Dick Scrunchie
fuck, mat, i’m sorry
you were right, i was totally up in my own shit the other day and shouldn’t have made it your problem
mat, please say something
mat?
god, mat, please. even if you just tell me to fuck off again, at least say it so i know you got these messages
You missed a call from Dick Scrunchie
mat! you’re killing me
You missed a call from Dick Scrunchie
katie says you left your phone on the couch and i’m glad that means you’re not ignoring me, but since you only leave it behind when you don’t want to look at it that means you’re not ok actually. i don’t know if i want it not to be my fault, or want it to be my fault because maybe you feel as shit as i do
You missed a call from Dick Scrunchie
i had to try. i wanted to hear your voice
this party is the worst. i know you aren’t going to get any of these until morning, but i’m going to keep messaging anyway at least until i’m too drunk to type anymore
i’m sorry. i know i said that alreayd, but i don’t think can say it enough
your not a disease. an i dont want to lose you. but i’ll underatansd if you don’t wantto see me again
am so fcked up
rum and baileys is bad combonetion and imma regret it
miss you
I shoved the phone into my pocket, unable to keep from smiling. He hadn’t gone out with me but he had come back and vomited with me and, idiot that I was, that felt good.
“Come on, let’s go,” I said, returning to the bathroom to help him up. “Terrible shower awaits.”
He managed a weak laugh, and let me lead him out into the narrow hallway and along to his own apartment. Having dug the key out of his pocket and wrestled with the lock, I nudged the door open with my foot and flipped the light switch. Miles grimaced as it illuminated a mess. His perfectly tidy apartment had disappeared beneath what looked like a clothing bomb. Dozens of different fancy shirts had been thrown over the back of the couch, while pants and belts and even hats lay scattered around like he’d thrown them in frustration.
“Oh,” he said, taking it all in.
“Couldn’t decide what to wear?” I asked as I kicked the door closed behind us.
“Looking hot all the time is hard, okay?”
I’d gone ahead to turn on the bathroom light, but looked back at that – back at this tall, gracefully muscled man whose jawline alone would have brought Renaissance sculptors to tears, and whose apologetic smile had a soft, beautiful curve.
“Miles, you are effortlessly gorgeous,” I said. “You’re drunk as fuck and just spent ten minutes vomiting and you still take my breath away.”
His smile dropped like I’d cut the floor from beneath him, leaving him staring at me unblinking. Despite the haziness of his gaze, it owned the intensity of a pair of hands squeezing my ribcage, until I could no longer bear it and had to look away.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you in the shower.”
While I turned it on, he managed to take off his shirt, but the effort of navigating the rest seemed too much for him. I knelt to help. Shoes, socks, belt – he was aware enough of what I was doing to lift his feet for me, but otherwise stared at nothing. Even when I pushed his pants and boxers down over his hips, thumbs brushing soft, inviting skin, he hardly seemed to notice. In the circumstances, the sight of his soft cock was more intimate than arousing, yet when I got to my feet, I found him watching me, a hint of heat in those dark eyes.
“Go on,” I said, pushing him gently into the shower.
