You awake to the smell of cologne. Though undeniably familiar, your groggy mind can't link it to a face. Sunlight burns through your eyelids, too bright, too red, painful. You moan and roll onto your stomach, burying your face in the pillow. Groping the bed, you feel around for the edge of the comforter, trying to pull it over yourself. You feel terrible, horribly hung over and exhausted.
As you finally start to drift off again, a light tap sounds and a door opens.
"Uuuuuuung," you groan, pulling the pillow up over your ears.
"Sorry!" someone replies cheerfully. "Just thought you might like some tea."
"Makoto?" you ask, confused. What in the hell happened last night, you think to yourself.
"Yeah," he chuckles. Raising a hand to shield your eyes, you turn towards him.
The room is familiar, too—his guest room. You'd been over on many occasions before, for late study sessions or some one-on-one gaming. "What happened?" you inquire hesitantly. Judging by how you feel, you aren't sure you really want to know.
"Well, you got pretty drunk last night," he explains. "Haru and the rest had a ride, so we got a taxi, but you passed out. When we pulled out at my place I wasn't sure if you could make it home safe by yourself, so I carried you in and let you stay the night; well, it's six past noon now so I guess you've been here a little longer," he laughs again, sitting on the foot of bed. "It's ironic, since you're always telling the rest of us to be responsible."
Makoto grins smugly. You throw your pillow at him, and he bursts out laughing. He picks up the pillow and flops down next to you, swinging his arm over so it squishes into your face.
"MAKOTO, I'm so hung over, stop," you whine.
Playfully, he drapes his hand over your face and shooshes you. "Don't be so loud, it'll hurt your hangover."
"Shut up!"
Makoto chuckles, and pulls you towards him, fitting your head into the crook of his shoulder. "Relax," he chides gently, when you squirm in confusion. "Sorry I woke you up, ill help you get back to sleep," he smiles down at you, putting one of his muscular arms under your head, the other over your chest.
The smell of his cologne is stronger now, more intense than when it was merely a faint shadow left on the sheets. He holds you securely, and you feel something new—as if it's more than just the comforting embrace of a friend. You'd never thought of him as anything more in the past, but he was simply gorgeous—and sweet, and intelligent. In his arms, you feel almost complete, in an indescribable way. Perhaps you subconsciously did hope for something more.
Perhaps you were still a little drunk.
"You comfortable?" he asks.
"Mm," you reply groggily, leaning closer. His body is warm and cradling.
"Do you think you'll remember this tomorrow?" he asks sarcastically. "You still seem a bit tipsy."
"Ugh, probably not..." you mumble, pressing your fingers over your eyes.
"Well..." Makoto says quietly, hesitantly, "I've wanted to say this for a while, but it never seemed like a good idea to talk about it, since I didn't want to jeopardize what we have. But, I really like you, in a way that goes beyond friendship. When I'm with you, playing games or going out, I always feel really happy," he laughs lightly. "You're really special. Always know what to say. It seems a little safer to get that off my chest while you're half asleep." Makoto sighs happily.
Almost unconscious, it's difficult to entirely process what he's saying, or understand the weight of what his words mean. Without really thinking, you mumble into his shirt, "I like you, too," almost incoherently. You feel lips press gently against your forehead, evoking from you a small smile.
It's quiet now, the throbbing in your head has lessened, and you could stay, just like this, forever. And maybe, if that were the case, you wouldn't have to deal with the daunting aftermath of this conversation.