ᴀᴅ ᴍᴇʟɪᴏʀᴀ ~ ᴅᴘꜱ (ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴇᴋꜱ)

15 - party crasher

A gentle tap on my shoulder coaxes me back to reality. I must have slipped under at some point, against my wishes, because the room around me is significantly different than the last time I looked.

I groan and rub my eyes. My arms instinctively stretch above my head, whacking someone on the way.

"Woah there-" a voice calls out.

I retract them, sitting up hastily. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I didn't..." I garble, noticing a blanket fall off of me as I straighten. Everything takes longer to process, likely a sign of my retreating grogginess.

"It's my fault, I shouldn't have jolted you awake like that," Meeks apologizes.

Meeks. Right.

I blink and allow my eyes to adjust to the dimly lit basement. The general atmosphere is much calmer than before, but still noisy enough to hurt my head. "Where did this blanket come from?"

"Chris walked by earlier, I asked her to grab one. I would have got it myself, but I didn't want to bother you."

His small act of consideration makes my heart sing, much more than it should. I ponder how much of a grip my drink still has over me, but come back inconclusive. "How long was I out?"

"Oh, I'm not sure..." The boy looks around, presumably for a clock. "Maybe half an hour?"

I put my head in my hands. "Gosh, I'm sorry. What kind of loser comes to a party just to get drunk and pass out?"

"Most of them, I've observed. Are you feeling okay?"

I scoff, the sound muffled through the sleeves of my sweater. "Yeah, I'm bitchin'."

Meeks stands and puts out his hands, offering for me to take them. I look up at him begrudgingly.

"Come on," he persuades, "you need some water, or coffee, or something. I don't think anyone will miss us down here for a few minutes."

I sigh, accepting his offer and hoisting myself off the couch. My head spins from the sudden movement, causing my balance to waiver. He reflexively tightens his grip on my hands and pulls me closer. My breath catches and he notices, only hesitating for a moment before letting me go.

"Sorry, did I do something wrong?"

"No," I lie.

Is it a lie? Maybe partially.

But to who? Him, or myself?

"No," I repeat. "I just got light-headed. That punch was strong."

Relief replaces the worry on his face. "Maybe Albrechts are just light-weights."

"Oh, shut it, square."

-

"God, it's a wreck up here."

Meeks steps over a pile of cups, making sure to keep the mug in his hands stable. He places the drink down in front of me and slides into an adjacent chair.

We're both quiet. I can see the temptation to continue the conversation light behind his eyes, but he stops himself. The soft murmur of music and chatter followed us to the kitchen, serving more as white noise than anything else. It's tranquil; well, as tranquil as you can get at a high school house party. A whiff of the black coffee in front of me send a mild shock through my system and pulls me out of my drowsy state.

"Thanks," I finally say. I take a sip and grimace at the bitter taste.

He perks up, eyes widening slightly, and nods. "Have you seen Knox?"