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The streetlights bled into halos of orange through Pin’s blurry vision. The world was tilting, a funhouse mirror version of itself, and the only solid thing was the arm around her waist and the shoulder her cheek was smushed against. It smelled like cheap laundry detergent and that specific, comforting scent that was just Coiny.
“Almost home, bud,” he said, his voice a low rumble she felt more than heard. His steps were sure, steady, even with her entire weight leaning into him. She tried to match his pace, but her legs had decided to become unreliable noodles.
“I’m… fine,” she insisted, the words coming out thick and disconnected. “I can—walk. I’m walking!”
“You’re doing a fantastic impression of a marionette with half its strings cut,” he replied, his tone light. She could hear the smile in it. He shifted his grip, his hand firm on her hip to keep her upright as she listed to the left. “Just a few more blocks.”
A wave of something warm and fuzzy.. not the booze, something else??? washed over her. She focused on the sidewalk cracks sliding beneath their feet.
“You’re.. so—small,” she mumbled into his shirt.
He let out a soft huff of laughter. “And you’re a very observant drunk, Pinster. Real Einstein over here.”
The nickname, the gentle teasing, it made her chest feel tight. She wanted to argue, to prove she was still sharp, but her brain was moving through syrup. Instead, she blurted, “Your—voice. It’s nice. In the morning. When it’s all… scratchy.”
The rhythm of his steps faltered for just a second. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She nodded, which was a mistake. The world spun. She gripped the fabric of his baggy hoodie tighter. “Like… gravel. But nice gravel. Smooth gravel.”
“Smooth gravel..” he repeated, amusement coloring his words. “I’ll take it.”
They made it to the front door of their shared apartment. Coiny fumbled for his keys, trying to hold her up with one arm. She sagged against the doorframe, watching his profile in the dim porch light. The stubble along his jaw, the way his brow furrowed in concentration… Pin’s hand, acting entirely on its own, lifted and poked his cheek.
He startled, keys jangling. “Hey.”
“You didn’t shave,” she said, her words slow and deliberate.
“You said you liked it,” he said, not looking at her as he finally got the key in the lock.
“I do.” Her finger traced the rough line of his jaw. It was a bold move, a Pin move, the kind of space invasion she was infamous for, but softened by the alcohol into something more curious than demanding. He went very still.
The door swung open. Coiny guided her inside, kicking the door shut behind them. The familiar chaos of their living room greeted them coffee mugs on the floor, a blanket tangled on the couch, one of her white dresses draped over a chair. Coiny steered her toward the couch.
“Sit. Before you fall.”
She plopped down, the cushions swallowing her. He stood over her for a moment, hands on his hips, catching his breath. In the soft light from the kitchen, she could see the faint dusting of orange still clinging to the tips of his brown curls.
“Water,” he declared, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Pin let her head fall back against the couch. The room was gently swaying. She heard the tap run, the clink of a glass. When he returned, he held it out to her. “Drink. All of it.”
She took the glass, her fingers brushing his. A tiny, electric zip went up her arm. She drank obediently, the cool water helping to clear some of the fog. When she lowered the glass, he was sitting on the coffee table in front of her, elbows on his knees, watching her.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.
“Headache,” she admitted, rubbing her temple. “Tomorrow’s gonna SUCK.”
“I’ll get you aspirin.” He made to get up, but her hand shot out, clumsy, and grabbed his wrist.
“Wait.”
He paused, looking down at where her fingers circled his arm, then back up at her face. His expression was unreadable.
“You’re… mad?” she asked, the words slipping out. Her social calibration was always a bit off, and now it was completely broken. “At me? For—getting like this?”
Coiny’s brows shot up. “What????? No. Why would I be mad?”
“I’m a liability. You had to—carry me.” She gestured vaguely, her other hand still gripping his wrist. She didn’t let go. “It’s… dumb.”
He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Pin. It was two drinks. You’re a lightweight, it’s cute. I don’t mind.” He leaned forward a little, his free hand coming up to gently push a strand of her spiky red hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed the arch of her cheekbone, just shy of the scatter of freckles there. “I don’t mind taking care of you.”
The touch sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with being cold. His gaze held hers, and the air in the room seemed to get thicker, warmer. The playful energy from the bar, the casual flirting he did with everyone, was gone. This was different. This was just for her. His eyes dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second.
He was so close. She could see the different colors in his irises, the little flecks of gold. She could feel the heat coming off him. Her breath caught in her throat, not a hitch, just a full stop.
Coiny’s smile turned a little wry, a little self conscious, as if he’d just realized how close they were. He started to pull back, his hand leaving her hair. “You should probably—”
“Don’t.” The word was out before she could stop it. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea, soft and ragged.
He froze. His eyes searched her face, looking for the joke, the tease, but finding only a raw, open nervousness. The kind she only ever showed him really.. The possessiveness he pretended he didn’t feel coiled tight in his gut. Seeing her like this, trusting and vulnerable and asking…
Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he leaned in again. He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. His touch was calloused but impossibly gentle. Pin’s eyes fluttered shut.
The first brush of his lips against hers was a question. Soft. Tentative. A test.
It was an answer to a question she hadn’t known how to ask.
Her hands came up, one still holding his wrist, the other fisting in the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, no longer a question but a statement. His mouth moved against hers, warm and sure, and she melted into it. The taste of him was familiar and intoxicating—the faint, sweet ghost of the soda he’d been drinking, something uniquely Coiny. One of his hands slid from her face into her hair, dislodging her headband with a soft clatter to the floor. The sound was loud in the quiet room.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against hers. Their breaths mingled, shaky and uneven. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.
“Pin…” he murmured, his voice rough. It was the morning voice she loved, but chargedwith something new, something that made her stomach do a slow, delicious flip.
She didn’t let him finish. She surged forward, capturing his lips again. This kiss was less gentle, fueled by a sudden, dizzying hunger. Her fingers tangled in his curls, pulling him down to her level on the couch. He followed, bracing a hand on the cushion beside her head, his body hovering over hers. The weight of him, the solid feel of his chest against hers, was everything. She could feel the rapid thump of his heart through their clothes.
One of his hands slid down, skimming her side, coming to rest on the curve of her hip. His fingers pressed into the softness there, a firm, grounding pressure. A soft sound escaped her, a muffled gasp against his mouth. He swallowed it, kissing her harder, deeper. The world outside their couch ceased to exist. There was only this: the slick heat of his mouth, the scratch of his stubble on her skin, the way his body fit against hers like they were made to slot together.. (they totally were.)
He broke the kiss, trailing his lips along her jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below her ear. His breath was hot on her neck. “You have NO idea,” he whispered, the words vibrating against her skin, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
Before she could answer, before she could even process the confession, he found her lips again. His hand on her hip slid under the hem of her white dress, his palm warm against her bare thigh. The contact was like a spark.
The kiss deepened, turning hungry, all pretense of gentleness gone for a moment. It was all heat and seeking hands and the dizzying, wonderful pressure of him. Just as his fingers began to curl, digging in with that perfect mix of need and care, Pin’s brain finally caught up to the rest of her body. A sharp, warning throb hit behind her eyes, the kind that promised tomorrow would be a full blown migraine if she didn’t pump the brakes. She pulled back abruptly, her hands flattening against his chest like she was shoving him off a cliff. Except it wasn’t a shove; it was more like clinging to him while trying to create space.
Coiny froze instantly, his hand snapping back from her thigh like it’d been burned. He sat up straight, eyes wide, that puppy-dog look dialed up to eleven with a side of panic. “Shit!! sorry. I got carried away. You okay?”
Pin blinked up at him, her lips tingling, cheeks on fire. The room was still doing that lazy spin, but now it felt less fun and more like a warning. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to squash the pounding. “Head.. hurts. Bad. Likeee.. a hammer.”
He was off the couch in a flash, hovering but not touching, like he was afraid she’d shatter if he got too close again. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Aspirin. Water. Bed. I got you.”
She watched him dart to the kitchen, his baggy hoodie swallowing his small frame as he rummaged through the cabinet. The clatter of bottles and glasses was loud in the quiet apartment. Pin slumped deeper into the cushions, pulling her knees up under the hem of her dress. Her freckles felt hot, like they were glowing. What the hell had just happened? They’d kissed. Like, really kissed. And it wasn’t some sloppy drunk mistake.. it felt… deliberate. Important.
Coiny came back with another glass of water and two pills in his palm. He handed them over carefully, then perched on the edge of the coffee table again, giving her space this time. “Take these. It’ll help.”
She swallowed the pills obediently, chasing them with big gulps of water.
“That was… I didn’t—mean to stop. Just.. my head.”
He nodded too fast, rubbing the back of his neck. His curls were a mess from her fingers, sticking up in wild directions. “No, totally get it. Bad timing. You’re wrecked.” A pause, then a sheepish grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We can… talk about the other stuff tomorrow? When you’re not seeing double?”
Pin set the glass down with a clumsy thunk, her hands waving vaguely in the air like she was trying to grab the right words out of thin air. “I liked it. The kissing. A lot.” She froze mid-gesture, realizing how blunt that sounded. Her face went nuclear. “I mean—not that I—it’s just—???”
Coiny’s grin softened into something real, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. He reached out slowly, like he was approaching a skittish cat, and tucked another stray spike of her red hair behind her ear. No lingering this time, just a quick, gentle touch. “I liked it too, Pin. More than a lot.” His voice dropped, that rough edge creeping in again.
“Been thinking about it for… longer than I should admit.”
The acknowledgement hung there, heavy and sweet. Pin’s chest did that tight thing again, but in a good way. She wanted to ask how long, wanted to pull him back down and pick up where they’d left off, but the headache was ramping up, turning the room into a nauseating tilt a whirl. She winced, pressing her fingers to her temples.
“Okay, bed time for real,” Coiny said, standing up and offering his hand. “Come on. I’ll tuck you in like the responsible adult I pretend to be.”
She took his hand, letting him pull her up. The world swayed hard, and she leaned into him without thinking, her arm looping around his waist. He was so short her chin could rest on the top of his head if she wanted but he held her steady like it was nothing. They shuffled down the short hallway to her bedroom, his arm firm around her shoulders.
He eased her onto the edge of her bed, kneeling to slip off her shoes. Pin watched him, her green eyes heavy lidded. “You—always do this. Take care of me...”
He glanced up, stubble catching the low light from the hallway. “Someone’s gotta. And I like it.” A quick flash of that flirty smile he used on everyone, but softer here. Just for her. “Plus, you in that dress? Sexy combo.”
She huffed a laugh, but it turned into a groan as she flopped back onto the pillows. The bed was soft, familiar, scented with her lavender detergent and the faint trace of whatever cologne Coiny borrowed from her bathroom. He pulled the blanket up over her, tucking it around her sides with careful precision.
“Need anything else? More water? Trash can in case you—”
“I’m good,” she mumbled, her hand snaking out from under the blanket to grab his sleeve. “Stay? Just—till I sleep.”
Coiny hesitated for a beat, then kicked off his own shoes and climbed onto the bed beside her, on top of the blanket, keeping that respectful distance. He propped himself on one elbow, facing her. The mattress dipped under his slight weight, pulling her toward him a little.
Pin rolled onto her side, facing him. Even drunk and aching, she couldn’t help invading his space a bit.. her forehead nudging against his shoulder. He didn’t mind. His free hand came up, fingers threading gently through her spiky red hair, careful not to tug.
“This okay?” he asked quietly.
“Mhm.” Her eyes were already drifting shut. The petting felt incredible, soothing the throb in her head. Coiny knew exactly how she liked it, slow strokes, nails scraping lightly against her scalp. He’d done this before, during her bad headache nights when sleep wouldn’t come. But tonight it felt different. Charged.
They lay like that in silence for a while, the only sound her breathing evening out and the occasional creak of the building settling. Coiny’s mind was racing, though.
That kiss replayed on loop: the way she’d pulled him closer, how perfectly her curves fit against him. He’d wanted that for ages flirted with the idea in his head during quiet mornings when she’d pad into the kitchen in one of those white dresses, hair tousled, freckles standing out against her medium brown skin.
But Pin was… Pin. Awkward and sweet and stubborn as hell. She didn’t do vulnerability easy. And he? He was the KING of slapping a smile over whatever shit was bubbling under the surface. Negative stuff? Useless. Solve it with jokes, with touch, with whatever made the moment feel good. Except now the moment felt too good, and he had no idea what tomorrow would bring. Would she remember? Regret it? Pretend it never happened?
His fingers paused in her hair. She made a soft, protesting noise and nuzzled closer, her hand finding his chest under the blanket’s edge. Even asleep or close to it, she sought him out.
Coiny resumed the petting, his thumb brushing over the shell of her ear. “You’re gonna have a killer hangover,” he whispered, more to himself than her. “I’ll make pancakes. The ones with extra blueberries. Bribe you into forgiving me for… whatever.”
She mumbled something incoherent, her breath warm against his collarbone. He smiled in the dark, that possessive warmth curling in his chest. Mine, some caveman part of his brain supplied. He shoved it down.. too intense but it lingered.
Eventually, her breathing deepened into real sleep. Coiny stayed a little longer, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest under the blanket. Her face was relaxed, resting bitch face softened into something peaceful. Freckles scattered across her nose like stars. Chubby cheeks he wanted to squish. He resisted the urge to kiss her forehead didn’t want to risk waking her.
Carefully, he extricated himself, tucking her arm back under the blanket. She stirred but didn’t wake. He stood at the door for a moment, hand on the frame, overthinking again. What if she woke up embarrassed?? What if she thought it was just the alcohol talking? He’d flirt his way out of it, probably. Make it light. But damn, he didn’t want light. He wanted more of that heat from the couch.
Shaking his head, he padded to his own room across the hall. Their doors were always open another one of those unspoken things. He stripped down to boxers and an old tee, flopping onto his bed. The ceiling fan whirred lazily overhead. Sleep didn’t come easy. His skin still buzzed where she’d touched him. That stubble she liked? He’d keep it forever if it made her trace his jaw like that again.
Morning crept in way too soon. Sunlight stabbed through the blinds like it had a personal grudge. Coiny groaned, rolling over to check his phone, 9:47 AM. Not bad. He could hear faint movement from Pin’s room: the creak of bedsprings, a muffled curse.
He hopped up, tugging on baggy sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a hoodie that swallowed him whole. His morning voice was nasty, the one she apparently liked... for some reason. He cleared his throat experimentally. Yeah, gravel city.
In the kitchen, he started coffee strong for him, weaker for her headache. Pancake batter next. He hummed under his breath, flipping the first few onto the griddle. The sizzle filled the apartment, along with the smell of blueberries.
Pin emerged eventually, looking like death warmed over. Her red hair was a spiky disaster, green eyes squinting against the light. She wore one of his old hoodies way too big on him so he gave it to her.. and shorts that barely peeked out. Bare feet padded softly on the tile.
“Morning, lightweight,” he greeted, sliding a mug of coffee her way. His voice was all rough edges, and he caught the way her eyes flicked to him, lingering.
She took the mug with both hands, inhaling the steam. “Heads still bad. But better.” A pause, her fingers tightening around the ceramic. “Last night. I—remember it...”
Coiny flipped a pancake, keeping his tone casual even as his heart did a stupid flip. “Yeah? The walk home? The water? Or…” He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow.
Her cheeks flushed under the freckles. She set the mug down, hands gesturing wildly like always—pointing at the griddle, then at him, then nothing. “The kissing. All of it.”
He plated a stack of pancakes (hey he didn’t burn it this time!!), adding extra blueberries on hers because he knew. Turning fully, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
That flirty smirk crept in the one he used to get his way but his eyes were soft. “Good. ‘Cause I wasn’t planning on letting you forget.”
Pin froze, brain rebooting like it did with random compliments. Then she ducked her head, hiding behind her hair. “I don’t want to forget. It was… nice.” Understatement of the fucking year.
Coiny pushed off the counter, closing the distance. He was small, yeah, but in the kitchen light, with that stubble and messy curls, he looked… solid. Reliable. He stopped just short of touching her, giving her space. “Nice, huh? I’ll take it. But for the record? It was more than nice on my end.”
She looked up then, green eyes meeting his puppy ones. Awkwardness hung thick, but underneath it was that pull, the one that kept them orbiting each other for years. “I.. got scared. The headache. And—everything. I’m not good at… this.”
“Neither am I,” he admitted, rubbing his neck again. He reached out, slow, and cupped her cheek. His thumb traced a freckle cluster. “We don’t have to rush. But I meant what I said last night. Been wanting it for a while.”
Pin leaned into the touch without thinking, her hand coming up to cover his. “Me too. I think. I just—overthink. A lot.”
He laughed softly, that morning rumble making her stomach flip. “Join the club. My brain’s been running monologues about you since forever.”
They stood like that, close but not kissing, just breathing the same air. The pancakes cooled on the counter. Coffee went forgotten.
Eventually, Pin’s stomach growled loud enough to break the moment. Coiny snorted. “Okay, food first. Deep emotional stuff after syrup.”
She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. They ate at the tiny table, knees bumping under it his legs barely reaching. Conversation stayed light: her complaining about the headache, him teasing her about her two drink limit. But the touches lingered his foot nudging hers, her hand brushing his when passing the syrup.
After breakfast, Coiny insisted on headache remedies: dim lights, cold compress, couch cuddles. Pin didn’t argue. They ended up horizontal on the couch her head in his lap, his fingers back in her hair. The TV droned some mindless show in the background.
“You know,” he said after a while, voice low, “I like this. Taking care of you. Even the hangover part.”
“I know,” she murmured, eyes closed. “You always do.”
“And you let me. That’s… big for you.”
She cracked an eye open, looking up at him. “Only you..”
His heart did that thing again. He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, no heat this time, just affection. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”
The day stretched lazy and quiet. No big declarations, no rushing into more kisses. Just them, tangled on the couch, his small body curled around her bigger one from behind when they dozed off. His arm draped over her hip, fingers splayed on the softness of her stomach under the borrowed hoodie.
Pin woke first that afternoon, the headache dulled to a manageable ache. Coiny was out cold, face smushed into her hair, breathing steady. She twisted carefully, facing him. Curls flopped over his forehead.
She reached out, tracing his cheek lightly. He stirred, mumbling something incoherent, then nuzzled into her palm like a puppy.. or a cat??? One of them. That touch thing he loved it. She kept going, fingers petting his jaw, his neck.
His eyes fluttered open, bleary and soft. “Hey,” he rasped
“Hey,” she echoed, not staccato this time. Smoother. Braver. He smiled slow, pulling her closer. No space between them now. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” She hesitated, then leaned in, pressing her lips to his. Soft. Testing. Sober this time. Coiny made a low, happy sound, kissing back gentle and slow. No hunger yet, just exploration. Confirmation. His hand found her hair again, hers cupped his face, thumb rubbing over the stubble.
When they pulled apart, foreheads touching, he whispered, “So… we’re doing this?”
Pin nodded, a real smile breaking through.. awkward but genuine. “Yeah. We—are.”
He grinned wide, that flirty energy bubbling up. “Cool. ‘Cause I’ve got years of repressed stuff to make up for.”
She groaned, hiding her face in his neck. “Don’t—overdo it.”
“Too late.” But he just held her tighter, small but steady. Outside, the day faded into night. Inside, their apartment felt smaller, warmer. Co-dependent? Maybe… But hey, it didn’t feel like a problem.. Not really.