If You Miss It

11. guilt

CHAPTER ELEVEN

GUILT

—

Dmitri's back ached.

It started from his neck, and travelled all the way down his spine, ending at only his waist. And when he pushed himself off the couch and his entire back let out a sickening crack, he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cry.

If this was even half the pain that Tariq dealt with, his heart went out to him.

Tariq. Fuck, what if he remembers?

That was for fully-awake Dmitri to deal with. Not for barely-functioning Dmitri to deal with.

Sometimes, those two Dmitri's were the same.

He glanced at his phone, squinting as he read his messages from last night, ones that he was too tired to check before he went to bed. As expected, he had a few drunk ones from Eden, pictures of her and Trinh throwing back shots together, her kissing Trinh's cheek, her flashing a thumbs up to the camera, captioning her picture with the words: I am druuuuunk.

Deciding to go check on Trinh and Eden first, Dmitri made his way up the stairs, ignoring the way his back ached with every other step as he knocked on the bedroom door. God, I should have just slept in the fucking bed.

After a whole thirty seconds of knocking with no response from either of them, he pushed the door open, only to find the two of them sprawled over each other, their bodies practically invisible under the blankets.

Fuck them for being this cute.

Then, he made his way down to the guest room, pausing behind the door for a few seconds, because he did not want to face Tariq after last night.

That is, if he could still remember. God knows, Dmitri didn't, and he wasn't even the one who had gotten drunk.

Hesitantly pushing the door open, Dmitri walked in, an involuntary smile spreading on his lips when he took one look at Tariq.

He was always the most chaotic sleeper.

Arms splayed out, legs taking up half the bed, face smashed into the pillow, and his shirt hanging off his frame as he slept- he was a fucking wreck.

"Tariq," he whispered, shaking his shoulder lightly. In an even more hushed tone, he repeated, "Tariq. Get the fuck up."

"What?" he grumbled, groaning under his breath as he switched his position, finally moving his face out of the pillow, crease lines covering his cheek.

Didn't expect him to reply. Fuck, I didn't plan ahead. "It's past eleven, do you wanna wake up? How's your head?"

Tariq just groaned, reaching out for something, swatting his hand around until he placed it right on Dmitri's cheek, humming softly when he felt it under his hand. Is he still drunk?

"Uh—" Dmitri began, praying, literally praying that his cheeks weren't heating up. "Your hand is on my cheek," he pointed out, reaching up to move it. Unfortunately— unfortunately?— Tariq was quicker to react, moving his hand down until he felt Dmitri's chest, laying his hand right on the spot where his shirt was unbuttoned. Fuck.

He didn't know what the fuck to do.

"Maybe I'll let you sleep for—" Dmitri began, but before he could even get a whole sentence out, Tariq interrupted him with a cough and a small—