Author's Note: Okay guys. I'm really busy with moving, and my writing time has been a lot less than what I'd like. So, I went ahead and chopped up this update into two parts. This time, you're getting what happens to Izzy and Amy when they go home from the party. Next time, you'll be getting Sorato and a very pissed off Tai. Don't you worry, you'll still be getting all the promised content :) This way, you get some of it faster, instead of waiting a potentially long time for me to finish it all and post it at once. I figured that was better? I didn't want you guys to forget about my story from lack of updates, lol!
A note on rating. This chapter is pushing the envelope of T/M, but people who want to stay out of M territory should still be okay. However! This chapter hints at very dark themes, so please be warned of that.
Halloween: Aftermath, Pt 1
Amy awoke to the feeling of being shaken. The world was blurry and indistinct, and she squinted in an effort to clear her vision. She produced a gruff sound of dissent when she felt her contacts bunching up against the surfaces of her eyes, sticking and clinging here and there. Slowly, pairs of passing legs came into focus, and she stared at them in blank confusion.
Her vision was raising more questions than it answered, so she turned to her other senses for information. There was a pleasant warmth on one side of her body and across her shoulders, but her back and butt were pressed against hard, uncomfortable surfaces. Exuberant, slurring voices were echoing all around her, and she groaned and tried to bury her head into the warm thing beside her. She wanted quiet and darkness, and she wanted them now.
A familiar smell registered through her muddled mind, and she breathed in deeply, eager for more. The scent was spicy and masculine, but was too subtle to be cologne or aftershave. In her normal, alert state, Amy knew that scents could be deeply tied to memory, but, drunk and exhausted as she was, she had no way of being aware of that. All she knew was that she had linked this smell to something specific.
"Smells like Izzy," she murmured. Her body automatically shifted closer to whatever she was beside, and the tension resulting from her uncertainty about the environment sloughed away. A pleased, relax sigh slipped out of her.
"I should think so." Her head snapped up at the sound of that nasal, brusque voice. Suddenly, the details that had eluded her came into such sharp focus that her eyes crossed for a moment under the visual strain. Izzy's slight, short body was against hers, propping her up and holding her steady, providing a surface for her to nap against. There was a tiny dark spot on his button down shirt, and she colored slightly when she realized that she had drooled on him. They were on a university shuttle, sent out in droves as a countermeasure against drunk driving on the holiest of drinking holidays in the academic year.
He reached for her face, and Amy could feel her eyes widening as his fingertips brushed her cheek. Something ticklish and sticky was being pried away from her skin, and her cheeks burned even more as she realized that Izzy was dislodging the hair that her drooling had adhered to her flesh. "We've arrived at our dorm," he said gently, and her glance followed his fingers as they tucked the hair behind her ear. "I'd be happy to help you to your room, if you'd like."
"I, I would," she stammered. "Like that. A lot." Izzy stared at her for a moment, his expression impassive, then smiled slightly. And, despite being drunk, Amy's mind offered up a recent memory, causing Mimi's voice to flood her brain: "…you can't help it, you're totally in the mood, and that nerdy little grin just does it for you…" Izzy stood and offered his arm to her, and Amy's hand twitched as she closed her fingers around it, allowing him to help her stand.
They were silent as they exited the shuttle, slipped inside the dorm lobby, and rode the elevator. If the huge effort involved in walking straight was any indicator, Amy knew she was still under the influence, but her bubbly exuberance had drifted off with her need of sleep. Izzy had to pause and wait for her to gather her bearings more than once, but he charitably made no comment on her lack of coordination. Then, they were standing at her door, and she was frowning at the wooden surface.
There was an envelope taped to it with her name on it. "Matt wrote this," she muttered as she pulled it free. She had spent far too much time looking over his lyrics and schoolwork to not recognize his handwriting right away. Her nails picked at the seal, but she couldn't seem to make any progress. Izzy gently slipped the envelope out of her hands and ripped it open in one smooth, dexterous motion. Then he returned it to her, politely offering it with the opening facing her, so that she wouldn't have to flip it over to extract the contents.
So polite, even drunk… I love that about him. Chivalry isn't as dead as they say. She smiled, not knowing that it came out too big and lopsided, and slipped a hand into the envelope. There was a paper and, oddly enough, a key inside. She flapped the looseleaf through the air, being far too drunk to unfold it properly, then stared at the letters until they came into focus.
Hey Gorgeous, it began. Can you do me a huge favor and sleep in my bed tonight? I'll treat you to Cold Stone tomorrow with Sora, okay? My key's in the envelope. Thank you. Really. Sleep well, Matt.
For a moment, all she could do was stare at the message. Then, she noticed Izzy watching her, looking as curious as always, and she handed the paper over silently. His dark eyes darted across it, and Amy took the opportunity to watch him with the safety of knowing that she would not be noticed.
"Hmm," was all Izzy said as he returned it. Amy tilted her head and sighed. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted someone to acknowledge what was happening here.
"I'm bein' sexiled," she explained, waving the message in front of his face. Izzy twitched, then pressed a hand to his mouth. At first, all he did was snort, but soon he was laughing, moving away from the door quickly, no doubt so as not to interrupt any amorous activities. Amy trotted behind him, grinning hugely, delighted to hear his laughter again. She ate up every peal, every sharp gasp for breath.
He came to a stop a few yards away from her room, and she stepped into him, too drunk to absorb any information rapidly. She wanted to apologize, but he steadied her automatically and began speaking, hardly reacting at all to her clumsiness. "There's a word for it. Someone's invented a term for banishing a roommate so one can privately enjoy sexual activities." He shook his head and smiled, running a hand through his hair. "That's so very sad, yet so very delightful."
"Guess I'mma real college girl now," Amy said. Then she sighed and pulled Matt's key out of the envelope. "I don't mind usin' his bed, buuut… I don't have pj's? And I need to take out my contacts… My glasses are in my room…"
"Could you wear something of Tai's?" Izzy asked. Amy wrinkled her nose automatically.
"Yeah, maybe if he ever washed anything… His room smells like sweat and feet and dude." She could feel a frown forming as she considered that. "Maybe I do mind sleeping in Matt's bed."
Izzy snorted again, then covered his eyes and forehead with a hand. "It's becoming clear to me why Matt and Sora chose to rendezvous in your room." Amy sighed in agreement. If Sora was anything like her, an enticing odor could relax and interest her, could even stimulate her. And a foul odor… Well, that wouldn't exactly spell 'romance.' Good move, Matt. Sucks for me, but still, well played, you jerk.
Izzy stared off into space for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin. "If you'd like, you can come with me," he offered, flicking his eyes towards her. "I may be able to help you with your contact situation, if nothing else." He began to walk, not waiting for an answer- or, perhaps the way she had instantly fallen into step with him was the answer.
"Uhhhhh? But, you don't wear contacts?" Amy took hold of his arm earnestly, needing his assistance to stay steady. She didn't like the way the floor was twirling about beneath her feet, no, she didn't like that at all.
Izzy nodded in a distracted sort of way as he opened the door to the stairwell. "Nn. Joe's mother suffers from the delusion that, if she provides him with contacts and solution, he will wear them instead of his glasses. I can't even estimate the number of expired solution bottles he's thrown away over the years. I imagine he wouldn't mind if you took the current one."
"Ahhh. 'Kay. Kinda strange, but 'kay. Thank you much, Izzy." They stepped onto Izzy's floor, and Amy extracted herself from him. "I'll be right back, 'kay? Bathroom." Izzy nodded and moved away from her, and she turned all of her attention to walking down the hallway, willing the floor to stay where it was. Once she had taken care of the end result of intaking so much fluid, she carefully washed her face and hands and rinsed her mouth, knowing that she couldn't get to her toothbrush. It took a while for her to remove all the traces of makeup, and her face was red with scrubbing by the time she was done. She wandered to Izzy's room, forcing herself to triple check the names on the door before knocking. The last thing she wanted to do was drunkenly try to get into a stranger's room.
Izzy called an indistinct acknowledgment, and she let herself in. She blinked when she realized that he had washed the fake blood off and removed his cloak. It had covered his body all night, and this was her first good look at him in his suit pants and button down.
Perhaps it had something to do with growing up with Tai, who constantly wore shorts and tees in various states of athlete's grunge, Matt, who swallowed the 'cool musician's metrosexual fashion handbook' whole around eighth grade, and TK, who, in his airy, erratic way, was so detached from the physical world that he sometimes wore mismatched socks and clothing entirely unsuited for the current weather, but… Seeing Izzy like this, dressed in well cared for, classic, somewhat dressy attire… She began to nibble her lower lip and draw closer to him.
"You… You look good. Really good." Her teeth parted just long enough to allow her tongue to slip out and pass over her lip, smoothing out the bite indentations. She observed the stitching where the yoke met the back, the crisp back pleat and side pleats, and she knew that he ironed his things. I hardly ever even iron my clothes. Just on special occasions… He can be so meticulous.
Izzy cleared his throat and tugged awkwardly at one of his cuffs. Amy watched this with far too much interest, observing the way the fabric moved, stepping closer for a better look. "T-thank you," he managed at last, and he went to Joe's closet, moving a few things in his search for contact solution, always returning them to their original space when he was done. His phone chirped in his pocket, a faint, unobtrusive sound that wouldn't alarm people around him, and Amy bounced towards him. Since his hands were busy, she reached into his pants pocket, intending to check the message for him. His body twitched as she eased her front against his back and dug around in his pocket, her fingers brushing against his leg through the fabric.
"I've got it, thank you." His hand closed around hers, and he gently backed her out of his clothing, stepping away and pressing a finger against the touch screen of his phone. Something seemed to sink in Amy's stomach, and she sat on Izzy's bed in a disappointed daze. Memories of their encounter against the wall from a mere hour ago went through her mind, and her hands clenched against his comforter. She dearly wished that she could recreate that mood in the privacy of Izzy's room, but would it even mean anything if they weren't sober? True, it would be fun, but would it be worth the potential for stupid decisions and subsequent emotional damage?
She was so focused on her thoughts that she hardly noticed Izzy sitting beside her. He was holding two tiny paper cups, and he instructed her to remove her contacts and place them in the liquid within. Amy obeyed, sighing with relief at the loss of that feeling of suction against her eyeballs. Izzy sat the cups on his desk, and Amy tilted her head questioningly. Shouldn't he be giving those to me?
"Ah, Amy," Izzy said slowly, and she turned towards him automatically, despite the fact that her vision was horrendously blurred. She couldn't make anything out clearly, but she seemed to be registering movement, nervous ticks of his hands and legs. "Ah, Joe has just informed me that he won't be coming to the room tonight. It would seem that Mimi's roommate is out."
"Oh," Amy repeated tonelessly. "O…kay?" Her brain was torn between wanting to smile and say something congratulatory and slightly teasing about Joe and Mimi and wanting to ask why he was bringing it up at all, especially with that strained, high tone of voice. And, was it her imagination, or was he inching in closer to her?
"Ah, yes. And, well, given that your room is… currently unavailable to you, and Tai's room is unpalatable, I thought… I hope you won't find it inappropriate if I suggest…" Yes, he was definitely drumming his fingers against his leg; she could feel the resulting vibrations, now that their hips were touching.
"I, I have a spare set of sheets," he continued. "I could… I could put them on Joe's bed for you."
At first, the words were nonsense; they seemed too surreal to be anything else. Then, finally, they forced their way through Amy's faltering processor, and she was too overwhelmed to speak. In her excitement, she entirely missed that his offer was actually fairly innocuous, and could have been meant in a helpful, platonic way. Somehow, it seemed much more romantically charged than it should have… Or perhaps it was merely her mind interpreting things as she wanted them to be, rather than as they were. Instantly, her mind was abuzz with discordant voices, all shrilly trying to be heard over each other, like a hundred people screaming in a courtroom. You know what you want. If he's still holding onto anything from the bar, he may be willing. Take it! No! No, it's far too dangerous, are you an idiot?! Don't you remember anything?! Altered states of mind and lust can do strange things to both of you, and you may not be able to stop it. But this isn't like the last time. I want it. I want it. God, I must be crazy, I want it.
The tip of her tongue stuck to the bottom of her front teeth as she hesitated. On one side, there was her caution, her reason, her experience. On the other, there was arousal, intoxication, and attachment so deep that it teetered dangerously towards love. They fought, and continued to fight, but Amy didn't have the time to wait for one camp to destroy the other, leaving an obvious choice. Izzy was beginning to twitch and tense beside her, and she had to say something now, for his sake.
"That's really nice of you, but I don't wanna put you through the trouble," Amy murmured, staring desolately into her lap.
Izzy's hand landed on her shoulder and tightened, and her fingers rose to his skin automatically, returning the touch. "Are you saying that because you truly feel that you're imposing, or because you don't want to sleep here?" His voice was strained and low, and Amy dearly wished that she could discern what he wanted to hear.
But, in her heart, she knew that honesty was required here. He deserved it, no matter what pain it could end up causing her. And so, she dug around inside herself, brushing aside her fears, inhibitions, and excuses as an archaeologist removes debris from a buried artifact. Her eyes began to burn as she located and acknowledged the truth within herself. A deep, trembling breath worked its way through her before she spoke it out loud.
"I said that because I… I would rather…" Her courage faltered, and she miserably wiped away a tear, wishing for access to Tai's strength and confidence. Then her hands darted around, wringing and flapping in her lap like broken birds struggling on the ground. "Wouldn't it be less work if… If we… S-share…"
There was a long, painful pause, and Izzy's hand continually tightened, until it seemed that there was a vice around her shoulder. When he spoke, his words were jerky, and they ran together slightly. "You're suggesting that we share my bed." Amy sniffed and turned away from him, apologies beating at her throat like fat raindrops on a windshield. She tried to speak one, but Izzy took hold of her face and turned it towards him. His muscles were drawn, and his color seemed a bit off.
I freaked him out. I went too far. Stars, Charon, ready your boat for me. Her thoughts went on like that, panicked and fast, sounding like gibberish even in her head, but she failed to notice them over her rapid babbling. "I'm so sorry. Have I ruined it forever?" she breathed, brushing her hair back from her face. "Of course you don't want that. You need your space, and, and, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, just forget it, please…" She continued to jabber, tearing up with frustration at her inability to stop.
Her body jumped when Izzy took hold of her shoulders and pulled her in. "Kindly stop talking," he said, and the slight bite of an order to his tone had her jaw snapping shut automatically. His fingers began to tense and relax alternately. "I truly cannot do this anymore," he muttered, and, although Amy couldn't quite say why, he seemed to be speaking to himself. He moved in close, so close that their noses touched, and Amy watched with growing confusion as deep lines formed on his brow.
"Y-yes?" he whispered, tilting his forehead against hers. Amy inhaled the smell of his breath. Rum, cola, vodka… Something tensed up in her stomach, and her hand cradled her lower gut, trying to rub away the sudden pain.
In truth, Amy had no idea what was happening here, partially because she was drunk, partially because she was exhausted, and partially because some far-off voice of reason was reminding her that there was no way this could be what it seemed. It seemed like he was purposefully making his way into her personal space, but, surely, there was some sort of logical explanation here. This was Izzy. Maybe he had just lost his balance and fallen towards her, or something. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was in the Matrix. Who the hell even knew? Not her, that was for sure.
The one thing she did know was that, for better or for worse, she trusted him. "Yes," she breathed, averting her eyes. She had no idea what she was agreeing to, but she wanted to soothe away the strain and stress evident in his body and voice, wanted to feel his forehead smooth out against hers. Instead, that flesh puckered further inward, and a slight, trembling gasp slid out of his mouth. His hands tilted her face gently to the side, and she had a slight view of his eyes snapping shut before he moved in so rapidly that her vision blurred even more. There was a slight pain, and she distantly realized that his nose had smacked into her cheek. A nasal, frustrated sound registered in her mind, and then he shifted slightly.
Her eyes popped open with a violence suggesting electrocution when she felt his mouth on hers. For a moment, shock held her in place, and his lips worked vainly against hers. She asked herself, in a distant, detached manner, if this was actually happening, or if she was dreaming, or perhaps suffering from extreme lunacy. But no, she could see him, smell him, feel him, taste him- Sweet Aphrodite, I can taste him.
This is dangerous. So very, very dangerous. Tomorrow, he's going to tell me that this was a mistake, that it meant nothing. She could tell herself that all she wanted, but Izzy's arms were around her waist, and his embrace was like a wall standing between her heart and her own words of wisdom. Something shifted and snapped inside of her, and she clung to him, blindly taking hold of his shoulder blades and pushing him closer. Her lips curved against his, molding to them, continually moving just a beat after his, deferring to his lead. And, as soon as she gave him her acceptance, his body shuddered and moved into hers, and his hands moved possessively along her back. His tongue coaxed her mouth open, slowly, patiently, carefully. There was really no need for such caution, as she melted into his every suggestion, but she appreciated it just the same. Her brain filled with a litany of incoherent approbations, stuttering along endless strings of yes, yes, yes, finally, stars, yes, until even such simple words were beyond her.
There was an immediate influx of feeling as his taste flooded her mouth, and, in a bemused sort of way, Amy realized that roughly half of it seemed to be coming from him, as if their lips had formed a membrane, and emotion could slip through from one side to the other. She felt like she was receiving a lifetime of beaten down, denied passion, entering through her mouth and moving directly through her veins, as if her throat led to her bloodstream, instead of detouring through her esophagus and stomach. That need, so great in amount and so astonishingly masculine, stirred her hormones into a frenzy, and it wasn't long before her body temperature spiked. A strange, utterly foreign pulling sensation began to torment the most intimate part of her.
As for her side of the membrane, well… Her uncertainty and confusion gave way to excitement so acute that it made her heart ache, terror so overwhelming that it caused an ominous rushing sound in her ears, joy so uncontrollable that her entire frame was trembling. She had never felt so keyed up, so alive in her entire life, and the whole world seemed to hang on this surreal, impossible moment. Although her eyes were closed, violent bursts of color formed in her inner vision, and she vaguely registered that she was close to passing out, likely from sheer emotional strain. She whimpered and broke away from Izzy for fear of fainting and squishing him, which might ruin the mood a bit.
They stared at each other, and he was wild-eyed, disheveled, and sweating slightly. There was a faint impression of red around his lips, likely due to the intensity of their kissing. His hands wandered down her back and further, and he worked his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked like a koi.
"Izzy," Amy muttered, pausing as his hands sank into her rear. Her sigh of pleasure should have embarrassed her, but she didn't even notice it, couldn't even hear it over the thunderous sound of her heartbeat. "I swear, if tomorrow you tell me that this was all hormones and alcohol, I'll break. I'll break, and I may never be the same again." Even in her current state, she was painfully aware of how vulnerable she was, and the thought forced burning liquid out of her eyes. She wiped it away quickly, hoping that he hadn't seen it.
He began to shake his head rapidly, and something about the furrowing of his brow suggested that he wanted to speak, but apparently his voice was still beyond him. Instead, he started kissing her again, and she took his lead eagerly, retaining enough of her faculties this time to note that he was a much, much better kisser than she would have expected. In fact, he was an amazing kisser, with technical skill rivaling Mimi's. Stars, how did someone like him learn to kiss like this? Each heated stroke of his tongue, each hungry brush of his lips on hers, had her more and more at his mercy, stripping away any lingering feelings of discomfort and uncertainty. If there was any problem with this scenario, she was no longer aware of it.
There was a sudden swooping sensation in her gut, but she failed to identify it as the two of them falling completely onto the bed. Izzy was on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. His arms and legs spread around her, caging her in, just like at the bar. She remembered that he had told her he liked her there, that he wanted to kiss her. Actually, the phrase "romantically connected" had come up in reference to the two of them, hadn't it?
She hadn't dared to believe him, drunk as they were, especially when there were hundreds of other girls around who might have contributed to his arousal. But now, with his tongue caressing the silken curves of her inner cheeks, with his hands making eager, exploring trips up and down her waist, she found herself tempted to accept his words as truth. Izzy wouldn't lead on a girl like this, she told herself firmly. Izzy would never use someone, no matter how drunk he is.
Her body rose towards his under the helium-like influence of euphoria. She felt completely out of her head, so worked up at the thought of possibly belonging to him that any ideas of decorum and modesty completely faded from her memory. When the most intimate parts of their bodies brushed by chance, she seized his rear automatically and pressed down, lifting her hips simultaneously. He grunted into her mouth, then groaned as she repeated the motion. The vibrations of his voice moving down her throat were eerily pleasurable, but not nearly so much as smushing their hips together.
She could feel the heat of his need through their clothing, could hear the slight, rather obscene sticky sound resulting from the movement against her aroused sex. Her fingers were suddenly caught up in his shirt buttons, undoing them, desperately trying to get clothing off of him. He shuddered all over, a wave of movement that seemed to assault his slight body, then moved his hands to her back, fumbling with the zipper running along her spine. Amy automatically arched forward, giving him access to the pull. He worked it, inch by torturous inch, down towards the small of her back, slowly relieving the tightness that had plagued her all night. Without willing it, she broke off the kiss and breathed in deeply, enjoying the full expansion of her diaphragm and ribcage.
Izzy cleared his throat and moved his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks. Impossibly, his body temperature was even higher than hers, and his touch was almost uncomfortably hot. "A-Amy," he stammered. His eyes flicked around for a moment, looking anywhere but at her face. Then, he took a shuddering breath, and his black eyes engulfed hers. His entire focus settled on her, and, somehow, her heartbeat accelerated further. A faint grunt of acknowledgment was all she could manage.
"I've… I've wanted this for… quite some time, now," he breathed, trailing a thumb over her lips. Amy blinked and tried to tilt her head, but his hands were holding her in place. Although she was fully aware that Izzy was speaking to her, his voice seemed to dip to a much lower pitch and gain an uncharacteristic animation. God, I've wanted you for so long… Her hands fell away from his shirt and landed, with a dull fwump, on his comforter, falling on either side of her head. Although he looked amazing, with his shirt half unbuttoned and hanging open, his hair tussled by her fingers, his eyes gleaming with rare emotion, she found that she suddenly couldn't look at him.
Izzy's hands drew down her cheeks, then followed the curves of her neck. "You… I find you alarmingly attractive." His fingers trailed over the beaded straps of her dress, hooked around them, and hesitated. Conflict was evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the tight line of his lips, but Amy noticed this as if from a great distance, despite their proximity. You're so damn beautiful… There was a sudden, almost painful tightness to her muscles, so much so that she wasn't sure she could move them. Her breathing grew shallow and quick. She forced herself to look at him, reminding herself sharply that this was Izzy, a wonderful person that she held in the utmost regard, and that there was nothing to fear. But when their eyes met, his irises seemed to lighten dramatically, until they were shocking, husky blue. A tight, unnatural sound escaped her throat.
Izzy's hands fell away from her dress straps and settled gently onto her wrists. "Please, don't take this as an insult, Amy. I…" he laughed awkwardly, painfully, then trailed faint kisses down her neck, as if in apology. "Believe me. I honestly can't think of anything I'd want more than to continue this. But… But I'm… I'm terribly fond of you, and I'd hate to go about this the wrong way. Before anything else happens, I need to know exactly what you want." He kissed her again, gently, sweetly, his lips parting just a touch, as if to taste a fine wine. A faint whimper got caught somewhere behind Amy's teeth.
I love you. I love you. I'm fucking crazy for you. Let me show you. I know exactly what you want…
Panic seized her, locked her body down, glazed her eyes with a layer of stinging moisture. She tried to speak, but the sudden nausea and fear, along with whatever was inhibiting her body's ability to respond to her orders, was making it so very difficult. Her eyes slid shut, as if a lack of visuals would save her, and tears slid down her cheeks in blazing trails.
"Amy- what's wrong? You're crying! And your body has gone so tense- Please- please- I hope I haven't-" Izzy's voice was higher than ever with strain, but Amy hardly registered it. In her mind, it sounded low and rough, slightly abrasive with its inherent self-assurance and volume. The male, warm, aroused body on top of hers commanded all of her attention, and she tried to push it away, but he was holding her hands down.
What's wrong? Are you crying? I can't understand what you're saying, Ames. You need to relax, it's going to hurt if your body is so tense.
"No? You're trying to say no, aren't you. It's alright, Amy. I understand. Please, just calm down. You're completely safe with me, you have my word."
No? Are you saying no? It's alright, Ames, it's alright. You're a virgin, right? I understand. Calm down. Relax. I'll be gentle, so don't worry.
Her nausea hit a fever pitch, and a burbling sound slid up her throat, closely followed by the metallic, acidic taste of bile. The body pinning her down disappeared, but her vision was too blurry to work out where he went. It took herculean effort, but she hauled herself into a sitting position, then clamped her hands to her mouth, trying to fight down the urge to throw up. Then, something was slipped onto her lap, and a hand was on her neck, easing her head lower. There was a soft, soothing touch on her back, rubbing in circles. "You're trying to vomit. You could choke if you continue to combat the needs of your body. There's no need for resistance or embarrassment."
Nothing made sense anymore. Amy had no idea where she was, why she was sick, or who was holding her hair back and wiping the tears from her face as her body violently purged itself. Something in her mind was whispering that she had never been so miserable, but, despite her confusion and fear, despite the rapidly growing rawness of her throat and the vile-smelling fluids coming out of her mouth, she knew that wasn't true. Eventually, her heaving slowly diminished, until all that came out was harsh breaths and pained vocalizations. Something was eased off of her lap, and the mattress shifted as the body seated beside hers stood.
The moment that supportive touch was retracted, Amy's fear shifted back towards panic. "T-Tai?" she managed weakly. She was fairly certain that her cousin wasn't around, but she called for him anyway, as if she were still a little girl who believed that such a thing could summon him. She squinted and looked around, but all she could make out was an impression of cream-colored walls.
There was a short silence, followed by a sharp, pained intake of breath. "Izzy. I apologize, Amy. There's a good chance that Tai is still at the bar. I can call him for you, if you'd like."
"No!" Her panic spiked even further, to the point that it was a strange sort of physical pain. "He'll kill him!" She stared beseechingly in the direction of the moving blur in the room, holding her hands out towards him. He came closer, then knelt in front of her.
"This is going to be cold," he warned her. Then he spread a wet washcloth on her face, and some of Amy's distress slipped away under the soothing, cool feeling on her sticky, overheated flesh. For a moment, she let the pleasant physical stimulus overtake her emotional strain, and she leaned gratefully into the hands offering her respite.
"Who would Tai kill, Amy?" The washcloth was moved to the back of her neck, and her body shivered with appreciation.
"Jerry," she sighed, leaning into the rubbing sensation on her shoulders. The massage stopped abruptly, and she grunted in protest. That touch had felt amazing, dammit.
"…I see." He stood again, but Amy managed to blindly grab his wrist before he moved away.
"Matt?" she demanded, staring up at him. At this point, the care that she was being treated with had convinced Amy that she was probably in trustworthy hands, but she was still tense about her unknown environment, and she required verification that no one was going to call Tai.
The boy bent over her, putting his face close enough to allow for her extreme nearsightedness. The image snapped into focus, and she registered red hair, a heavy brow, and serious black eyes. A faint exclamation of relief slid out from between her lips, and her hands automatically rose to his face. "Izzy," she breathed, pulling him in towards her. She rested her forehead on his and nuzzled him, so giddy with relief that she failed to register her behavior as being too intimate.
"Yes," he whispered, running his hands over hers. "Yes. Do you understand that you're entirely safe?"
Amy frowned and pulled back. "If you're here, then yes. But… I don't get it," she admitted, glancing about. "How- I thought- I thought Jerry was here? But that's silly," she realized, tugging her hair with frustration. "I haven't seen him since I graduated. So, why…? Were you here the whole time?" Her tone was oddly suspicious by the time she finished speaking, as if she thought that he had pulled some sort of elaborate magic trick. It was far-fetched, she knew, but her brain was too addled to provide her with an explanation.
For a moment, Izzy just stared at her. Then, he exhaled slowly, breathed a curse so biting that Amy flinched, and rested his head on her shoulder. Amy patted his back automatically, then wrapped her arms around his upper body, leaning into his torso. She didn't know why he was upset, but she wanted to soothe him, if she could.
"It would seem," he said darkly, "that you, Amy, had best not mix alcohol and amorous activities. Someone might have given me a warning to that effect…" He kissed her shoulder gently. "I can't apologize enough, Amy. I had no intention of confusing you or making you remember… Someone else. I should have known that intimacy could frighten you, particularly when drunk." By the time he finished speaking, he sounded absolutely disgusted with himself, but Amy was more interested in his intimation that they had been in any way intimate.
And, suddenly, memories managed to fight their way through Amy's inebriation, fatigue, and emotional stress. "We were kissing!" she cried, pulling back enough to grab his shoulders and shake them. "I was kissing you. You were kissing me back- You were totally kissing me back!" She pulled him back in, holding him tightly against her, and her voice reached squeaky heights under the influence of her excitement. Izzy flailed slightly, and Amy realized, belatedly, that she had smushed his face directly into her chest, and that her dress had somehow slid down to her stomach. She released him abruptly and pulled the fabric back over her strapless bra, trying to fight down her embarrassment.
"Yes," Izzy muttered as he backed away. "Yes. I totally was." And, despite everything, Amy had to smile at the dryness of his tone. Izzy slipped away again, but Amy didn't fret over it this time. She swung her feet over the side of his bed, awash with the pleasure of remembering their recent encounter. Her fingers moved to her lips, and she found that they were slightly sore from their kissing. Somehow, that mild discomfort felt oddly like pleasure.
This time, he had a bottle of water upon his return, and Amy reached for it eagerly. "Rinse your mouth out first," Izzy warned, offering up the tiny trashcan that he kept by his desk. Amy wrinkled her nose and drew her body away from it, repulsed by the smells wafting off of it.
"Feh!" she cried, pushing it away. Izzy sighed and pressed it back towards her.
"Yes, I'm afraid your vomit smells just as bad as the next person's. Now, rinse." Frowning, Amy did as she was bade, swashing water around in her mouth and spitting it into the trash can. Then, she drank deeply, ignoring the lingering taste of bile, letting the cold water soothe her wrecked throat. Izzy left the room for the moment, then returned and lined his trashcan with a new plastic bag.
"Can we sleep?" Amy asked as he settled the can by the bed. "I'm so tired…" Even the excitement of remembering their kiss could not fight the sleepiness brought on by her emotional strain and a night of partying, and her body was inching into a supine position of its own will.
Izzy leaned over her, running his fingertips down the side of her face. "As you will," he said, and his voice was strangely hollow. "I'll readjust your clothing and take you to Matt's bed."
Amy's shoulders were slumping before she even understood why. "Oh… But… I thought I was sharing your bed," she muttered, rubbing her upper arms. Fear and doubt began to assault her heart. Every day, she devoted a great amount of will into forgetting her last date with Jerry. Normally, this approach served her well enough, but when she was forced to remember, being alone made her feel like a small child, convinced that a monster was lying in wait in the closet. She reached for Izzy, hesitating, feeling suddenly unsure of her welcome.
Izzy sat next to her on the bed and closed his hands around hers. Amy could see and hear him swallow. "I would like that," he said softly. "But I don't want to risk causing you panic again."
"It's okay," Amy said earnestly, leaning against his shoulder. "Please, don't make me sleep by myself. Usually I don't remember it- prom, I mean- and when I do remember it, I have nightmares. But, if I'm with you, I won't be scared. Just… Just maybe don't kiss me again until I'm sober?"
"Amy…" Izzy trailed his fingers over the back of her hand, then eased the water bottle out of her grip. He finished it off in one long swig, then placed the empty bottle on the floor. "I have a condition. I'll share my bed with you if you agree to discuss what happened tonight when we awake… and what happened with Jerry. I know it's not really my business," he added quickly, "but, if we're going to… interact as we just did in the future, then I need to know how to avoid frightening you."
Amy shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead. A lonely, desolate feeling swept through her body, and she clung to Izzy instinctively. He rubbed her back, slipping her dress to the side, working her tight, tired muscles. "I guess you do need to know," she admitted. She sounded as afraid and alone as she felt, and Izzy must have heard it, too, because he embraced her with a kindness that had her eyes watering again.
"I'm so sorry to ask that of you." She sniffed in response, not knowing what to say, and Izzy patted her back one last time, then released her. "You can borrow my robe," he said, moving towards his closet. "Perhaps you can keep a set of night clothes in my room for future incidents."
Amy blinked at his blurry back. "This really isn't going away tomorrow, is it?" she asked, smiling shyly, despite the fact that he wasn't looking.
"I would strongly prefer that it not." His tone was all detached bluntness, but he was a bit red in the face when he came back with his robe. As he handed it over, he explained that he would look the other way and change, and Amy fearlessly removed her dress, tights, and bra and tied the robe in place, trusting him implicitly. It was short and a little tight on her, but not uncomfortably so. Soon, he was pulling back the covers of his bed and helping her slip in. He flicked off the light and joined her, pressing his body against hers in order to fit onto the twin bed.
"Well… Goodnight, Amy," he said, clearing his throat gruffly. "Ah… Should you have any nightmares, or should you need anything, please feel free to wake me." Slowly, carefully, he slid an arm around her waist, and she mirrored the touch, trying to let him know that she wanted it.
It occurred to her that she had never received a goodnight kiss from a romantic interest before, and her fingers began to drum along his ribs. "Ah, Izzy?" she asked, working her hands beneath his shirt.
"Hn?" He shifted slightly against her, presumably turning his eyes towards her face, despite the room's darkness.
"Can I… I mean, I know I said no kissing until we're sober, but… Can I have just a little one?"
There was a long pause, and, for a moment, Amy assumed that there would be no answer. Then, his hand stroked her cheek, and she felt him moving towards her. His lips brushed hers, gently, soothingly, and she automatically took hold of his shoulders. She tugged, and he allowed her to direct him up and to the side, so that he was leaning over her, his upper body propped up with his elbows. Her hands caressed his face, feeling the slight beginnings of stubble there, then slid down to his chest. He was slight, and it seemed like she could feel his lungs and heart working, as if his small frame failed to fully separate them from the outside world.
The kiss was long and languid, peaceful, but somehow deep and communicative. She felt like she could almost hear him speaking to her, conveying more information than should have been possible. But there was a barrier there, as if he were speaking Spanish, and she could only understand one word in ten. Would she eventually be able to catch every word with practice, or was the garbling effect the result of her fatigue? No matter; she dismissed everything from her mind except the warm, tender feelings spreading all over her, moving her that much closer to sleep.
She would later recall that she had no memory of that kiss ending, as if Izzy had softly moved his lips against hers until her consciousness slipped away.
Author's Note: Okay guys, show of hands. Who thinks Izzy's going to freak out in the morning when he realizes what happened last night? Because, let me tell you, that was not his typical behavior there. How about Amy? Actually, I think that, despite everything, she's remarkably happy at the moment.
I really liked some things about this chapter. In the beginning, Amy's clearly drunk, but she knows what's happening, and the chapter reads more or less as normal. But as she gets confused, I think her disjointed, uncertain feeling came through pretty well. I kept wanting to edit it into something clearer, but I forced myself to leave it. The disappointing thing is that we don't really know what Izzy was thinking at all, we know even less than we usually do when the POV is with someone else, because Amy was so confused that she hardly knew what she thought. I do worry, though, that I went too far or not far enough with trying to convey the trippy, panic-induced stuff going on in her head.
But yikes, that is not going to be a happy conversation in the morning. But no worries for now, because next chapter will be some M rated Sorato, and that makes everything better, right? Two updates from now, we will finally be learning, flat out, what happened with Amy and Jerry, both from Amy, and then from Matt, as Izzy (correctly) reasons that Amy is skimping on important details.
