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Desperate Prayers of a Cursed Man

On My Way to You exclusive, before the events of Chapters 41 and 42...

Delicate traces of passion hung in the air, with pilfered rosé and the intimate mix of Dior and some fifteen-dollar cologne you'd buy from a cute local shop. It's a strange scent, but not to the person whose giggles could be heard coming from an otherwise quiet bedroom, nor to the man next to him with his shushing and feigned disputes that were fooling nobody.

They were on the bed, wrapped in a tangle of bedsheets and each other until Emery decided it was a good idea to play keep away with a 300-dollar bottle of wine.

"Hand it over, Emery. I'm serious." Cameron's stern voice was kept to a whisper for God knows what reason. They were the only people in the room. "You've had enough and you're spilling everywhere! Look at–"

Little splashes of pink seeped into white bedsheets, a messy result of Emery's acrobatics as he tried to keep the wine glass from the bad man who was determined to take it away from him. He was drunk, and a drunk man is not to be messed with when he's giddily refilling his drink and going against everything that was being said to him by his concerned boyfriend. He ignored Cameron plainly, his shaky hands unable to keep the bottle steady over the glass. The wild clinking made Cameron wince as he braced for the sound shattering on the floor, but it never came.

This boy is about to give him a heart attack.

"You know Blake's gonna kill you when he sees that empty," Cameron said, lunging to Emery in hot pursuit of keeping that from happening, his fingers grazing the air where the bottle had been.

Emery's laughter bubbled, successfully evading every single attack thrown at him and even managing to steal a sip from his glass or two. Everything looked exquisite on him, even buffoonery, but no matter how good Emery looked drunk and flushed in Cameron's shirt, Cameron was still determined to put a stop to his descent into a painful hangover in the morning.

Emery shrugged, eyes rolling drunkenly before sticking his tongue out. Cameron always knew he had the heart of an iPhone emoji. "Well, I wasn't the one who stole it!"

Cameron slipped his hand underneath Emery's elbow. "You made me," he murmured.

"Not my fault you're hell-bent on impressing me, sweetheart," Emery said, shaking the liquid in the glass, his wrist twisting lazily as he pointed at the bottle's label with his pinky. Cameron's lips twitched. Emery always calls him that with such gentle affection when he's drunk. "Hey, hey, how do you read this?"

Cameron hummed, resting his chin on top of Emery's shoulder. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Emery stared at the French-made label one more time. "That's odd."

"It's French, Em."

Emery looked at him with a curious expression of a three-year-old. "Aren't you French?"

Okay. Cameron thought. He's definitely drunk. "No?" He pressed his hand on Emery's forehead, forcing him to look up. "Do I sound French to you right now?"

Emery's shoulders bobbed. "I dunno," he said, taking another sip, not noticing that Cameron's hand was slowly reaching the tip of his glass. "Whatever this is, it's making me feel things."

Cameron laughed, feeling the bedsheet grazing the inside of his thigh when Emery moved. "About me?"

Emery finally looked up to his own accord, and they shared a look, one that had grown familiar between the two these past few days. Cameron realized that he was now completely hovering over Emery after that endless wrestle for that rosé bottle, which was now conveniently laying forgotten on the foot of the bed. The rose itself sat calmly in the glass in Emery's hand, his face just as still with a look of anticipation as Cameron's breath tickled his nose.