"Annalise?" Laurel calls out, stumbling into the house. She'd had way too much champagne that day, the effects leaving her airy and bubbly in all the right ways, except for the relationship department. Her fight with Wes kept swirling around in her head, the word vomit that preceded the inevitable actual vomit was something her hazy mind wouldn't let her forget.
"Annalise?" She tries again, this time a little louder. Propping herself against the wall, her hair falls in a cascade around her face, as she takes a deep breath, the smell she inhales rolling her stomach, a scrunched face of disgust appearing.
"Laurel?" She hears from behind her, but it's not the woman for whom she'd been calling for. "What are you doing here?"
The familiar cadence of his voice rings out over her, and she turns to find the object of her mind's wallowing standing before her.
"Wes," she says with a sigh of relief. She walks over to him, choosing to ignore the distance they'd predicated themselves with earlier, and instead burying her head in his chest.
His arms take purchase around her, a habit that had formed quickly in the previous weeks.
She finds herself breathing him in, sobering her wobbly legs, and eradicating the smell that won't seem to leave, permeating the entire house.
"What's going on?" He asks, his hand drawing soothing circles on her back, the anger from earlier having dissipated, leaving him with only concern.
She blanches, her back heaving, before flinging herself away from him, escaping through the doors to empty her stomach in the grass. Wes, hot on her heels, following her down the porch steps.
Reaching for her hair, he kneels with her, as she heaves the contents of her stomach into the yard.
"Well someone had a good afternoon, huh?" He teases, and she groans, her hands finding solace in the cool blades of green spreading in between her individual fingers.
"No more alcohol," she reasons, as if he were the one that needed convincing.
"Good plan," he laughs.
The gentle pressure of his hand on the small of her back offering a sense of comfort she found she was becoming more and more accustomed to.
She flops down onto the pathway, a slight pout on her lips, as she wipes the residue of her sick with the back of her hand.
"I'm sorry," she says, her sincerity washing over him.
A dimpled grin meets her worried gaze.
"It's okay," he reasons, not wanting to fight any longer.
"No," she says, pawing at his chest. "No, I'm sorry. I just…I worry about you."
"I know," he nods, his brow furrowing with her admission. "It's nice," he shrugs. Elaborating upon her confused stare. "To have someone care that much. It's just…new."
She gives him a sad smile, and his hand reaches out to run his thumb along her cheekbone, and she finds herself leaning into him.
"We good?" He asks, and she nods into his hand, before placing a soft kiss on his wrist.
"Yeah," she whispers out.
"Okay, then lets get you home," he stands, grabbing her arms, and leveling her with him.
"But what about Annalise…?" She tries to argue, but he's already moving them along, out of sight of the house.
"She'll live," he argues.
She looks back at the house, missing the slight hiccup in the sidewalk and nearly tripping, before his arms come out to stabilize her, linking his arm with her own.
"You okay?" He worriedly checks over her, and she can't help the grin that escapes.
"What would I do without you?" She teases, burying her face in his steady arm.
"Hopefully, you don't have to find out," and although he's teasing her right back, that goofy grin plastered on his face, she can't help but agree with the statement with a slight nod into him.