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Daryan wakes up to a splitting hangover. It’s not the worst she’s ever had, but it’s up there.
Fine. Okay. So maybe she had one beer too many. Whatthefuckever. She’s not even going to pretend to swear off drinking this time, because it’s not like it ever sticks. That’s what painkillers are for.
There’s music playing somewhere, too loud for her poor aching brain. Daryan rolls over to swat at what’s probably her alarm clock –
Or at least, she tries, because Klavier’s snuggled up against her, arm thrown over Daryan’s waist and face buried in her neck, and Daryan can’t move without forcibly dislodging her.
Her memories are pretty hazy, but –
Okay, okay, ja, you’re pretty too, Daryan.
Oh no.
Klavier shifts as Daryan moves, nuzzling into her neck and murmuring something soft and sweet and thoroughly unintelligible.
Oh, Schatz. Let’s get you home and get you some water, ja?
Oh no.
Daryan’s in a loose t-shirt and shorts that she definitely didn’t wear to the party yesterday. She has no idea when – or how – that happened. Did she – did Klavier –
The music sounds familiar. Bad familiar, like it should not be playing right now.
Okay. Okay, this is – fine. Whatever she said, it can’t have been that stupid, because Klavier’s still here, cuddled up against her like –
Like –
Is she wearing Daryan’s clothes? Daryan’s head hurts so much her vision’s kind of fuzzy, but she’s pretty sure Klavier doesn’t own any Shipshape Aquarium t-shirts.
…that’s the But I’m A Cheerleader DVD menu music.
Klavier’s not even supposed to know Daryan owns that, or any of the rest of the movies that she only likes because TV about guys is boring, how did –
Kiss me too?
We’ll see.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck.
Daryan’s stomach lurches – horror or just another fun hangover side effect, she’s not sure which. Did she –
Did she say –
Does she –
She shoves Klavier’s arm off and bolts for the bathroom on unsteady legs, head and heart pounding.
When she staggers out twenty minutes later, hair and teeth brushed and face washed even though it didn’t make her feel any better, she kind of hopes Klavier will be gone, or at least still asleep. How the fuck is Daryan supposed to explain? Look, I was drunk, I didn’t mean –
Didn’t mean what? What did she even say?
Klavier’s sitting on the bed, Shipshape t-shirt stretching distractingly over those perfect boobs, smiling like she didn’t spend the night cuddling (just cuddling?) the only girl in school she doesn’t want to make out with. And there’s a pile of DVDs on the floor, like someone drunkenly went through them, and oh god no Daryan definitely didn’t want to dump all of those on the floor in front of Klavier.
Daryan’s heart skips a beat and her head aches so much she can barely see, and even a hand on the wall isn’t enough to steady her.
“Ach.” Klavier puts a supportive arm around Daryan’s back as she stumbles. Daryan gets a horrifying flashback of wrapping around Klavier like a drunk octopus, in front of a lot of people. “Did we learn a little something about our alcohol tolerance last night?”
“Fuck off,” Daryan says, or tries. It comes out weak and wobbly through the panicked mental barrage of what did I say and what did we do. Klavier just laughs.
A glass of water and a few painkillers knock the edge off the hangover (and bring back another regrettably vivid memory of draping herself all over Klavier’s lap while Klavier tried to coax her to drink some water). Daryan huddles in one of the kitchen chairs with her head on her arms, thanking any god that happens to be listening that her parents are still out of town and trying frantically to remember what she only thought and what she actually said.
I want to kiss you so bad.
Please, god, let that part have been an inside thought. Klavier doesn’t want to kiss her, anyway, because god knows she’s found an excuse to make out with every other girl in school and if she wanted to kiss Daryan she would have done it, and anyway she has a boyfriend. Kind of. Are they still dating? Daryan’s not sure, but the point is, Klavier doesn’t want to kiss her.
And Daryan doesn’t like girls. She doesn’t. She just…
…Just wants to kiss Klavier, and has a shelf full of lesbian movies she apparently showed Klavier in way too much detail, and said god knows what last night while she was drunk…
And…
And Klavier’s not helping, fussing with the toaster and the coffeemaker and flitting around in not enough clothes like her best friend isn’t over here having a fucking sexuality crisis. And a hangover.
Daryan’s trying really hard not to think about Klavier’s tits in her old t-shirt when Klavier sets a plate of toast and another glass of water in front of her. “Eat something, Schatz, it’ll help.”
It’s the Schatz that tips it over the edge. Daryan swallows and says, “So, uh, about…last night…”
“Ach, right, I forgot.”
And before Daryan can ask forgot what, Klavier leans down and plants a fucking kiss on her cheek.
Daryan squawks in surprise and almost knocks her plate off the table. “Gavin, what the –”
“Did you not remember?” Klavier beams at her, too sweet and too fucking knowing. “You asked me for one of those. Several times, actually.”
“I – what?” Daryan flounders, horror and dread going to war with that’s not the kind of kiss I asked for and you know it.
“Ja, you did.” Klavier fucking laughs at her, and an awful pit opens up in Daryan’s heart. “You also said, and I quote, ‘whatever you say, gorgeous,’ so be a good girl and eat your breakfast for me.”
Fuck.
Just –
Fuck.
It’s fine. It’s fine.
Daryan stares miserably at her toast, vision blurring again. Stupid fucking hangover. “All right, all right, I get it. I know. I’m the only girl in the entire fucking school you don’t want to make out with. Whatever. You don’t have to fucking rub it in.”
She doesn’t realize she said it out loud until Klavier says softly, “Oh, Daryan, that’s not –” and pulls her into a hug.
Fuck.
“I didn’t mean it –” Daryan fumbles over headache-clumsy words. She can’t fuck this up. Klavier’s hugging her and it feels really nice, better than cuddling this morning, and Klavier’s not wearing a bra and stop it Daryan you can’t fuck this up. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean – I was drunk and I’m hungover and I know it was – I know you don’t – I didn’t mean –”
“Shh.” Klavier tips Daryan’s chin up with one hand, and Daryan shuts up like she just lost her voice. “I was only teasing, ja?”
Daryan wants to look away, but she can’t with her face cupped in Klavier’s hand, and she doesn’t want to jerk away from that. “I don’t care.” She does care, oh god does she.
“Mhm.” Klavier strokes Daryan’s jaw gently with her thumb. It’s soft and sweet and Daryan’s heart breaks a little more. “Do you want me to like you that way?”
Oh, fuck.
“I don’t – I don’t know.” To her own horror, Daryan sniffles. “Maybe. Kind of.” Her vision’s still kind of blurry but Klavier’s right there, sleep-tangled golden hair and ocean-blue eyes and soft lips and she’s so, so fucking pretty and –
Daryan sniffles again and whispers, “Yeah, I think so,” and wishes it didn’t sound quite so fucking pitiful.
Klavier smiles, blindingly pretty, and brushes Daryan’s hair back behind her ear. “Oh, Schatz, that’s all you ever had to say.”
And before Daryan’s hungover heartbroken stupid brain has time to process that, they’re kissing.
It’s perfect. It’s so good. It’s soft and sweet and deep and fucking perfect, and the hangover doesn’t even matter anymore, and Klavier’s so good at kissing, and she’s so beautiful and her hand’s in Daryan’s hair and –
Yeah. Okay.
Daryan’s absolutely sure she wants Klavier to like her that way.
