Cody knew he was too drunk, and he also knew why.

The first bottle of Champagne, well, that he could justify as being a good host, of wanting to offer Sky something nice. But the second one—

There was no other reason than his nervousness, his hope to prolong this night so that it would last forever, so that they would never stop talking, never stop laughing, so that when this moment came and she asked him to take off her clothes, he would be so drunk that he wouldn't care.

It hadn't worked out quite as he had hoped.

Instead of caring less, he now cared more. Instead of wanting less, he wanted more. Instead of thinking that this was just another night, just another girl, he knew this was the first time he felt like this, the first time it really mattered. He was lost, lost, lost, so utterly lost in everything that Sky was, and he knew it was pointless and it was hopeless and it was sad, but there was nothing he could do about it.

When his lips crashed to her mouth, her fingers brushed through his hair, he knew - even with the alcohol clouding his thoughts - there was only one way this could end.

That thought did nothing to stop him.

His hands were gentle when he opened the buttons of her shirt, untied that cute Ravenclaw tie, he tried to keep his fingers steady, but couldn't help the small tremble, the drunken clumsiness of his movements. She didn't seem to notice, maybe because she was at least as drunk, maybe more, which lead to the thought—

I shouldn't be doing this.

He knew he should stop, to tell her he really was too drunk, but—

But what if this is the only night? What if this is the only time I have her here, in my bed, what if this is the only time she'll want me?

So he let her rip off his shirt and open his belt, pull him onto the bed with her. He kissed her and her body was soft, her skin was hot, her scent of vanilla and roses and Champagne was in his veins, making him burn, making him hard in his pants, and it was like a dream, the best dream he had ever had, but the worst one too because he knew there would be a morning, the sun would rise in a couple of hours, he would wake up, and this would never, ever happen again.

Under the pale moonlight, he undressed her. They were both impatient, hands clumsily ripping off clothes, gripping the naked skin that was revealed. His lips found her neck and she moaned and sighed, her body squirmed under him. Gone was her skirt now, and his jeans. She had a tattoo on her left shoulder, a big phoenix bird, and when his lips devoured that painted skin, he felt a scar of some kind, a star-shaped hollow in her skin under her collarbone. His fingers on the back of her shoulder felt another scar, hard, rough skin that felt so different from the rest of her.

He brought his face up, met her eyes.

"What happened—?"

"Don't ask—" she breathed, and pressed his face against her neck again. And fair enough, she didn't want to talk about her past. He couldn't blame her, for he didn't want to talk about his past either. So he didn't ask more, he didn't speak, he just kissed her again, kissed her neck and her chest and her belly.

When his hand slipped into her panties, and her back arched as he found her clit, he already knew he wasn't going to fuck her tonight. His erection was stretching his underwear, pressing against Sky's hip, and he was so drunk, so high on her scent, her closeness, that he knew he'd fail miserably if he even tried to make love to her. He'd come after the first couple of strokes, and no, no, no, he couldn't do that to her, he wanted this to be good, so good that maybe, maybe, she wouldn't want to walk away from him in the morning after all.

"Cody—" she moaned with a strangled voice when he shoved down her cute little panties and began to caress her, his fingers sliding between those slick folds. "Cody, yes—!"

His name falling off her lips almost made him come.

Fucking Hell—!

His name, the only thing he owned. The only thing he'd had with him when he had moved into this house almost thirteen years ago, the only thing he would take with him when he left. His name - his pride, his pain, his future, his past - and she was moaning it as he pushed his fingers inside of her and made her come apart.

Her thighs trembled, her back arched off the bed and her burning walls gripped his fingers with a sweet pulse. Oh Hell, he almost followed her right there and then, her breathless cries were the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"Cody—" She sighed when it was over. Her voice was soft, drowsy, exhausted. "So good—"

He had no words.

The only thing he wanted to say - I love you, I love you, I love you - was on the tip of his tongue, wanting to break free, those words desperate to be said, to be yelled out into the world, and he had to clench his jaw and bury his face into her neck not to let them out.

It broke something in his chest. His heart ached, as he tried to kill the truth by silencing it.

She didn't notice his emotion, just turned to face him, her fingers threading through his hair as she kissed him. Their legs entwined, feet rubbed each other. She was still wearing the over-knee socks that had been a part of her costume, but his feet were bare, they felt big and clumsy against her smaller ones. Everything about her was tiny, delicate, she was like a doll in his arms, fragile, beautiful. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wanted to remember every detail of her face, of her body, and yet, he knew it wouldn't be enough.

After tonight, nothing would be enough. She was the drug and he was the addict, and the irony of that was a dagger through his chest.

"You're amazing," she sighed, breaking the kiss, and those simple words broke his sadness and brought a brief smile to his lips. Maybe it wasn't what he really wanted to hear, what he needed to hear, but it was something, it was a start, perhaps.

He could only whine, when she brought a hand down between their bodies, and slid her fingers into his underwear. Why did he feel like he was 15 again, being touched by a girl for the first time? So desperate, so fucking needy, his heart in his throat. Everything was so hot between them, her breasts were brushing his chest, their bellies were almost touching and with every shaky inhale her scent filled his nostrils, filled his heart, filled his chest with stupid, stupid hope.

"You want me to call your name?" She asked, and he couldn't believe that she remembered, that she had figured out that was what he liked, that was what would get him off. Her fingers curled around his dick, blowing his mind and he could only whisper Yes, yes, yes, as he pushed down his underwear and kicked them off.

"Cody—" she sighed, her lips touching his, and her hand was small and warm, her grip firm but gentle. A shiver ran through his spine, his breathing was so fast and shallow that his head was spinning, or maybe he was just that drunk, or maybe it was her, the way she took his breath away even without trying.

"Please—" he moaned, "Please—"

But he didn't know what he was asking. It wasn't just Please, say my name. It was also: Please, love me. Please, see me as I am. Please, hold me, for this night at least, if not more. Please, be mine the way I am already yours, even if you'll never know it.

"Cody Bishop," his name was a silent whisper that fell off her lips onto his. Her small hand was bringing him closer to the edge, his hips bucked up to meet her touch better, and he wanted this to never end, he wanted this to last forever, but the pleasure was too much and he was too drunk and too much in love with her to fight the nearing climax.

"Ohmygod, yes—" he moaned, as the pleasure engulfed him. His whole body tensed, shivered, then melted into the sweet release. He came hard, her fingers milked him dry, drawing every last drop of cum from his throbbing dick as he held her close with trembling arms.

His cum glued their bellies together, hot and wet on his skin. They held each other, legs tangled, arms wrapped around each other, breathing in each other's breath, and he was choking on the words that wanted to break free, and again he swallowed them down, even if they felt like burning coals in his throat.

Instead, he said: "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" She mumbled, already relaxed and drowsy, sleep in her voice.

"You would have deserved more than this."

She didn't answer, just wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and he was in Heaven because the way she held him said I'm good, I'm happy, I'm satisfied, even if she didn't say that in words.

"Let me get a towel and clean you up," he said, but she did nothing to let him go. Her breathing was turning soft, as if she was drifting to sleep, and oh, how much he wanted just to stay here, just like this, holding her in his arms throughout the night as if this wasn't just a dream but reality, as if he had every right to hold her when she slept. But the cum was getting sticky and gross on his skin - and hers - so finally he gently unwrapped her arms from around his neck, and stood up on his shaky legs.

"Cody—" she whined and tried to pull him back.

His heart was breaking.

"I'll be right back," he said and pulled a sheet over her so that she wouldn't be cold.

In the bathroom, he cleaned himself, then washed his burning face with ice-cold water to get a grip on reality again.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror - there was a wide-eyed boy looking back at him. Hazel eyes, dark hair, big ears. Was it a beautiful face? Sky had said it was. He washed his hands, washed off Sky's scent and it felt like a small death. Would it ever be on his hands again? Would he ever get to touch her like this after tonight? His reflection was serious, his lips were swollen from the kisses and from the punches he had received in the fight that now felt like it had happened a thousand years ago.

He was less drunk than before, his mind felt clearer and with that clarity, came again the depressing truth of his situation.

A sigh left his lips as he took a small towel from a drawer, soaked it in hot water, and then wrung it out.

He was in love with her.

He wasn't quite sure when it had happened, but it had been somewhere between the night he had stayed awake watching her sleep and the moment she had sat in front of him with her enormous milkshake and he had told her things about himself that he had never told anyone before.

He was in love with her, and it was killing him. And the longer he kept it a secret, the harder it became to tell.

He should have told her days ago.

He should have said something that day in the library when he had apologized to her and tried to ask her out, or then, later, when they'd gone to have the milkshakes, or one of the times he had sought her out in school during the past week and had talked to her about anything and everything except for the one thing he should have talked about. And he definitely should have told her tonight, when she walked to him in that kitchen, in her Ravenclaw costume blowing his brains out of his skull and his heart through his breastbone. And he should have said something when she asked him to kiss her, and no doubt he should have said it when she wanted him to fuck her against the wall in that dark room where the bass beat resonated from the walls and he knelt on the floor, burying his face between her legs so that he wouldn't have to speak.

Now— he had pushed it on for too long.

I love you.

It should have been the easiest thing in the world to say because it was also the most beautiful thing in the world to say. But he had never said it to anyone, he had never felt like this before, and he was scared. As soon as he told her, she would go. And surely, it was better to be used by her than to be nothing to her.

The towel had turned cold in his grip, so he soaked it again in hot water, wrung it out again.

If he told her, he could lose her. But if he didn't, he would lose himself.

She wanted to be Kitty, but he knew he couldn't be Levin for her. To him, she was Anna and he was Vronsky, she was Catherine and he was Heatchliff, she was Scarlett and he was Rhett and there was only one way that kind of love could end, only one fucking way, but still he couldn't help but to hope, that—

What if?

What if there is a way? What if she could love me back?

He would never find out if he didn't tell her.

Now.

Tonight.

No more hesitation.

Drawing in a nervous, trembling breath, he walked back into his bedroom, holding the warm towel in his hands. Sky lay on the bed on her side, eyes closed. The light that entered the room through the bathroom door he had left open, painted her sweet face and the cloud of red hair on the white sheets around her.

He sat down on the bed, gently pulled off the sheet that covered her from the waist down, and she sighed in half-sleep as he wiped the cum off her belly and her hands with the towel. His hand was trembling, there was something in his throat and he tried to swallow it down, but it wouldn't move.

"Are you awake?" he asked, clearing his throat. He kept gripping the towel in his fingers.

"Yeah—" she mumbled and rolled closer to him.

"I wanted to tell you something... Sky, I think—" and he stopped, annoyed at himself because he didn't think this was happening, he knew it was happening, and that difference was sharp in his chest.

"I— I am in love with you," he forced the words out, his voice breaking mid-sentence. "I love you."

Sky sighed and shifted, he wasn't sure if she had heard him.

He laid a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. "Sky, did you hear what I said? I said— I said that I love you."

Her eyes were still closed, but she smiled, and oh, oh, how that smile turned something in his chest. It was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen, it filled him with hope, that maybe, maybe, maybe he had been wrong before, maybe she did feel the same for him, and maybe there was hope, maybe he was worthy of being loved after all—

"I know," she muttered.

He couldn't help a soft laugh. "You know?"

A smile lingered on her sleepy, drunken face as she sighed: "Yeah. I love you too, Eli."

___________________________________________________________________________

👀🙈

❤️😭💔

😬