Julia One Shots/Drabbles

When you woke up, there was a moment when you didn’t remember where you were. You weren’t in your room - the bed linens were different than your own - and something was weighing down the left side of your body. You felt something soft brush against your cheek, and the mystery was solved when turned your head to see bright orange curls of hair. So you were in Julia’s room, and the weight was Julia herself. She was tucked into your side, pressed as close to you as she could be without actually being on top of you. Your left arm was snaked underneath and around her, the telltale tingling sensation letting you know that the two of you had been laying like this quite a while, long enough for your arm to fall asleep. You couldn’t see her face from this angle, but her soft snores let you know she had yet to wake up. Memories of the night before came flooding back. Broken glass, stumbling steps, slurred words. Her confession. You wondered if she would remember any of it. Or if she meant it. Your stomach pinched unpleasantly. It had seemed so genuine, so undeniable in the heat of the moment, but the light of morning brought cold clarity. She had been drunk. Very drunk. You couldn’t help but wonder if any of it meant anything at all.

You suddenly felt the need to leave. She couldn’t wake up to the two of you like this. It was too intimate. Besides, she had only asked you to stay a little while, not the entire night. You carefully untangled yourself from her, a task made difficult by how closely she held you. Like a child clutching their teddy bear to keep the nightmares at bay. You managed without waking her, nonetheless. You rose from the bed and tip toed towards the door, wincing at the bite of the cold floor on your bare feet. Your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, turning slowly.

“Where are you going?”

Her voice was deeper than usual, rough and gravelly from sleep. It went straight to your stomach, loosening the pinch of anxiety. You released the doorknob and turned to face her. Her hair was a mess, the normally carefully stylized curls ruffled, and her makeup was slightly smudged. She had sat up in the bed and was staring at you drowsily, but there was an intensity behind her gaze you didn’t fail to notice.

“I…” You trailed off. You didn’t know where you were going. Just away from here, from her, but you couldn’t tell her that. She’d get the wrong impression. She’d be hurt, think it was something to do with her. Which, in all honesty, it was, but it wasn’t her fault.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” You asked instead.

“Not all of it,” She drew a breath before her next words, “but I do remember the important parts.”

You nodded and looked at the ground, waiting for her to say what you’d been dreading. That none of it was true. That people say crazy things when they’re drunk, and intoxication and loneliness don’t make for a good combination. Looking at the polished wood floor, you wished you could just melt onto it, because a puddle doesn’t have a heart to break.

You heard the bed creak, and then footsteps padding across the floor. You still didn’t look up, even when she was right in front of you.

“I don’t know what all I said last night,” she began softly.

Here it comes, you thought.

“But I do know… I meant every word.”

You whipped your head to look up at her. There was vulnerability in her eyes, something you didn’t often see. This was a huge risk for her. You had to show her she wouldn’t regret it.

You took a step closer. “Even the part about…wanting me to lean in?”

“Especially that part.” She whispered.

So you did lean in, slowly, and when you couldn’t stand to wait another second, you kissed her. Everything you had wanted to say the night before was put into that kiss, and when you pulled away, you knew when you looked in her eyes. She understood.