To Steal A Kiss (ereri)

Chapter One

With a body sprawled out on the floor, a terrible case of bed head, and a killing hangover, my eyelids strived to open. Both my arms and legs were tangled in the thin college dorm sheets while my cheek laid pressed against the rug floor.

And there he was above me.

Levi Ackerman.

He loomed over me with disappointment covering his face. His hair flopped over his forehead as he leaned down to examine me. I had fallen out of bed again and I was greeted with his lovely resting bitch face again.

"Morning brat." His voice was always more hoarse after he woke up. "How'd you sleep?"

Letting out an agonizing groan, my body tossed and turned trying to figure a way to get out of this spider web of a blanket. While struggling, I had said, "I told you to stop calling me brat."

College has both it's ups and downs. Pros: partying, new friends, drinking, evening classes, dorms. Cons: school work, tuition, hangovers. Especially hangovers. And today was one of the those days where I wake up and not remember a single fucking thing about the night before.

It barely ever happens surprisingly though.

Levi and I sometimes go drinking, but I sometimes manage to become...a situation at times. A situation: Levi has to carry my intoxicated self back to our dorm room.

And like I said, I'm guessing—since blackouts are always a mystery—he brought me back last night.

"How can I not call you a brat? You're literally on the ground and still smell like alcohol." He ruffled my hair making it even feel more messier. 

His smile was everything—it's kinda like finding loose money in your laundry. It only happens rarely, but when it does, you're like, "oh shit, that honestly made my day."

Let's just say, I have had a little crush on him for a while. And when I mean a while, I mean like more than a year. So actually a big ass crush. Ever since junior year of high school. 

And guess what, we're in sophomore year of college.

If some people can't count; that's four years. Four fucking years of brotherly sleepovers, attempting to date girls, and nights drinking that I had to get through without telling him that I'm gay. I'm actually surprised and proud of myself for never accidentally outing my own sexuality to my friends while drunk.

It's a brainteaser honestly.

In my opinion currently, dealing with hangovers the next morning is better than coming out to my best friend and telling him I'm madly in love with him. 

But it's whatever (not really).

"Oh shut up. Don't gotta be a dick about it." My gaze was locked on his while my body finally got on its feet. Pushing off excess crumbs that were stuck onto my clothes from the night before, I let out a small laugh. He did too.

"You have class in about an hour and it's a quarter to nine. It's starts at ten, you know that right?" He said while picking up the sheets I had just carelessly spread across the floor. "Go shower and get dressed."

"I know. You're not my mom."

"We both know I'd make a great mom." He joked as he made both of our beds. He seemed overly focused on making sure there were barely any creases. Everything had to be perfect.

"House wife is the better term." I sneered before I grabbing a pair of clean boxers and towel from my very messy side of the room.

From the four years I've known him, I've come to the conclusion that he's definitely some type of clean freak. Not Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Just highly dislikes germs, I guess? It's not really a problem, but it's funny to watch when he has tantrums.