🎀 Jan. Fluff. One Drunken Night [Cam] 🎀

Word Count: 1568

By the time you stumble up the stairs and into Cam's apartment, the dizziness has started to settle, but the shirt still feels unbearable. It clings to your skin, suffocating like it's trying to press all the air out of your lungs. You tug at the fabric, your breath coming quicker, that earlier fire now a low, simmering boil.

Cam notices. Of course, he always notices. "Hey, it's just a shirt, not a spiderweb. No creepy crawly is going to try and eat you today." he jokes, tossing you a fresh one from his pile of clothes.

You don't respond - you can't. Not when your hands keep fidgeting, pulling at the fabric, wrinkling it. His voice softens. "Red… it's not just the shirt, is it?"

Your throat tightens. You don't want to talk about it, so you don't. It's not like you need to; Cam can read you better than anyone. You take the shirt from his hands, fingers lingering over the soft, worn fabric, the warmth of his hand beneath it.

Cam doesn't push. He just watches for a second before ruffling your hair. "There, crisis averted. And you don't even have to give it back."

Little did you know, drunk you can't exactly navigate putting clothes on. Off was easy, you tossed your shirt so quickly that the startled gasp that came from Cam caused you to ignore the tips of his ears turning a mixture of red and pink.

"Give me a warning!" He yells, turning and nearly falling over the couch.

"We used to bath together as kids Cam, it's not like you haven't seen it all before."

He scoffs, his gaze drifting from the little trinkets scattered along the apartment. Then another gasp and swears follow. "Who the hell put a mirror there?!"

"You did."

You barely manage to change into his shirt, finding it's so oversized it hits your knees before exhaustion starts dragging you under. The dizziness, the weight of the night, the burn of the alcohol still in your throat – it's all too much.

"I'll get your shirt back to you once it's washed," Cam mentions, picking it up with his fingertips.

"Don't bother, Jade gave it to me for my birthday."

"Oh, okay then." Even in your buzzed state, you can see the grin on his face as he tosses the shirt into the trash.

Cam's voice is somewhere in the background, telling you to drink some water, but your head is already sinking into the pillow. The scent of him lingers in the fabric of the borrowed shirt – clean, familiar, something like citrus and the faintest trace of vanilla. It's grounding, enough that your body finally stops fighting sleep.

You don't know how long you're out before you stir again, half-conscious, warm, and tangled in the sheets. There's movement beside you – soft, hesitant.

"You okay?" he whispers, tucking the blanket behind you.

"Mmm, you."

"What about me?"

You shift and lean closer to him, pressing your cheek to his chest. "Why are you so red?"

Cam mutters under his breath, worried you’ll see just how flustered he is. Worse, you might hear the way his heart just skipped a beat. Only to yelp when you reach up and tug on his hair.

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?!"

"Take off the wig," you grumble.

Cam tries to move, only to be pulled back, his face flush against your chest. "It's – ah, shit – it's not a wig!"

His words come out muffled and rushed, his hand tapping on yours as if to say  'I give'. "Oh God… Oh God," his voice comes out higher pitched. "I think that's a nip-"

"Hey Cam, I was always curious-"

"Of what I look like bald?!" He hisses.

"No… just about the downstairs. You know? Is the hair up here," you tug his hair once more, finding he whimpers this time. "the same color as the hair down there?"

He doesn't answer, instead, his body stills and his head presses tighter against your chest. You only relent when he tells you to ask about it when you're sober.

Finally, your grip loosens, your breathing evens out, and you're asleep once more.

He brushes a few strands of hair from your forehead, then wets his thumb to gently wipe away the smudge of pizza sauce still clinging to your cheek. A small, fond sigh escapes him.

"I know today wasn’t what you wanted, and fuck, call me selfish," he murmurs, voice low, in hopes of not waking you. "But I’m glad it was spent with me.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him, not when he’s moving in and his heart feels like it’s going to jump through his chest. Or when his lips press to the corner of yours. Seeing you disappointed and hurt pains him. But you thinking that you don’t matter, that hurts worse. Because to him, you’re everything. Even if he doesn’t have the courage to admit it.

With that, he tugs the blanket up to your shoulders, letting out a long, shaky breath as he sits back, watching over you for just a little longer.

“I’m so screwed,” Cam mutters, trying and failing to keep from brushing a finger along your ear. “So, so screwed.”