Your relationship with Lighter has been... contentious since the two of you were in grade school, to say the least; you and Lighter could claim you even despise each other.

Drunk? You two don’t have quite the same hatred, the same fire, or the same bite as your sober selves. Drunk? He’s dragging his finger across your lips, tracing them so lightly and lovingly. Deep down, you know you must resist this temptation; it’s not real, not genuine. You pull away. You’re not sober, so you’re not allowed to... allowed to touch me. He has a sappy smile adorning his face. 

“So... you’re saying I’m allowed to touch you while I’m sober?”

A part of you is so stupid and weak to that smile that you concede, taking a bet he won’t remember. I’m only saying yes because I doubt you’ll remember much of this conversation in the morning. 

Lighter wakes with a splitting headache-hungover with a foggy memory; had he not written on his arm, she said I could touch her when I’m sober, everything from last night’s conversation would’ve been forgotten.