weight, arms tightening across your chest as you try to steady yourself. “Then you need to be honest about it,” you say softly, though your voice doesn’t waver. “With her. With me. With yourself. If you already know who you want, Steve, then stop pretending Nancy’s still the answer.”

Steve takes a deep breath, the simple truth of your words hitting him hard. He looks at you, really looks at you, the way you stand there, shoulders back, every inch of you strong and steady. 

He wants to protest, to find some reason to argue or dismiss it all, but he can't. He's tried so hard to hold onto Nancy lately, to keep things the way they used to be, but he knows it's hopeless. 

He lets out a bitter laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. "When did you get so damn smart?"

You feel the corner of your mouth twitch, not quite a smile, more like a reaction to the bitterness in his laugh. His words hang in the air, heavy but edged with something almost tender, like he’s trying to deflect the weight of the moment with humor.

You shift your stance, arms still crossed, and tilt your head at him. “Smart? No,” you say quietly, steady but firm. “Just not willing to lie the way you’ve been lying to yourself.”

Steve takes another step towards you, closing the space between you further. He stares down at you, his gaze roaming your face. He's torn between wanting to argue and wanting to agree. Between wanting to hold onto the familiar comfort of Nancy, even if it's hollow now, and wanting to grab on to the solidity he sees in you.

"You've always seen right through me," he mutters, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his voice. "It's irritating."

Your voice softens as you speak, “You don’t get to pretend with me, Steve. Not about Nancy. Not about what you want. Not about any of it.”

Steve lets out a tired sigh, the fight slowly fading out of him. Your words cut through his defenses, straight to the core. He knows you're right. 

His gaze flicks to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and the conflict in his expression is almost palpable.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing," he admits, voice raw with frustration and something that sounds like longing. "I feel like I'm losing my damn mind lately."

You don’t move, don’t break the silence, just let him stand there with it. Because in this moment, it’s not about fixing anything or giving him answers, it’s about the way he’s looking at you, like he’s searching for something solid to hold onto while everything else slips away.

Steve's gaze flicks over your face, taking in the details he'd never noticed before. The way your eyelashes flutter when you blink. The faint freckle near the corner of your mouth. Even the way your shoulders square, strong and unwavering despite the weight of his words. 

Without even realizing it, his hand reaches out, his thumb lightly brushing the freckle near your mouth. It hovers there for a second, just barely touching your skin, a silent question.

Your breath catches, the world narrowing to that single point of contact. The parking lot, the car, the noise of students spilling out behind you, it all fades until it’s just him, standing too close, looking at you like you’re the answer he’s been circling around but never brave enough to name.

You don’t pull back, not yet. Instead, you let the silence stretch, your eyes locked on his, making him feel the weight of the choice he’s reaching for. Because if he wants this, if he wants you - then he has to be the one to say it.

Steve's breath hitches when you don’t pull away. His thumb stills against your skin, as if he’s waiting for you to stop him waiting for any sign that this isn't okay.

But there isn’t one.

And the realization hits him like a freight train, you’re letting me do this.

His heart pounds so loud he swears it echoes in the quiet space between you two. He swallows hard, his chest tight with nerves and hope all tangled up together.

"You…" Steve starts, then stops himself. His hand trembles slightly where it hovers near your face, like touching someone who actually matters is scarier than anything else in his life right now.

“I…?” You prompt him. 

"You're…not stopping me," Steve whispers, the words tumbling out before he can even really process them. 

His brain is suddenly blank, all of his usual suave confidence gone in the face of the truth. Here you are, letting him stand closer than friends should, letting him touch you like he's got any right to, and you're just…letting him.

He's waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's certain you're going to push him away and walk off and call him an idiot. 

But you don't.

Your breath hitches at the way his words tumble out, raw and uncertain, and you let the silence hang for a beat before answering.

“Maybe I’m not stopping you because…part of me doesn’t want to,” you admit quietly, your voice steady but softer than before. You tilt your head just slightly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But that doesn’t mean this is simple, Steve.”

The reality check slams into him. He knows damn well it isn’t simple. Not with Nancy still technically his girlfriend, not when she’s probably off with Jonathan right now wearing his jacket again.

“Dinner,” he says finally, the word almost too casual, but his voice betrays him. There’s a heaviness there, a quiet shift that makes it clear this isn’t just about food anymore.

He nods toward the passenger side of his car, his BMW, shiny and stupidly expensive, something that usually makes people look at him with awe. But right now? He couldn’t care less about impressing anyone.

"Get in?" It comes out more like a question than an invitation. Like he's giving you one last chance to say no, to walk away before this goes any further down a road there's no coming back from.

Steve pauses, his hand hovering over the passenger door handle. He hesitates for a brief, almost panicked moment, his mind racing with doubts and excuses and a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea.

But then his eyes land on you, on the way you're looking at him. On the way you're so goddamn steady while everything else is crumbling around him. 

The Bridgertons and their family were very close, and they would always spend time with each other. Every other month, they would gather together in the countryside and enjoy the view of Aubrey Hall.

This time, the Sharmas joined the two families. Lady Mary and her daughters, Kate and Edwin, arrive at the manor with the Bridgertons. Your family arrived not too late after the Sharmas.

The families bond together, except for Anthony and Kate, who continuously bicker with each other with disdain.

Benedict was quite anxious because he applied to an art academy, and he went to Colin for help. This ended up in him throwing some unknown powder into his tea, which he found quite disgusting. Colin told him to use little of said powder to help him...relax, but Benedict threw the whole bag in anyway.

Later, the families joined together for dinner, and you noticed that Benedict was acting quite odd. He was giggly and clumsy.

"This room is exceptionally well-lit. Have you noticed, Col? The twinkle of the candles, it is as... It's as if... we sit among the stars." Benedict says, his eyes slightly hazy, that Violet, the mother of the Bridgerton family, was concerned for his... state of mind. Turns out that he got high from the powder that Colin gave him. Benedict reached over for his wine glass, but he tipped it over, the red liquid staining the white tablecloth. He giggles at his mistake, his hands on his face with that cute crooked smile.

You looked at him in confusion, taking small bites of your food as you watched him. You glanced up at the lights, as if they had changed from the last time you had eaten with the Bridgerton family...they hadn't changed. You looked back towards Benedict with an eyebrow raised and a slight whisper in your voice. "Are you quite alright?"

Benedict was snapped out of his thoughts, and he tilted his head to see a curious you. "Me? Oh! Oh yes, yes. I'm...perfectly fine." Benedict responded to you, but his voice gave off the opposite impression of what he was saying. As he sat there, trying to appear normal, Colin leaned in and whispered something in his ear, which made him laugh a little too loud.

You gave the two brothers a stern look. "You two, stop it now!" You shushed them quietly, trying not to draw any attention to the situation.

The two brothers quieted down, though Benedict had difficulty maintaining composure, and he let out a few giggles at your attempt to get them to behave. Colin tried his best not to laugh, but watching his older brother's goofy behaviour was amusing. Despite being told to behave, Benedict couldn't help but find the whole situation funny, and he stifled laughter as he tried to sit properly in his seat.

You glared at Colin, noticing he still seemed...normal. "What did you do?"

Colin realised that you were suspecting him. "What do you mean, 'what did I do'?" He tried to sound innocent, even though it was obvious that he was up to no good. He continued to maintain a straight face, though it was getting increasingly harder as Benedict's goofy behaviour became even more apparent. On the other hand, Benedict was struggling to control his giggles, and he had a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out in laughter.

You rolled your eyes at Colin, leaning across the table to stay hushed. You made sure your elbows didn't touch the table to remain proper. "I've known you both for years. And I know you did something or-or gave him something."

Colin realised there was no sense in hiding the truth. He sighed. "Okay, fine. I gave him a special powder," he quietly admitted. "It's supposed to help him relax, but he ended up putting the entire damn thing in his tea instead of a little bit. That's why he's acting like this."

You shook your head, glancing between the two brothers. "We need to get him out of here before anyone else notices."

Colin nodded in agreement. "But how?" he whispered. "He's too high to walk on his own. If he stands, he'll probably fall flat on his face."

Benedict, who was listening to their conversation, let out a small giggle, finding the whole situation amusing.

"Well, you've been on all those special adventures. I'm sure you're strong enough to carry him." You stated, matter-of-factly, though you had a bite to your tone. "Besides, you got him into this mess - you need to fix it."

Colin rolled his eyes but knew you had a point. He was responsible for this situation, so it was only fair that he had to fix it. "Fine," he grumbled as he stood up and approached Benedict. "Come on, brother."

Benedict, who was still in his giggly state, stood up as well, though he struggled to keep his balance. "Oh, the room is spinning," he said, a dazed smile on his face.

Violet, from across the room, noticed her two sons were leaving. She seemed like she was interested and about to say something - but you were too quick. You put a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder. "Colin and I are just escorting Benedict out - he said he's not feeling well…too much wine?" You lied on the spot.

Violet, being a mother, was understandably concerned for her son. "Oh, dear. Is he alright?" she asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

Colin interjected quickly. "Yes, Mother, he's fine. Just needed some fresh air." He helped guide Benedict towards the door, his arm around his brother's waist to keep him steady.

You politely excused yourself and quickly hurried off with Colin and Benedict down the hallway.

You, Colin, and the giggling Benedict made your way down the hallway away from the dining room. Colin supported Benedict, making sure he wouldn't trip or stumble. Benedict, in his high state, kept on giggling and looking around with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

"Whoa," he said, as he looked at his surroundings. "The hallway looks so...so...pretty."

"You think everything looks pretty right now." You grumbled under your breath, holding onto one of Benedict's arms to support him.

Benedict giggled at your remark, finding even your grumbled words amusing. He looked at you with a goofy smile. "You're always so serious," he said, stumbling a little bit. "You could use some of this powder, too. It makes the world look so...so...colorful."

Colin rolled his eyes at Benedict's comment, knowing it was the drugs talking.

"I don't need any sort of...powder." You stated. It wasn't that you were serious all the time - it was more so that you were worried about him.

Benedict let out another burst of giggles at your firm response. "Oh, come on. Live a little." He said, his words slurring slightly. "This powder makes everything so much more...interesting."

Colin intervened, trying to keep the situation under control. "Benedict, please shut up. The more you talk, the more suspicion we'll raise."

You hummed in agreement with Colin. "We're almost to your room, just please - shut. up."

Benedict, still in his giggly state, tried his best to be quiet, but he couldn't help but let out a small snicker. "Alright, alright. I'll be quiet," he said, his voice still tinged with amusement.

As you finally reached his room, Colin guided Benedict inside and helped him sit down on the edge of the bed.

You decided decorum and rules were simply out the window at this point. You slid through the doorway behind Colin and shut the door quietly. "I can't believe you gave him that stuff! Why did you even take it, Benedict?!"

Benedict was sitting on the edge of the bed, still smiling and giggling to himself. Colin, on the other hand, was trying to maintain his composure. "I didn't think he'd use the whole damn bag," he said, running a hand through his hair.

Benedict, still under the influence of the powder, spoke up. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he said with a shrug. "Everything is so...sparkly."

You rubbed your forehead in annoyance. "Benedict, look at me please." You waved your hand to get his attention. "How about you go to sleep, yes? I'm sure you'll have wonderful dreams." You tried to sound optimistic when in reality you just wanted him to sleep off the drugs.

Benedict, still in his drugged state, looked up at you with hazy eyes. He nodded slowly, a goofy grin on his face. "Yeah, sleep sounds nice," he murmured, his words slurring slightly.

Colin was relieved that you were handling the situation well. "That's probably for the best," he said, nodding in agreement. "He'll be back to normal tomorrow once the drug wears off."

Slightly relieved that he agreed to saying yes to sleep, you sighed. You looked at Benedict, who wasn't even quite on the bed. You threw a pillow under his head. That was the best you could do.

Benedict, still in his giggly, droopy state, flopped onto the pillow that you had placed under his head. He looked up at you with a goofy smile, his eyes heavy with the effects of the powder.

"You're so... so... kind," he murmured, trying to focus his gaze on you. "You're like an angel."

"Alright...just...go to sleep." You didn't know exactly what to say when he called you that.

Benedict let out another small giggle, his head sinking further into the pillow. "Okay, okay. I'll go to sleep...but you'll stay here, won't you?"

Colin, who was still standing nearby, rolled his eyes at Benedict's request. "Seriously?" he muttered under his breath.

"What? No. Absolutely not! I'm not even supposed to be in here at all."

Benedict let out an exaggerated pout, his eyes drooping even further as the drug continued to affect him. "But... I don't want to be alone," he protested with a whine.

Colin gave you a sympathetic look, knowing how difficult it was dealing with a drugged Benedict. "I think it would be best if someone stayed with him until he falls asleep," he said, trying to sound reasonable.

"Well then, you can stay with your brother." You protested quietly.

Colin shot you a look. "Me? Why should I have to stay with him?"

Benedict, in his drugged state, suddenly sat up on the bed, looking at you with pleading eyes. "No, no, no. I want you to stay," he said, reaching out and grasping your arm.

You shook your head again. "That's improper."

Benedict, still holding onto your arm, looked at you with sad eyes. "Please? Just until I fall asleep," he pleaded, his voice sounding almost childlike.

Colin, seeing the situation unfold, rolled his eyes. "Oh, for goodness sake. Just stay with him until he falls asleep. He's acting like a damn child."

"Fine." You stated harshly at Colin. "But if I get found, I'm not covering for you and I'm blaming you for the whole thing."

Colin held his hands up in surrender. "Fair enough. If by some insane miracle you get caught, you can blame me. But I doubt that will happen."

Benedict, still looking at you with pleading eyes, tugged gently on your arm, trying to get you to sit down on the bed next to him.

You looked down at Benedict as Colin left the room. "Um, no. It's bad enough that I'm alone in your room...let alone sitting on your bed."

Benedict let out a melodramatic sigh, his head falling back onto the pillow. "You're so...stubborn," he said, still slurring his words slightly.

He sat up slightly and patted the bed beside him. "Please? Just sit down for a minute."

You sighed and began sitting down at the edge of the bed.

Benedict's face lit up a bit as you finally sat down on the edge of the bed. He shuffled closer to you, still holding onto your arm.

"See? That wasn't so hard," he said, his voice still a little drowsy from the drug.

"Go to sleep."

Benedict, his hand still gripping your arm, let out another small giggle. "But I don't wanna sleep yet..." he protested, his words slurring even more.

He looked up at you with tired eyes, his gaze lingering on your face. "Can we talk first?"

You didn't know what else to do. You couldn't just leave him there - not until he was sleeping. You wanted to make sure he was okay. "What would you like to talk about?"

Benedict thought for a moment, his mind still fuzzy from the drug. He finally spoke up, his hand trailing down to hold onto your hand tightly.

"I don't know...anything. I just want you to talk to me. Your voice is pretty." He said with a small smile.

You smiled slightly in the semi-lit room at his words. "You took the drugs because of your recent applications, right?" You paused. "I remember you said they were supposed to come with news in the next week."

Benedict nodded, his expression a little melancholy.

He fiddled with your hand, his fingers running over the back of it. "But now I wish I hadn't taken so much of it. Everything is all fuzzy and I can't even think straight..."

"That's why you should sleep." You looked down at his hand, which was in yours.

Benedict, still holding onto your hand, let out a small whine. He tilted his head to look at you, his eyes slightly unfocused. "But I don't want to sleep yet. I wanna talk to you more."

He gave your hand a small, drunken squeeze. "You're so pretty..." he murmured, his gaze fixated on your face.

Despite Benedict's earlier protest that he didn't want to sleep yet, the effects of the drugs plus your presence seemed to finally take their toll on him. His grip on your hand loosened, and his eyelids grew heavy.