Imagine Julia drunkenly confessing her feelings for you
You walked into the sitting room to find Julia sprawled out on the couch like a cat. Her shoes had been kicked haphazardly on the floor, and in her hand was a nearly empty glass of whiskey. At the sound of the doors closing behind you, her eyes drifted up to meet yours.
“Hey, you.” She slurred.
“You sound drunk.” You said, a trace of humor evident in your voice. She snorted.
“Oh honey, when am I not drunk?” She downed the last of her glass and made to stand up. The effort was a little clumsy, and when she did make it to a stand she swayed a little. She stared at the ground for a moment, lips pursed in concentration as she regained her sense of balance, then reached for the bottle to pour another glass. You grabbed it before she could close her fingers around it.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You said. “You can barely stand as it is.”
“But,” She pointed a finger at you. “I can still stand. Therefore, I need more.” She reached for the bottle but you kept it out of her reach. Annoyed, she reached again, this time stumbling forward and falling into you. You were forced several steps backwards, but somehow managed to stay standing and keep a grip on the bottle. However Julia, her senses dulled by the alcohol, lost her grip on the glass in her hand. It fell to the ground, shattering on impact.
“Oops.” She said flatly.
“Jesus, Julia. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
She didn’t protest as you wrapped an arm around her, maneuvering her around the mess and out of the room.
She was leaning on you heavily, and you half expected the both of you to tumble to the ground in the middle of the hallway, but you made it to her room without incident. Once there, you carefully sat her down on the bed.
“I know you like your liquor, Julia, but I think you may have taken it just a little too far tonight.” You said. You noticed some stray hairs around her face and tucked them back into place.
“You care too much.”
You smiled and shook your head. “I’m gonna go get you some water.” You turned to walk out.
“I can tell you like me, you know.” She said. You turned back towards her. She had leaned back on the bed, propping herself on her elbows, and had that look on her face. Analytical, somehow knowing and curious at the same time, with just a touch of smugness. She often made that face when she was psychoanalyzing someone. Even drunk, she knew her work.
“Its easy to see the signs,” She went on, “If you know what you’re looking for. There’s the obvious things, the goofy grins, the blushing, the surplus of compliments.” She sighed, looking at the ceiling. “But then there's… well, there’s the less obvious things.” She let her gaze drop back to you. “The things you kinda have to look for.” Suddenly she stood up, and for a second you were worried she’d fall over. She took a step towards you. “The way you lean in when I talk.” Another step. “The way you always look at me when you laugh in a room full of people.” Another step. “Not a lot of people actually know that one, that you look at the person you most like when you laugh.” She was right in front of you now, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on her breath. She reached out a hand to stroke your hair, twirling a single strand around her fingers. “Of course, it could just be me.”
“What do you mean?” You asked. Of course, she had been right. You had been harboring feelings for her for awhile now, almost since you met her. And you had prepared yourself that she would find out, how could she not in her line of work? But was this… doubt?
“Well I could just be making up what I want to see. Maybe you’re not actually doing any of those things.” She let the strand of hair fall through her fingers. “Maybe I just really, really want you to lean in” She whispered. She looked into your eyes, then at your lips. You saw her own lips twitch. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”
You weren’t sure what to say. Your mind was reeling. She knew you liked her, except… She didn’t? She thought she was confusing her own feelings with yours. Of course there was always the chance that this meant nothing. That this was simply the ramblings of a drunk woman, but you doubted it.
You smoothed your hands over her shoulders. You wanted so terribly to kiss her, to tell her it was alright, that you were glad she told you and that you did like her and how overjoyed you were that she felt the same. But you couldn’t. Not right now, not like this, when she probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow.
“I think we should continue this in the morning.” You finally said. She nodded, and you guided her back to the bed. Right when you turned to leave, she grabbed your hand.
“Wait. Could you just… Stay? For a little while?”
You nodded. “Of course.” You laid down on the bed next to her and she cuddled into you. You gently pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she murmured something you couldn’t hear. You closed your eyes, stroking her hair, hopeful for what the morning would bring.