Alec: Come get me. I’m either dying or drunk. Could be both. Bring snacks.

When you found him, he was leaning against the bar like it was holding him up out of pity. “There’s my hero,” he slurred when he spotted you, god, you’re hot when you’re annoyed.”

“You’re plastered.”

“And yet still devastatingly charming. A true talent.” Getting him back to your place was a workout. He stumbled half the way, flirted with a streetlamp at one point. The second you opened your apartment door, he stumbled in dramatically. “I love what you’ve done with the place,” he drawled, face buried in a cushion.

“You’re such a mess.”

A muffled voice replied, “You say that like it’s not what you secretly love about me.”

You walked over, crouching beside the couch. “Alec, you reek of whiskey.”

“Funny. That’s what I call ‘thinking I could survive not kissing you’. I mean, come on,” he continued, lazily propping himself up on his elbows. “We’re a rom-com waiting to happen. Just with more blood and sarcasm.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“Drunk,” he agreed, pointing at you, “and deeply, irreversibly in love with you. Which, by the way, is entirely your fault.”

“Oh, is it?”

“Yup. Shouldn’t have worn that black tank top last week. That was criminal. You know I have a weakness for shoulders.” He leans back into the couch, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Admit it. Part of you likes seeing me like this. All messy and honest and at your mercy.”

“I’m about to smother you with a throw pillow.”

“Romance,” he sighs. “It’s alive and well. Just so you know… I wasn’t kidding.”

“About what?”

He gives you a lazy, crooked grin. “Being in love with you…And for the record,” he adds, “if you ever wanna crawl onto this couch and make out with me, I absolutely won’t stop you.” You stare at him for a long second. He peeks one eye open again, smirk deepening. “Didn’t say now… but if you’re feelin’ it, I’m just sayin’, consent granted.”