“Yes! Fuck, I forgot about them. My mom used to play them all the time when she would make breakfast,” Jade beams. The stars on her ceiling still glow rather brightly despite being scratched up from living on the ceiling of her childhood bedroom. She doesn’t know what time it is, and she isn’t sure if it feels like the inside of her room was glowing blue or if it was maybe reaching daylight. She laughs at his attempt of taking off his shoes, stumbling in the dim light like an awkward giraffe. Jade eyes him curiously, the dark swoop of his hair giving him somewhat of a classic Hollywood beauty, she noticed. It didn’t help that he talked like that, like she could put a cowboy hat atop his head and they could ride off into the sunset. “Pack it up, Stanley Yelnats,” she teases. She’s surprised at their lack of distance, although it never occurred to her how used she was to being close with him in any other context – climbing trees, getting piggyback rides, jumping fences. At that moment, though, she can’t breathe the way she normally can because she can actually see all the tiny freckles dotting his jaw that she didn’t notice before. Before she knows it, his lips are on hers, and he tastes like whiskey and a bit of honey and maybe a mint leaf. Her hands are on the side of his neck as she reciprocates, as if this is what she was secretly asking for this whole time. They sigh into each other, melting, until Jade pulls away and blinks in a mild embarrassment. She yawns unconvincingly. “Later,” comes like a tiny promise, though she’s unsure if he’ll remember at all. “You’re really out of it. I– um, we should go to bed.” She tries not to be dismissive, she tries not to really look at him at all, because if she does, she might burst, and instead pulls the sheets over their bodies.
Sometimes when Cash is drunk it feels like dualism has taken over his perception – the good and the bad exist at polar opposite ends of the spectrum. For a few moments he is lost in the kiss, and then lost simply in looking at Jade, feeling a warmth that has less to do with the temperature of the room than it does with how close they are to each other. And then the moment breaks, and Jade shifts away from him, and he understands, he does, but he can’t help feeling somewhat lost – the expression on her face has unmoored him. “Yeah,” he agrees, because it’s all he can really do, and nearly stumbles off the bed onto the comforter she’s laid out, but before he can do that she’s pulled the sheets over the both of them, so he just shifts so that he’s facing away from her, giving her an imitation of privacy because it’s the least he can do at the moment. He isn’t awake much longer.
Consciousness brings a sharp headache and nausea that rolls over him in heavy waves. He opens his eyes and, almost immediately, shuts them. Sleep is going to be an impossibility; the best thing he can do, he thinks, is get back to his dorm, where he can be a mess in peace until he’s ready to face humanity again. His phone is still in his pocket, and tells him the time is ten in the morning. It also informs him that his battery is at 10%. He manages to sit up without throwing up, which is a good sign. Halfway through congratulating himself on achieving this milestone, he looks at Jade, and something akin to a memory that is too soft-edged and dark to make sense floats up to sit on the surface of his mind. “Good morning,” he says, voice coming out rough as befits his hangover. He nearly adds ‘what happened last night,’ but something stops him.
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