The music was too loud or maybe it was just your head.
Everything blurred together—the flashing lights, the laughter, the warmth spreading through your chest that felt a little too heavy to be fun anymore. You didn’t even remember how many cups you had, only that someone handed you one, then another, and suddenly walking felt like trying to balance on air.
“Hey… hey, easy.”
A familiar voice cut through the noise. Firm, steady.
Yuta.
You barely registered how he got there, but his hands were already on your shoulders, grounding you before you tipped forward. Your vision swayed, and when you tried to focus on him, his face doubled.
“Yuta…?” you mumbled, words slurring together. “I’m fine… I think. The floor just… moved.”
“It didn’t,” he said quietly, chuckling slightly at your current condition, his voice already sounding tired in that gentle way he got when he was worried. “You did.”
You laughed weakly at that, but it came out more like a breath. The room spun again, sharper this time, and your stomach dropped.
“I don’t feel good.”
“I know.”
Before you could say anything else, he crouched in front of you slightly. “Come here.”
“What—?”
Your words dissolved into a small noise when he lifted you with ease, one arm under your knees, the other steady at your back. You instinctively grabbed onto his hoodie, clinging without thinking.
“Yuta—!” you whined, voice soft and embarrassed. “People are looking…”
“I don’t care,” he replied, already moving.
And he didn’t.
What mattered more was you're in his arms.
—
The night air was cool, but everything still felt warm.
Too warm.
Your face pressed against his chest, cheek squished against the soft fabric of his hoodie as he walked, steady and careful.
Each step was even. Controlled.
Like he was afraid you’d fall.
“…Yuta,” you murmured, voice muffled.
“Yeah?”
“You smell nice.”
He nearly stumbled.
“…It’s just detergent.”
“Nooo” you dragged out, shifting slightly in his arms..too much that he had to tighten his hold on you. “It’s you. You always smell nice.”
A pause.
“…Thanks,” he said quietly, ears and cheeks feeling warmer than they should, clearly not knowing what to do with that.
You hummed in satisfaction, fingers absentmindedly rubbing against his chest through the fabric. Not really thinking. Just… feeling.
His shoulders tensed.
“Hey—don’t move too much,” he muttered, adjusting his grip again. “You’ll fall.”
“I won’t,” you insisted, even as you leaned closer, practically melting into him. “You won’t drop me.”
“…I won’t, never” he admitted.
Your head tilted up just enough to look at him, though your eyes barely focused. “I trust you.”
That made it worse.
Yuta looked away quickly, jaw tightening just slightly. “…You’re drunk.”
“Mhm,” you agreed easily. “And honest.”
“…That’s not how that works.”
“It is,” you said, nodding like it made perfect sense.
Silence settled for a moment, broken only by his footsteps.
Then—
“I like you.”
He froze.
Not completely.. but enough that his next step faltered.
“…What?”
You frowned slightly, like he was the confusing one. “I said I like you.”
“Yeah, I— I heard you,” he stammered, grip tightening instinctively. “You’re just— you’re drunk. You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” you insisted, louder this time.
Too loud.
A couple passing by glanced over, and Yuta’s ears went red immediately.
“Hey—shh,” he said quickly, lowering his voice. “Not so loud.”
“But it’s true,” you argued, pouting slightly as you shifted again, pressing closer. Your arms slid more securely around his neck now, clinging. “I like you a lot.”
His face was burning now.
“You— you don’t have to say this right now,” he muttered, clearly flustered. “We can just— talk about it later, okay?”
“Nooo,” you whined softly, shaking your head against his shoulder. “You always avoid it.”
“I don’t avoid it!”
“You do,” you insisted, poking weakly at his chest. “Every time I get close, you act like you don’t notice.”
“That’s not—”
You shifted again, this time rubbing your face lightly against his shoulder, nuzzling into him without thinking. “You’re so warm…”
He went completely still for a second.
“…You’re making this really hard.”
You blinked slowly. “What’s hard?”
“…Walking,” he said quickly.
You giggled, completely unconvinced. “Liar.”
His grip tightened again when you shifted, your knee brushing slightly as you adjusted yourself in his arms.
“Stay still,” he said, voice a little strained now, shyer than ever. “Seriously.”
“Make me,” you mumbled, clearly not helping.
“…I am carrying you.”
“That’s not making me,” you argued, though your voice was already getting softer, heavier.
Another few steps passed in silence, though it wasn’t comfortable for him.
Because you didn’t stop.
“I like you,” you repeated, quieter this time, almost drowsy. “You’re always nice to me… even when I’m annoying.”
“You’re not annoying.”
“I am,” you insisted. “But you still take care of me.”
His steps slowed slightly.
“…Of course I do.”
“Why?” you asked, tilting your head again to try and look at him.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Your fingers curled tighter into his hoodie. “Is it because you like me too?”
That did it.
Yuta nearly stopped walking entirely.
“…You should sleep,” he said after a moment, voice softer now, but somehow more affected. “We’ll talk when you’re sober.”
You stared at him for a second longer… then smiled faintly, eyes fluttering.
“…Okay,” you whispered.
But even then, you didn’t let go.
If anything, you curled closer, face tucked into his neck now, breathing evening out as sleep slowly started to take over.
Yuta exhaled quietly, adjusting his hold one last time.
“…You’re really unfair,” he murmured under his breath.
But he didn’t put you down.
Not once.
Maybe Yuta is forgetting that drunk people are the most honest.
