A/N: I've fiddled with the ages a bit, so Kate's in her early 20s and Rick's in his late 20's. Hope you guys enjoy! Prompt at the end.
Sitting at the bar, his fingers curl around a glass of whiskey, a flick of his wrist swishing the liquid around before he downs it in one shot. He motions to the bartender once he comes back around, asks for another, and lets his elbows rest on the surface of the counter while he waits.
The music is blaring, strobe lights reflecting off of the floor and the glistening skin of the dance floor inhabitants, and he sighs. Despite what might be public opinion, clubs aren't his thing. Most of the party goers are in their early twenties or rich underage teenagers with impeccable fake IDs. Truthfully, he's only here for research. Writing a seedy club scene without actually going to a seedy club would be easy enough, but if nothing else he prides himself on his authenticity.
Besides, he gets to knock back a few and he's likely to witness at least one fight while he's here. Drinks and a show.
The bartender comes back with his whiskey, sliding it over hastily as he tries to move onto the next customer, an obviously drunk college aged girl with blonde hair and eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes. He doesn't pay much attention, can only make out the mumbled request for a gin and tonic before he tunes it out. This much about clubs he remembers well, back from when he was a college kid, partaking in similar shenanigans he's seeing tonight.
He swivels on the bar stool, turning his gaze to the crowd. He came to observe, so he might as well do that. The howling of everyone singing along to each track is almost deafening, and those who aren't singing are grinding onto the person nearest to them. As his eyes scan the room, they trail over the booths, each of them filled with a group of young adults, ranging from sober and mildly tipsy to full on wasted.
Except one. No, one booth only has one occupant, her slim body oriented towards the side of the booth, head lolled against the cushion and hair in her face.
The corners of his mouth lift in amusement thinking about how this is probably one of those moments she'll remember—or forget, more likely—in a few years and laugh about. Or regret. Either way, it'll make for a story.
His smile wavers when he sees another guy slide into the booth beside her. It's her boyfriend, he assumes, so he tampers down the immediate reaction that hits him, the urge to go over there and intervene.
No, Rick, stay put.
The slimy grin the guy shoots to a couple of buddies huddled a few feet away has him questioning whether or not he really is the boyfriend. If he is, he can tell by that look alone that what he plans on doing is not okay. Probably not legal, either. But still he waits it out, hoping he's wrong, hoping even more that she's not truly alone in that booth and her party of girl friends are about to clamber back any second, save her from that grease ball.
A few minutes go by and no friends arrive, and he's already inching forward off of the stool, fingers clenched tightly around the edges. He tells himself that it's not his place to interfere, but when the guy slides his hand along the woman's thigh, fingers disappearing beneath the hem of her dress and traveling higher, he's out of his seat in an instant.
"Hey," he calls out as he steps forward, reaching the booth. He chances a glance back at the woman, whose hair has shifted, revealing some partial facial features, and he realizes that she still hasn't moved despite the hands on her skin. It makes him uncomfortable, and more than a little worried for this stranger, but he keeps his poker face in tact. "Hands off."
The guy sizes him up, then scoffs. "Find your own, buddy," he spits out, turning back to the unconscious individual next to him, eyes traveling up the length of her body. "This one's mine."
His skin crawls.
"She's not yours," he challenges, taking another step. "And I said take your hands off of her."
"I know her, it's fine," the man waves off.
"What's her name?"
There's a slight pause. "Erica. And we were about to leave, so you can piss off."
He doesn't know whether or not that's actually true, but given that he even had to think about his response he's going to go with no.
So he shakes his head. "Wrong answer," he tells him. He moves in then, grabbing at the man by the shoulder and tugging him away from the woman. He normally wouldn't get physical, but there's no way in hell he's letting him leave with her.
"Watch it," the guy barks as he's dragged from the booth. He gets up in his face, but Rick stands his ground, doesn't budge. He's the bigger of the two anyway. "You the boyfriend or somethin'?"
"Or somethin'," he replies seriously, not breaking eye contact. "Now go. I don't want to see you around her again."
The guy turns his head, takes a long look at the woman and then brings his gaze back. "Fine. But do a round on that one for me, will ya?" There's a lewd smirk on his face, brows waggling as he smacks Rick on the shoulder in some weird show of masculinity before he finally leaves, convalescing with his boys in the corner once more.
Rick sighs, waiting until the guy is out of sight to turn back to the woman. She's painfully still, though her head has moved, rolled to the other side. So at least he knows she's alive. He slides into the spot previously occupied by slime ball number one. It's obvious that she has no friends here, none that care anyway, because she's been alone for as long as he's noticed her and no one's come over.
He wonders if she came with anyone to begin with or if she's on her own, if she's come to the club to drown away some sorrows or merely forget. He's been there, done that.
Wisps of hair remain covering her face, lifting with each shallow breath she takes, and he carefully pushes them away, tucks them behind her ear so they don't get caught in her mouth.
Looking around once more for her non-existent friends, he wonders what to do. He can't, and won't, just leave her here.
Gently, he shakes her shoulder. When he gets no response he tries again, shaking a bit more forcefully but still gentle. There's a small grumble and his lips quirk at the sound.
"Hey," he says, continuing the motions until her head moves, rolling against the booth. Her hair falls away and he can see her face now, all sharp lines covered in impeccable makeup and incredible bone structure. She's gorgeous, there's no doubt about it. Stunning even. "Hey, can you hear me?"
There's another grumble, and he tries the other shoulder now.
"Hey—" He really wishes he knew her name, had something to rouse her with other than hey. Her eyelids twitch, and he encourages her. "Come on, open your eyes for me, yeah?"
It's a few more minutes before there's more than unimpressed noises coming from her throat, but her eyes finally flutter open slowly, still hooded but it's clear that she's at least trying to pay attention now.
He smiles. "That's better," he tells her. "Can you tell me your name?"
She licks her lips, eyes falling closed once more. "Kate," she mumbles, slurred and quiet, but he gets it.
It looks like she's trying to return back to the land of the living, and so he waits her out, just sits beside her. Five minutes later, they open once more and she tries to sit up, but her center of gravity is completely off.
"Are you okay?" he asks, hands on her shoulder to keep her upright.
Her hand comes to run down her face, fingers landing on her forehead. "M'fine." When she looks at him again, her eyes are squinted and hazy. "Who're you?"
"My name's Rick," he introduces himself, hand out. She doesn't take it, just gives him a small, clumsy nod. "Are you here alone?"
She looks around, lips pursed and brows furrowed. A few seconds later she shrugs, the motion uncoordinated but utterly adorable.
"Mmm, maybe? I'dunno."
He sighs as she leans back, shoulders slumped against the vinyl backing. Kate here, while able to give a few fairly coherent words here and there, is very out of it.
"Is there anyone I can call for you?"
She gives an exaggerated, aggressive head shake. "No."
She starts to doze off again, and he leans in, one hand falling to her knee. "Hey, hey," he says, waiting for her eyes to open. "Let's stay awake, okay?"
"M'tired," she mumbles.
"Kate, do you have your wallet?" That gets her eyes to open, an accusatory glare fixed on him despite her drunk state, and if he didn't think she'd actually puncture him with one of her heels right now he'd probably laugh. "ID," he explains. "For your address. I'll take you home."
She exhales as if he's just asked her to do something painstakingly strenuous and starts shuffling around messily in the purse she'd been clutching to her side. Seconds later, she pulls out a phone and holds it up triumphantly.
He blinks. "Your ID? License?" he repeats. She nods. "That's a phone." She looks genuinely confused, blinking as she glances from him and back to the phone, but she says nothing. Just looks at him as if she has it right, as if she's holding the license he'd asked for. He chuckles then, shaking his head. "Okay, okay, guess not."
Rick thinks it over for a few minutes. No friends, no license to be seen. He's sure it's somewhere on her person, but he doesn't plan to search.
"Okay, let's get you out of here," he decides, moving to stand from the booth. There's a mumble from her, but not much protest as he keeps one arm wrapped around her elbow. He doesn't let himself think about how easy it would've been for the other guy to get her out of here earlier in her current state. "Can you stand?"
She nods distantly, but when he pulls her up into a standing position she wobbles, teetering to her right before he tugs her back into his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. This is definitely not how he saw his night panning out, but he'd never be able to concentrate on writing if he left her here alone. All he'd be doing was wondering what happened to her, if she got home okay, if she was going to be the next in a line of sad statistics in the city.
Once they're out on the street, the cold air rouses his companion. "What'reyoudoing," she slurs, craning her neck unnecessarily in an attempt to look up at him. "Who're you?"
He laughs at her genuinely confused expression. "I'm Rick," he re-introduces himself. "We're getting you out of here."
She takes a deep breath and sighs it out, her heels almost getting stuck in a crack in the pavement when she tries to move. He catches her before she can stumble and land on harsh concrete, and then waves for a cab.
When he looks back over, she's blinking at him, alcohol still clouding her eyes, and she licks her lips. "Mmm," she murmurs. "You're cute."
Her eyelids are already falling shut before he can even react, but he manages to suppress his laughter—not the grin, though—as he maneuvers her pliable body into the backseat of the taxi.
Getting her out of the car is nothing compared to trying to guide her through the lobby and into the elevator. Eddy, the front desk manager, gives him a nod when he passes and he returns it while trying to keep Kate steady.
Just as they're about to reach the elevator she stops in her tracks, hunches over, and he's afraid she's about to throw up. His hands fumble, fingers trying to wrap around her hair so she doesn't throw up in it, but then he realizes that she's not sick—she's stumbling as she tries to kick off her heels. After a few painful seconds, she finally rids her feet of her shoes and stands up straighter, listing into his side.
"Ahh."
He chuckles. "Better?" She hums, head rolling against his shoulder in an uncoordinated nod. "Okay, let's go, huh?"
She abandons her heels so he bends down and plucks them off the floor, dangling them from the fingers of the hand not currently supporting her body.
The ride up is smooth, and he's almost convinced she's fallen asleep on his shoulder until he hears a small laugh. When he turns, she's grinning up at him, an unsteady hand pointing at their reflection in the elevator door.
"S'funny," she mumbles around another laugh. "Look at our faces." Her mouth opens as she makes a face, eyes squinted and lips pursed into a duck face, and she cracks herself up. It's too adorable.
When the doors open, he bounds his arm tighter around her body and leads her to his doorway. Gathering his keys from his back pocket is a hassle in this position but he manages, and then they're inside, her heels deposited by the front door closet.
"Alright, Kate, let's get you to bed," he tells her, and she drags her body.
Her head shakes, a whine escaping. "M'not tired."
Her earlier admission and her closed eyes contradict that very statement, and so he continues to slowly make his way towards his bedroom. He'd bring her to the guest room, but she's in no state to walk up by herself and though she looks as though she weighs practically nothing, he doesn't want to risk dropping her if he carries her up the stairs.
"Uh huh," he humors her. "And you can be not tired in bed, how's that?" She makes a noncommittal noise but lets him bring her along, so he takes it as an agreement. Once in his room, he sits her down on the edge of his bed. "Stay here for a second, okay?" He gets no response other than a sloppy wave of the hand, so he moves around his room to gather a few things.
He goes back to her with a pair of sweatpants that have always been too small on him and a tshirt that's bound to be huge on her, but it'll do. Her dress is clinging to her body, but it's probably covered in alcohol and whatever else it's collected from the booths of that club, and he doesn't want to make her sleep in that filth.
"Do you think you can get yourself changed?"
One eye peeks open. She takes a deep, steadying breath. "Yes," she says with a decisive nod. Her hands reach out for the clothes, about three inches too low considering where he's holding them out, and he barely holds in the chuckle.
"Okay." He hands her the pile and points back out into the office. "I'll be in there. Yell if you need help?"
She's barely paying attention, already working at the zipper of her dress, tongue pulled between her teeth in concentration. It's as if he's not even there as she starts shrugging off the shoulders, and he takes that as his cue to turn and leave, to give her the privacy she'd likely be asking for if she wasn't drunk.
It's ten minutes later when he knocks on the door to his room, peeking inside after he gets no answer. He shakes his head and a small smile forms on his lips at the sight in front of him, of Kate lying on the edge of his bed, arms crossed over her abdomen as she sleeps. Her dress is tossed on the floor and she's managed to get the sweatpants on, but she's only in her bra, the shirt still gripped loosely in her fingers and not on her body.
At least she got the pants on, he muses.
He walks up quietly, extricating the fabric from her grasp as gently as he can so as not to wake her. For a few seconds he just watches the rise and fall of her chest, counting the spaces between her breaths to make sure she's actually asleep, and then he tries to maneuver one hand beneath her neck and use the other to tug the shirt over her head. Her arms prove a bit more difficult when she tries to grab onto him in the process, but he manages to get the shirt on without too much trouble.
Leaving her there for a second, he wanders around to the other side of the bed and pulls down the covers, fluffs up the pillow. He goes back to her then, standing for a second before he decides how to go about this.
He could roll her over, but that seems unnecessary and she's more likely to wake up. Besides, she's not a rug.
He wraps one hand around her back, the other beneath the back of her knees, and tugs her into his chest just long enough for him to make his way back to the side of the bed he's undone for her. With her this close, he can detect a scent of something other than the alcohol and exertion from the club. It's fruity, light, something that reminds him of summer and dessert. Strawberries? No, not quite. Cherries. She smells deliciously like cherries, and he stands there for a few seconds too long with her in his arms, just breathing it in.
Realizing this is likely creepy, he blows out a breath before lowering her gently into the vacant space on his bed, bringing the blankets up around her shoulders to tuck her in.
It's then that what he's doing really sinks in.
Tucking some drunk woman into his bed, someone he's known for an hour and a half tops, who most likely wouldn't even remember his name if she woke up right now. He shakes his head with a small laugh. Stranger things have happened, he supposes.
After placing a glass of cold water and some Advil on the bedside table, he turns out the light and makes his way out.
She wakes to a light streaming in through a window and a pounding in her head. Her eyes peel open only to slam shut again, her palms coming up to cover them as her thumbs rub at her temples.
Her hands fall to her chest, and it's the lack of clingy material adorning her skin that has her pausing, heart jumping into her throat. She manages to open her eyes slowly and bring her gaze down to the t-shirt that she's wearing, the one that's most definitely not her own. Holding the blankets away from her body, she looks down, noticing the too-big sweatpants that she's wearing. Also not hers.
This is—she looks around, taking note of the lion painting on the wall, the unfamiliar but sinfully soft sheets, and the bookcases that serve as a makeshift wall—not her bedroom.
This is not her bedroom. Shit, this is not her bedroom.
Where is she? Whose clothes is she wearing? Her heart races, a million questions and concerns surfacing.
Okay, Kate, think.
The last thing she remembers is being in the club, having a few drinks and dancing with—Madison. She groans, face buried in her hands. Maddie had dragged her out under the guise of a "girls night" and then ran off to dance with some guy, tossing a, "you're fine here by yourself, right, Becks?" over her shoulder, gone before she could even reply. She was a few drinks in by then, and she assumes her friend went home with whoever that was.
Given that she's in a strange bed, wearing what appears to be men's clothing, apparently she'd gone home with someone too. She wishes she could say this was the first time this has happened, but it's not.
Maybe he's already gone, though, maybe she can avoid this awkward morning after scene.
She shoves the comforter to the side, trying to ignore how utterly comfortable this king size bed is, and swings her legs over the side. Her eyes catch sight of a glass of water and a bottle of pain killers and she smiles despite herself, reaching for the bottle to twist the cap off. At least this guy she slept with is sweet, she figures. After downing the pills she stands, doing a sweep of the room.
It's nice, really nice, and it has a cozy feel to it.
She spots her dress on a nearby chair, folded neatly on the leather. Tucking it beneath her arm, she tiptoes out of the bedroom and finds herself in some kind of office, but she doesn't take the time to investigate further. She needs to get out, get home, and forget this happened.
Any hope of escaping unnoticed is dashed when she stumbles through the living room and is met with a man in the kitchen, apron around his waist and spatula in hand. She stands, unmoving as she stares at him. She does so long enough for him to register her presence and he turns, breaking out into a small smile when he looks at her.
"Morning," he says, quietly. "How's your head?"
She blinks. "It's uh—it's alright. Thanks." Shifting on the balls of her feet, she runs a hand through her hair. "I'll just..."
"Oh, no, stay for breakfast," he encourages, motioning to the small island in front of him. "I made pancakes, waffles, and there's some fruit too. It's always my go-to hangover food." She says nothing, unsure of what to say. "Ah, you don't remember anything, do you?"
Her face twists into a grimace. "No," she admits with a small shake of her head.
"That's okay," he chuckles. "You were pretty out of it by the time we got back here." Of that she has no doubt. So he just... what, took that as a sign to go ahead? He must register the confusion on her face, because he continues. "You were passed out in a booth at the club," he explains, and she exhales. "Some guy was... getting handsy and trying to leave with you, so I told him to get lost."
She nods slowly. "So I... left with you instead?"
He gives half a nod, but then shakes his head. "Yes. Well, no. Technically," he manages, and she finds it oddly endearing. "We didn't do anything."
Her eyes widen. "We didn't..."
"No," he shakes his head. "You were drunk, I wouldn't do that. I waited around with you, but no one came back to the booth so I assumed your friends weren't there anymore, and when I tried to ask for your address to take you home you showed me your phone instead of your ID." She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, cheeks flushing a little with embarrassment. "I couldn't just leave you there, so I brought you here."
Oh, wow, okay. This is not what she had been expecting.
"Oh, I, uh—" She pauses, wetting her lips. "Thank you for that."
He waves her off. "Don't worry about it, I'd do it again," he says easily, and she finds herself believing him. "So, were you there alone, or..."
Shaking her head, she huffs out a sigh. "Uh, no," she tells him. "I was with my friend, but she left me somewhere around drink number four."
"Some friend," he mumbles, then turns back to her. "Sorry, I shouldn't judge." Even though he wants to, and is.
"It's fine." She twists her mouth to the side. "That's just... Maddie." He nods in understanding, and she looks down, a small chuckle escaping her lips around her next question. "And, uh, your clothes?"
"You dressed yourself," he assures her. "Well, mostly. You put the sweatpants on and then fell asleep, so I had to put the shirt on."
Blowing out a breath, she huffs. "Never a dull moment." She shakes her head, moving closer to the island when he nods to the stool. "Well, guess I should at least introduce myself then. I'm Kate."
"I know."
"Ah. And I assume I knew your name last night, huh?"
"For a few minutes, probably," he teases, reaching out a hand. She takes it. "Rick."
He smiles at her while he shakes her hand, his grip on her a little tighter and a little longer than probably necessary, and she takes the time to notice his eyes then. Bright blue, sparkling in this early morning light, crinkles around the corners. The stubble on his face is visible in the shadows, too, and she wants to run her fingers along it.
"So, now that we've formally introduced ourselves," he begins, finally releasing her hand and turning back to the stove. "Breakfast?" When she opens her mouth in protest, because she really shouldn't stay here longer than she has to, he holds up a hand. "I cannot, in good conscience, let you leave without feeding you. Gotta absorb up that alcohol, you know."
She laughs. "Really, you've already done more than enough."
"There's coffee in the deal," he bargains, gesturing wildly to the massive espresso machine to his right, and she can feel a small smile forming even as she tries to bite the inside of her cheek. "Ha! Knew it, you're a coffee girl."
She rolls her eyes. "You did not."
Taking a seat, she notes the smile tugging at his lips. If she's being honest with herself, she doesn't want to leave anyway. She may not have meant to end up here, in the loft of this sweet man who took care of her when he could've easily taken advantage, but she's suddenly glad she did.
She wanted to strangle Maddie for running off, for leaving her at the club alone and drunk, but now she just might thank her.
"Did so. Guessed it last night." She doesn't ask why, just lets him pour her a cup and tells him how she takes it. "Here you go."
She curls her fingers around the mug. "Thanks," she murmurs around the rim. "Delicious."
"Glad you think so," he grins. "Now, pancakes or waffles?"
Nose scrunched up in thought, she takes a minute before giving a decisive nod. "Waffles, please."
"Coming right up. Coffee or dinner?"
She blinks. "What?"
"For our date in the near future," he clarifies, and her mouth falls open. "Coffee or dinner?"
"That's a bit presumptuous of you, don't you think?"
Rick shrugs. "Well, I've already had you in my bed."
His eyes widen immediately, and it's almost as if he didn't mean to say that out loud. He looks like he's horrified he's offended her, like he's said the wrong thing, and a loud laugh flows from her mouth despite the still dull pounding of her head.
"You do have a point there," she concedes with a small smirk, watching as he lets out a relieved breath.
"Is that a yes?"
Stabbing her fork into the waffle he's placed in front of her, she hums. "I don't know," she says around the first bite. "Ask me once I've finished my coffee."
She knows it's a yes, and the look of subtle joy in his eyes tells her he knows it's a yes too.
Prompt: "A twenty something Rick is out with his friends when he notices a girl (Kate) passed out on one of the seats. He friend (Maddie) has ditched her to dance with another guys he notices a guy sit down next to her and starts touching her legs Rick goes over and tells him to stop and then takes care of her. (No Alexis or divorces)"