I love love love your blog! Almost as much as Saeran ;) Could we get #5 for the 'I Love You' prompt? <3
5. Over a beer bottle
A/N: Quickie because I’m sneaking out a small break from studying :3 (save me pls I’m drowning under all these readings)
He peers over the rim of his near empty beer bottle, and it dangles loosely from his grasp. He’s seated across you, weight leaning on his elbows that are rested on the table. His eyes are half-closed, consciousness clouded by the alcohol, and his cheeks flushed a deep pink that can almost compare with his red hair.
You sigh, taking a swig from your own bottle. You seriously contemplate smacking Zen upside the head the next time you see him for introducing Saeran to beer in the first place. Now it’s all Saeran does when he’s upset, when he gets into an argument with his brother, or even when he’s simply bored and has nothing to do. Today is one of those days when he just doesn’t want to stay home for some reason, and so he called you earlier to invite you out for a drink.
Knowing how Saeran isn’t exactly the best drunk, you dropped everything to go to him, despite how busy you were. Admittedly, it was also because you like spending time with him. But as far as feelings go, you’re just attracted to him. That’s all there is to it… you think.
And Saeran is always just… Saeran. Blank. Stoic. Never showing you more than a couple glimpses into his thoughts or emotions. He just seemed to tolerate your presence at the start. Even now, you suppose the only reason he asks you out occasionally is because he’s gotten quite used to being around you. You’re not sure that he actually likes you being around him though, so you never initiate things too much, and neither does he because Saeran isn’t exactly the poster boy for taking initiative in social situations.
“I want more…” he mutters then, causing you to raise a brow and snap out of your own thoughts. He leans back on the sofa, movements sluggish as he slams his now empty bottle onto the table with a loud clunk.
And that makes it the sixth bottle he’s had for the night.
“We’re done here,” you say, standing up a little too fast. You’re just slightly unsteady on your feet, a little more tipsy than you intended to be. But you easily regain your balance, and step over to tug on his sleeve. “Let’s go.”
“Nooooo, not done, I want moreeee,” he slurs, unfocused eyes taking a couple seconds to narrow into a glare at your figure. It’s a little comical how his pupils start drifting away, as if the room is spinning around him and you’re not standing in one spot.
Your observation proves true when he clutches his head with a grimace, face scrunching up. “Stop moving,” he groans, pointing a middle finger that’s directed at apparently, nothing. “Stop spinning like that, you fucker!”
You lower your head slightly under the gazes from patrons nearby. Yep, you made the right decision coming here.