Delirium

He shouldn't be here.

I'm surprised that, in the middle of another lonely night, I've bumped into a familiar broad chest. I'm surprised to suddenly be held against said chest in a crushing embrace. I'm not at all surprised to be greeted by empty blue eyes, glazed with depression and drunkenness.

I squirm my way out of the tight embrace and sigh, moving aside to allow him into my room. He makes his way to my bed and, with a little difficulty to keep his balance on the way down, sits on the edge of it. I close my bedroom door and sit beside him, eyeing him as though I don't quite trust him. In all honesty, I don't. I've never seen him like this, dangerously intoxicated and full of confused emotions. He smiles lazily at me and I can't even force myself to smile back. I know that, sometimes, his smiles are a little forced but this one is a lie that doesn't not suit him well. I know he doesn't want to smile, but he knows a smile is what I usually expect from him and so he puts one on.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face," I say quietly, turning my head away from him. I don't want to see him smile like that. I don't want to see him right now.

He shouldn't be here.

"I thought you liked my stupid grin," he mumbles. I can hear confusion in his slurred words where taunting would usually lace his voice.

"Not right now, I don't."

"Ok."

I sigh and turn to face him. My heart skips a beat and my breath catches in my throat as I'm met with those empty eyes again. He leans in close and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me, though I'm surprised when he rests his head against my shoulder and whimpers. "I'm sorry."

I look away and close my eyes, trying to tame the sudden storm of emotions building up inside so my words don't come out sounding harsh. "You didn't do anything."

"I'm sorry anyway." He mumbles, pushing his face against my neck and breathing heavy, hot breaths against my skin.

I shudder and attempt to shove him away, not needing this kind of emotional torment at the moment. I'm hardly shocked to find his arms wrapping around me and holding on. "You're an idiot."

"I know."

He shouldn't be here.

It's a slow reaction but it was one that was bound to happen, I wrap my arms around him and shift against his body until we're a tangled mess on the bed. Laying under him now, I put a hand on the back of his head and close my eyes, swallowing a lump in my throat. This is all it takes. This is all I want. So why do I push it away? I don't enjoy torturing him and I don't enjoy torturing myself, so why do I do this? Perhaps it's a guilty conscience that keeps me from comforting him with the words he wants to hear and I long to say.

"How much have you had to drink?" I ask and find my voice cracking suddenly. A part of me wishes I was lost in the delirium of alcohol instead of in the turmoil of emotion.

"Dunno. Lost count," he tells me and leans up, canting his head to the side. "Is that bad?"

I close my eyes. I can't look at him, not when he's like this. I don't answer him, either. I suddenly lost my voice and the deepest part of me hopes I can't find it again until he's gone.

He shouldn't be here.

His lips to mine make me whimper and I hate the way my body wants to hold onto his. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and hold my breath until the kiss is broken. Even when he's not kissing me, his lips are brushing against mine. Swallowing a sudden lump in my throat, I turn my head to the side and he ducks his head to rest against my shoulder.

"Sorry for that too."

A little piece of my heart breaks. "Don't apologize for that, you don't have to."

He shrugs awkwardly as he lays atop me. "Okie dokie."

"You're such an idiot!" I hiss and he leans up again, this time sitting himself up. He furrows his brow and I know he's trying to figure out what he's done wrong because he knows I won't tell him. He's been trying to figure out what he's done wrong for months now, too bad he doesn't realize that he's not that one at fault. The confused expression vanishes and he sighs heavily, suddenly slumping as he rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his palms.

"Fuck," he mutters. The sudden anger in his voice makes my blood run cold. "Fuck!"

I sit up and place a hand on one of his shoulders, resting my head against the other. I'm sorry sounds like the easiest thing to say, but it's not even worth uttering. Those two little words could never be enough, not now. So I keep them to myself and huddle against his body instead. A sudden quiet, strangled sound of frustration escapes him and I feel his body jerk ever so slightly.

"Fuck..." He whimpers and I hold him tighter than before, tighter than ever before.

He shouldn't be here.

"Stop that," I tell him quietly, barely above a whisper.

"Can't help it."

"Alright."

"I'm so pathetic. So fucking pathetic."

I hate hearing him swear like that. It doesn't suit him, really. "No, you're not."

He turns his head against mine and I frown when I see the tears rolling down his cheeks. Naturally, I wipe the tears from his face and he stops crying all together. He brushes my hands away from his face and in turn cups my cheek with one of his. "I'm not?" There's a small flicker of hope in his eyes and I can tell he wants to smile, a real smile.

"You're not." I tell him, glancing down at the small space between us. He places a kiss on my forehead.

"I love you, babe."

I look at him in shock for a moment, as though it were the first time he's said those words to me.

He shouldn't be here.

"I know." I tell him, forcing myself to keep my eyes on him even though it causes another piece of my heart to break when he smiles. I marvel at how he manages a real smile through his drunken stupor.

"You love me?" He questions, hope very evident in his eyes. I look away.

"That's a stupid question." He knows the answer. His smile turns into a knowing smirk.

For Christ's sake, he shouldn't be here.

-End