The boy was demonstrating how to form a vortex in a beer bottle as he downed its contents, but he wasn't successful every time. He kept chugging them and attempting to do better the next time, getting progressively drunker to a cheering crowd of onlookers.

"Callum, I'm going to take Quen back to his flat," I informed him. "Don't worry if you don't see him later."

"Oh, a home visit, ay?" he asked slyly, nudging me with his elbow.

"He threw up."

His mouth fell from its usual boisterous smile into a concerned frown. "Sheesh," Callum exclaimed. "He was so well-behaved in high school. I wonder what happened to him—"

"Focus, Cal," I shook him back to the present moment.

Callum was the third drunk man I'd had to deal with tonight, after Noah and Quen—who I'd left to wash up in the bathroom. My patience was running thin for the former two. For the latter one, I seemed to have endless patience. Damn.

"Can I have his address?"

"Yeah, sure."

Callum took my unlocked phone and entered the address into Google Maps.

"That's it. But both of his flatmates are here, by the way. Maybe you could check if one of them is sober enough to take him home. Look, there's one," Callum pointed, extending his finger towards the TV set and a familiar head of blond hair.

"His name's Noah."

I bit down a curse.

"Okay, I'll do that," I instantly lied.

There was no way I would approach Noah of my own volition, even if Quen would have wanted him near. Noah had been drinking too, and I was certain he'd be more of a hindrance than a help. "Thanks, Cal. Take care."

"No, you take care, little lady. Take care of Quentin, too," Callum patted my head. "He's my best-est-est-est buddy ever! Hear that, Quen?" he shouted to the ceiling, head tilted towards where the bathroom would be on the second floor. "We're close, but not that way—"

Pocketing my phone, I set about finding my friends. Viv had abdicated from her undefeated strip beer pong throne. Her shoes and socks were off, but she was still fully clothed. She was watching the current game with a cup in her hand and a man whispering into her ear, but she looked completely unaware of his presence, as if he were an insignificant mosquito.

I placed both hands on her shoulders and looked her squarely in the eyes. "Reactions between acyl chlorides and carboxylic acids form compounds in which functional group?"

"Acid anhydrides, duh," she rolled her eyes. "Now, shoo, you're blocking my view."

At the kitchen table, Riley was drinking from her last bottle of cider. She was chatting with Sophie and Zoe, who I knew only as a sophomore Halston student that was also from Carsonville. Riley spoke of her the way she would a little sister, because she'd been the only girl in their high school book club until Zoe joined.

"Major Major Major Major is a character from whose novel?" I asked her abruptly, needing no context for our oft-used sobriety test.

"Joseph Heller, easy," Riley answered. "Why are you asking? I don't look that out of it, do I?"

"No, you're fine. I'm just going to drop Quen home," I told her. "I should be back within an hour, but call me if you guys need anything."

Riley looked curious, much like Callum had, but she decided against asking. I must have looked too agitated for the possibility of a hookup so she simply said, "Okay, Kris. See you later."

"Quen, wake up. We're home."

Google Maps had taken me to a small, bricked apartment building. I really hoped Callum had given me accurate directions. Quen murmured softly in the passenger seat of my car, though he didn't lift his head. With luck, he would be alert enough to walk, because getting him down the stairs and into my car had nearly been impossible. He had taken most of his own weight, but his eyes wouldn't open so I'd had to guide him.

I reached an arm over to him and shook him. "Where are your keys?"

He was silent for many moments but eventually shifted his body slightly. He whispered through dry lips, "Pocket. Left."

My eyes wandered down his body, noting his cotton t-shirt and loose black jeans. His jacket was bundled behind his head to act as a temporary pillow. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I reached towards his pants.

I could feel the heat of his body through the fabric of his pocket, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand as I extracted his keys. There was a handful of them on the keyring, but I sorted through them until I found one with 3E engraved on the bow. That seemed the most likely one for an apartment door.

I slipped out of the car and around to the passenger door. First, I removed his jacket and tied the sleeves of it around my hips. Quen stirred again when I leaned over him to unbuckle the seat belt, but his eyes remained shut. Work with me here, Quen. Please.

Gritting my teeth, I took both his arms and pulled with all my might. His torso started falling out of the car, but he was awake enough to hold himself slightly upright. Not completely, because his head had ended up resting against my navel.

Eventually, I managed to get his arms around my shoulder and lifted him to his feet. Like before, he was taking his own weight, but he wouldn't move unless I pulled him. A wave of relief spilt down my back when the key I'd selected managed to open the main lobby door, which sprang locked again as soon as it closed behind us.

I searched the lobby for a set of steel doors until I realised—

"How is there no fucking elevator?" I cursed under my breath.

Granted, this place was only three stories high and clearly old, but come on. With no other option, we started up the main stairwell. Quickly, I realised I had trouble getting Quen to lift his feet. There was nothing I could do from beside him to indicate that he had to step up. I took five torturous steps holding this six-foot comatose man and then decided a change of tactics was necessary.

I found if I moved two steps in front of Quen, I could leverage his arms over my shoulders and use the upwards torque to encourage him to climb the stairs, rather than walking straight into them. We successfully cleared one and a half flights of stairs in that position, until his arms suddenly tugged out of my hands.

"Fucking hell—" I swore, almost certain that I would hear the crash of a falling body now that Quen was unsupported.

But then Quen's arms returned, winding slowly around my waist, holding me tightly in his warm embrace. I felt his head resting on the base of my neck, nuzzling softly into the bare skin there, just above the neckline of my shirt.

I paused for a moment, waiting to hear if he'd woken. The stairwell remained silent, save for my shaky sigh and Quen's deep, laboured breathing. He was still out of it.

I doused the hot desire that had pooled in my gut and kept putting one foot in front of the other. This position, while much more intimate, seemed to help Quen climb better, too. His grip was secure, and he followed my steps in perfect synchronicity. Once, he'd emitted a soft groan as we walked. His lips rested a hair's width from the skin of my neck, yet I'd felt the rumble of it as if he'd whispered it directly into my soul.

But he was drunk and unconscious. He didn't desire me the way I desired him.

Two steps up and I'm barely a head taller than him, I thought wryly as we finally reached the third-floor landing.

I found the door marked with a plaque that matched the number on Quen's key and opened it. Now that we were on level ground, the position we were in meant that Quen was leaning more and more heavily on me as I bowed forward. Although I was capable of holding some of his weight, my legs and spine were aching under the effort of doing so.

I barely noted the interior of Quen's flat as I unclasped his hands from my waist and pushed him to lie on the couch. "Fuck," I exhaled, stretching my back.

Quen was sleeping rather peacefully on the couch, but I didn't want him to wake with cramps all over his body. I wandered through the flat, which was sparsely decorated with sports and movie posters, until I found a bedroom with Quen's familiar gym bag on the floor and his laptop on the desk.

Taking the pillow and blanket from the bed, I returned to the living room. Quen's head was heavy as I lifted it with my left hand, sliding the pillow under it with my right. Before I covered him with the blanket, I wrenched his shoes off his feet. I didn't know much about what Quen's family was like, but in my family, we didn't wear outside shoes inside—much less to sleep.

Quen was so tranquil when he slept. Usually, his deep brown eyes were at the centre of my mind, but now that they were closed, I noted all the beautiful details about his face as I arranged the blanket over his body. The strong angle to his jaw, and the fullness to his lower lip.

"What am I going to do with you?" I murmured softly. No response.

This wasn't my first chaperone rodeo. Riley mostly—but the Jays and Viv occasionally—had all been put to bed by my hands after they all went too far on a night out, so I went about taking care of Quen the way I did for them.

I placed Quen's keys and a glass of water on the coffee table next to him. I found paracetamol in the bathroom cupboard for him, too. Over the back of the couch, I slung his jacket. There was a small wastepaper bin in Quen's room inside which I slipped a plastic bag, in case he woke up needing to throw up again.

Then there was nothing to busy my hands with, and I had to admit to myself that I didn't want to leave Quen at all. The least creepy, most polite thing to do would be to leave the apartment. He hadn't really invited me in; I'd offered to take him there seeing as he was barely able to keep his dinner down.

But now that he was safely sleeping... there was no need for me. I wasn't the girl that got to stick around till the daylight, who could have morning coffee and afternoon movie marathons with him. I was the girl that he only saw at nighttime, glamorous and perpetually smiling. I wasn't his.

Sitting on the edge of the sofa, I breathed to no-one, "I thought we had a deal."

I recalled the exchange we had while watching the strip beer pong game. Quen had seemed pretty serious when he agreed to stay sober with me. I knew one brief conversation wasn't a binding contract, but the soft understanding in his eyes seemed to say he wasn't merely joking. I wonder what had changed his mind.

A soft groan escaped his lips, almost like he wanted to speak. Then, moments later, he murmured something ever so softly, "Krista..."

I tensed beside him. "Hm?"

Was he just sleep-talking? Or had he woken up? His next words, lethargic and slurred, made me think it was a mix of both.

"Thanks for... those nice things you said about me." Quen was probably just about to fall asleep, and he was speaking whatever was on his mind. The last thing he said before his breathing deepened was, "But you are way out of my league," with a small, wry smile.

His eyebrows were pinched almost sadly, but then sleep claimed him and his features were calm once more. For a few moments, I could only stare at his face. Out of his league?

Crap. He must have heard the conversation between Noah and me.

I wanted to scream again, but that would disturb the beautiful stillness of Quen's apartment. Not only had Noah fucked up my night, but he'd also done the same to his friend—even if he didn't mean to. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to tell Quen to his face how much I appreciated and respected him.

Except, I couldn't bring it up tomorrow because there was no guarantee he would even remember enough of tonight for my words to make sense. And I couldn't wake him now to correct him. I mean, I could, but doing so would forever sit wrong with me. I'd read somewhere something that had stuck with me ever since: if you cared for someone, let them sleep.

With a soft sigh, I stood and brushed a strand of his inky black hair away from his forehead. "You are my league," I told Quen in a hushed whisper, before flicking the lights off and leaving his apartment.

I still couldn't figure out if I wanted him to hear me or not.

Do we have predictions for how the rest of the story is going to go? We have about twelve chapters left, and lots of things to get through! I think the premise of this story isn't that common, so it's completely fine if you're just along the for the ride.

Aimee x