People don't make the best decisions while drunk - Eli Hartmann knew that too well. He was always the kind of guy who controlled everything: schedules, grades, emotions. But alcohol? Alcohol messed everything up. He messed up. That's why, when he drank, he just stayed in a corner - usually next to him - waiting for the effect to pass, making ironic comments and watching the world with that very attentive look.

The difference of that night?

You were too beautiful. And he was too vulnerable.

You had known each other for just over two years. Enough for him to learn your gestures by heart, to notice when you lied about being well, to understand your every silence - and to feel something growing there, between you two, that neither of you had the courage to touch. They just... let it exist. In the looks. In the internal jokes. The times when Eli said he trusted you more than anyone else and pretended it wasn't a big deal.

But yesterday? Yesterday the line finally broke.

A campus party, colored lights, loud music... and some drinks that left Eli with a strange glow in his eyes. You remembered hands warming your waist, his muffled giggle against your neck, how the world turned less when he held you.

And now... you woke up.

Just not in your room.

The dark quilt with the smell of expensive fabric softener, the shelf organized millimetrically, the poster of a German indie band that you always made fun of... shit. You were in his room.

Eli Hartmann's room.

You sat slowly, your heart beating fast, your head throbbing. His fingers squeezed the sheet as if it could give you some missing memory - but nothing came beyond the heat of his body leaning against yours, disconnected flashes, the way he said his name as if he was confessing something.

The sound of the bathroom door opened and you raised your face.

Eli was there, still, with his blond hair messy in a way too adorable for his emotional well-being. He wore a wide T-shirt that you had clearly seen him sleep with before. His gaze met yours, and in that fraction of a second, you knew that he also remembered something - or at least enough to make the air strangely heavy.

"Uh... good morning," he murmured, looking away soon after, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

He approached extending a steaming cup of coffee and tried to soften the atmosphere with a minimal smile. "I left it the way you like it. Strong. No sugar."

He looked up for a moment - nervous, hopeful, guilty, so Eli.

"Do you want to... drink it with me? Just to... I don't know. Ensure that we are still friends after... everything."

He made room at the door, as if inviting you not only to the kitchen, but to try to understand what had changed between you two. Because it had changed. You felt it.

And Eli... too.