A/N: I think it's safe to say that the kiss in Cooler made me smile for days. And the almost-kiss in Parking Spot. And I just can't even handle them anymore and they need to get together and stay together. The end.

Anyway. I hope you enjoy this story.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

He really wasn't expecting her to come home as drunk as she was.

She goes out with Cece almost every weekend. Most of the time she comes home sober, if not slightly tipsy.

Not tonight. Tonight, she stumbled into the loft like a baby deer, blue eyes wide and confused, stiletto heels in hand. It genuinely startled him when she threw open the front door, and he whipped around from his place on the couch. "Jess?" he asked, concerned.

She didn't say anything. She stood in the doorway, just staring at him.

He was on his feet in seconds, rushing to her side. "Jess?" His voice was small, helpless.

"I… I think I'm… drunk," she stammered.

He curled one hand around her tiny wrist and placed his other on the small of her back, leading her toward the couch and kicking the door closed. "Yes, I can see that," he chuckled. He sat her down on the leather sofa and she immediately dropped her head onto the back of it. "Jess, you're… wasted."

"I'm not… that bad." She looked up at him. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Oh." She tossed her shoes onto the rug and curled her feet beneath her, lying down on the couch. "Where are Schminston and…" She paused. "No. That's not what I meant."

"You mean Schmidt and Winston?"

"Mm-hmm," she hummed.

"Winston is with Daisy. Schmidt is at an office party."

"Nick, I had a lot to drink," she said suddenly.

He sat down beside her, leaning forward to look at her face. Her eyes were closed, her bright red lips pursed. Her cheeks were slightly flushed. Even in this state, she was strikingly beautiful. "Yes, I can see that," he repeated. "Jess, why did you drink so much?"

She said nothing.

"Jessica?" he said, a little louder, briefly wondering if she had fallen asleep.

"What?" she droned.

He sighed, sliding off the couch and taking a seat on the ground so he was at eye-level with her. He considered attempting to be his grumpy, sarcastic self, but somehow he didn't think she'd catch on. "Jessica Day, you never drink this much," he pointed out. "Never. Every time you go out with Cece, it's usually her that gets shit-faced, not you." Jess still refused to open her eyes, but he knew she was still awake. He slid his hand over the leather to cover hers. It was soft, but cold. He squeezed it affectionately, something he knew he shouldn't do. Especially after… the incident. "Jess, please look at me."

Her eyelids fluttered open, and he was staring back into those lovely blue irises of hers. "What's going on?" he asked quietly. "Is it Sam?"

She cringed, but shook her head. "No."

"Are you lying?"

"No."

He believed her. She was an honest person.

"Then why are you so drunk?" he pressed.

"You."

"Me? I'm not drunk."

"No," she whimpered, closing her eyes again. "You."

He still didn't quite understand, and he opened his mouth to ask for elaboration but clamped it shut at the sudden realization. She was still upset with him for kissing her. Or maybe she was still upset for blurting out that he regretted kissing her. Or maybe she was still upset about the no-nail oath. Whatever the reason, it was his fault she was in this drunken state, and he felt terrible.

"I know," he whispered. "And I'm sorry."

Her eyes flew open. "You're right." She sat up suddenly and her eyes crossed. His hands shot out to steady her if need be but she swatted them away. She stood up from the couch and glared down at him until he stood, too. "You do know. You know damn well that I can't separate things. If it was complicated with Sa-a-am," she dragged out his name for whatever reason, "then what makes you think it won't be three times as complicated with you, Nick Miller?!"

Her face was bright red at this point. She was pissed.

"Jess, I said I was-"

"Sorry, yeah, I get it," she spat. "You're sorry. But clearly you don't know what you did to me."

That puzzled him. He had no idea what to say to that. Had he done to her what he'd done to himself? If that was the case, he was the world's most inconsiderate jackass.

Because if she was feeling the same way he was, she was awake all hours of the night, and she was beginning to notice the smallest details about him that she never would have noticed before they kissed. It was frustrating, and the fact that he couldn't kiss her again was even more aggravating.

"I can't separate things, Nick," she said in a softer tone. "And that only means one thing."

His breath caught as he realized when she meant by all this.

"Don't." He stepped back from her.

"I'm goooing to say it," she slurred. "I like you, Nicholas Miller. I like you, and it's your damn fault for making me realize it, by being suuuuch a gooood kisser."

"Jess, you're drunk, and–"

"Trust me, I'd be thinking the same thing if I was sober."

He stared at her and suddenly realized that she didn't look like she was lying. She smelled of alcohol but her eyes were still hers. She wasn't nervously playing with the ends of her hair like she did on the rare occasions she was attempting to lie.

"So are you not going to say it back because you're a coward-" She paused to giggle at the suddenly-hilarious word, "-or because you don't feel the same way?"

When he didn't answer her, she took a step toward him, only to stumble over her heels and shriek in fright. He jumped forward to catch her just in time, and he straightened her back up, looping an arm around her waist as she leaned into him, eyes already drifting shut. "Alright," he said. "Time to get you to bed."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Very original."

She burst into a fresh set of giggles and dragged her feet to her bedroom as she continued to cling to him. Nick's head was still spinning from her drunken confession but he tried to shake it off as he helped lay her into her bed. He never took his eyes off hers as he pulled the comforter up under her chin and gently tugged the bobby pins loose from her curls.

"Nick," she murmured. She was trying so hard to stay awake, but her fluttering eyelids were betraying her. "You never actually answered me." She pouted. "Do you, or do you not, feel the same way?"

He smiled sadly. "You're going to forget all of this in the morning." He reached over to turn off her bedside lamp. "Goodnight, Jess."

But she was already fast asleep.

"Nicholas, what in God's name do you think you're doing?"

Nick glanced up at Schmidt. "What?"

His roommate demonstrated a look of pure disgust and gestured to his plate. "You're eating… with your hands."

"It's a cinnamon roll, Schmidt."

Schmidt sighed, exasperated, and he reached behind him to open the drawer next to the stove. "How many times must I go over the silverware dynamic?" he snapped. He turned and peered into the drawer. "It goes tablespoons, serving spoons, butter knives–"

"I know the silverware dynamic."

"–forks," Schmidt went on.

"It's not like I was unable to locate the forks, Schmidt," Nick said in annoyance. "I just chose not to use one."

"You are despicable."

"Tell me something I don't know," he muttered, taking another bite of his breakfast.

"Speaking of despicable, where are our roommates?" Schmidt wondered.

"Winston must have stayed at Daisy's and Jess," Nick all but winced as he spoke her name, "is probably sleeping off a nasty hangover."

"It is pretty nasty," said a raspy voice behind him.

Nick whipped around to see her standing there, still dressed in that stunning, formfitting purple dress of hers. Her makeup was slightly smeared and she had a severe – yet adorable – case of bed head. Schmidt poured her a cup of coffee and handed her the mug, which she quietly thanked him for. "Jess," Schmidt chirped, "would you please recite the silverware dynamic for our irresponsible roommate here?"

"I know the silverware dynamic, Schmidt," Nick exclaimed.

"Then why don't you put it to good use?"

"It's a damn cinnamon roll, and… and I will not explain myself." He popped the rest of his cinnamon roll in his mouth and chewed smugly, staring his cocky roommate down the entire time. Schmidt eventually rolled his eyes and scoffed like and irritated teenager before sauntering off to his room and slamming the door behind him.

Jess sighed at the encounter between her two roommates and sipped at her coffee. She snuck a glance at Nick and quickly looked away when his eyes met hers. His lips twitched, amused, and he stood up to place his plate in the dishwasher. "How are you feeling?" he asked her in a light tone.

"I feel like I belong in the movie with Bradley Cooper," she replied faintly as she massaged her temples.

His heart sank. "Meaning what?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Meaning, I have a hangover." She gaped at him. "You've never seen it?!"

"Of course I have."

"Then what–"

"Do you remember any part of last night?"

Jessica's cheeks flamed and she averted his eyes, picking up a cinnamon roll from the pan and taking a large bite. After a moment, she shrugged her shoulders. "Not really," she said through a mouthful of breakfast.

"Are you lying?"

"No." She reached up and tugged on the ends of her hair.

Nick grinned triumphantly. "Yes, you are lying."

"I am not!"

"You're playing with your hair."

She looked taken aback by his observation. "Huh?"

"When you're lying, you play with your hair. It's your thing."

She sighed heavily but didn't answer him. She ripped a piece off her cinnamon roll and tossed it into her mouth absentmindedly. Her fingers curled around the handle of the coffee mug and she lifted it to her lips, which of course brought his undivided attention to the softness of her mouth.

"I do," he blurted.

She looked up, alarmed. "You do what?"

"I do," he repeated. He refused to spell it out for her.

She stared at him.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

His heart was pounding at this point and he took a tentative step toward her. She didn't reel backward, like he half-expected her to. She stayed where she was and allowed him to lean in, closer, and closer…

And suddenly, it was like a recap of their last kiss. He was pulling her close; she was winding her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair. It was straight out of both of their fantasies, which had been haunting each of them for weeks now.

Nick pulled back to kiss the tip of her nose before whispering, "You don't need to separate things anymore."