Author's Note

I couldn't help myself. I needed more drunk Jack.

Enjoy!

21 Credits

Chapter 10

or

"Drunk Actions are Sober Thoughts"

Jack stumbles back into his house and Scotsman looks at him in total confusion. Jack looks like he's been hit by a bus. Or maybe the alcohol is finally catching up to him. His eyes are unfocused, practically crossed, and his hair looks like he's recently excused himself from a tornado.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Jack's slurring so bad that it's hard to understand him at first. "I dunno... Ashi..." His eyes suddenly light up as if a crucial detail has just befallen him. "Ashi! She went home. She left. And I can't walk her home." He looks to his best friend with a pout. "Can you walk her home?"

"I'll walk her home!" one of his other roommate chimes in. "Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and get the same treatment you did, am I right?"

Scotsman watches his friend's back straighten up and his eyes narrow. He almost looks sober again. He definitely looks serious as fuck.

"You touch her. You die."

Wow.

His roommate holds his hands up in surrender. "Easy, man. It was just a joke."

"I should hope so." Then, it seems, that Jack runs out of steam and slumps forward again.

"Don't worry, lad," Scotsman assures him. "I'll catch up to her, make sure she gets home safe."

"Thank you, friend." Jack's bowing to him and Scotsman rolls his eyes but cracks a smile anyway. "I'm g'nna go to bed."

"Good call. See ya in the morning." Jack nods and makes his way to the stairs. Scotsman wasn't gonna mention this but it's too hilarious to let slide. "By the way, laddie?" Jack turns to him.

"Red lipstick's a good look for you."

It was worth it. Jack looks like he's been stuck by lightning and turns to run up the stairs. He nearly trips over his own feet in his haste and Scotsman cackles as he hears his friend's ungraceful stomps to his room.

Jack wakes up in a daze and—oh, come on—he's almost completely naked. His clothes are messily draped over his chair by his desk and he's only wearing his boxer briefs and one of his socks.

He lifts his head to check the time. It's barely six o'clock in the morning. He looks down and sees a streak of lipstick on his pillow. He kissed Ashi last night.

He's too hungover to determine if he should feel happy or miserable so he decides to feel neither as his head slams down and goes back to sleep.

It's now nine o'clock in the morning and Jack has now been out of bed for about an hour. He's sitting on his couch eating toast and drinking water and while his body is starting to feel better, his head is a total mess.

It all started when he'd finally gotten out of bed and stared at his reflection in dumb shock at the lipstick smeared on his mouth. He'd scrubbed it off frantically. He'd done it. He'd really done it. He kissed her last night and because this has never happened to him before, he's not sure what to address first.

He opened his phone to play some music while he showered and saw a text from Scotsman. Sent at 2:47 am.

On my way back. Ashi's home.

So, at least that was something he didn't have to worry about. At least she'd gotten home safe. He made a mental note to buy Scotsman a coffee, or maybe lunch, to pay him back for the favor. But not beer. No more beer.

He wondered how Ashi was feeling. Probably angry. His guess was as good as anyone else's but it was pretty safe to assume that she had defaulted to her favorite emotion.

If only he could erase the last thirty minutes of last night, he could count it as a success. Ashi showed up. She met his roommates and they seemed to like her. She played games with him and she was laughing. Everything was going great until they ended up arguing and furiously making out in an alleyway.

Now he's sitting on his couch, nibbling on toast, wondering what his mother would think of this. This was certainly no way to court a lady. But could he truly blame himself? She's so smart and clever and she looked so pretty last night and yes, yes, he's sure his mother would have some harsh words for him.

So what was he going to do now? Even though he feels record-breaking levels of embarrassment, he can't bring himself to regret what happened. And the more he thinks about it, surprisingly, the better he feels. Because even though kissing her like that was not ideal, it happened. He kissed her and she kissed him back.

He realizes... this might actually be a good thing. He's obviously attracted to her and she must be attracted to him at least a little bit, right? It's the second time she's kissed him. Granted, she's never been in her right mind when it happens but it has to count for something. Right? Even though she's always making fun of him and calling him a nerd, she tolerates him enough to let him text her nonsense or study with her or chat with her over coffee. She has to like him at least a little bit, right?

Right?

Twenty-two minutes later and he's made up his mind. He's going to do it. He's going to talk to her and he's going to ask her out.

The only thing he needs to figure out is how.

Listen, Ashi. I know things got out of our control last night. And while I apologize for my behavior, I do not regret what happened.

Even his slightly still hungover state recognizes that that's laying it on a little thick. He deletes it and types a new message.

There is something there between us and I would like to know more.

He's not happy with that one either. It sounds like too much of a demand.

Will you go out with me?

This one... could work. But he's still not 100% convinced that it will work. He can't tell if it sounds... whiny. Or like he's begging. He feels like she wouldn't appreciate begging.

He knows he's overthinking this. But it is absolutely necessary that he does because he imagines that she might be having similar conversations in her own mind. About what they should do about the other. If he gets this right, he can find out, once and for all. But if he get's it wrong...

He hits send.

The events of the final minutes of her night were fuzzy at best. She remembers seeing Scotsman on her way back to her dorm. She doesn't remember what they talked about but she remembers laughing a lot. She might have asked him if she could get a ride on his back. She might have whined that Jack would have done it for her. And she might have told him to fuck off about her smeared lipstick because this is how the kids wear it these days and he knows nothing of fashion.

Of course, none of these things she can be sure of because, for the second time in a stupidly short amount of time, she's waking up and cursing the sun and her splitting brow. At least she'd locked her door this time?

Goddamnit.

It's nearly ten o'clock and she doesn't even bother to check her phone because if anyone wants to bother her today they'd better take a fucking number. She hasn't even peeled the covers off of her body before she's completely resigned herself to laying in bed all day and watching movies on her laptop.

What would have happened if she had checked her phone and saw an unread message from Jack sent thirty-six minutes ago, no one will ever know because she didn't.

It's been. Eight. Hours.

Nothing.

No message back. No emoji. Not even a 'message read' confirmation.

There's a number of things that could explain this. She lost her phone. She turned off her phone. She's not paying attention to her phone. She's avoiding her phone. She's avoiding him.

After eight hours he's sure it's the latter.

Normally, he'd feel dismayed. Like he'd blown the whole thing and there was no recovery. That this was the end of the road and he'd never see her again. He should feel sad.

But he doesn't. He's irritated. Because eight full hours (well, okay, six; he did take a two-hour nap in between) of radio silence has given him enough time to convince himself that there really was something between them. He'd listened to her stories, about how she avoided hanging out with other people and making friends, but she'd come to a party, where she felt the most uncomfortable, because he had invited her. She wouldn't have come on her own. She came to see him.

She kissed him the night they met. And he wasn't alone in that kiss they shared last night.

Asking the question didn't work. Being passive about this isn't going to make anything happen. So he decides to try a different approach.

It's 5:08 pm when he sends the message.

Let's get dinner. Tonight.

It's 5:11 pm when she messages back.

Where?

His heart is in his throat. He's going to melt.

Author's Note

You did it, Jack! You got a date! Try not to think about how awkward you're gonna be!

Nah, he'll be fine. You'll see.

Until next time! :D