They stayed like that— sitting on the couch together, Emilio curled into Mateo— until Emilio’s breathing evened out and his tears stopped falling.
“Thank you,” Emilio said as he pulled himself off of Mateo.
Mateo nodded, “sometimes it's good to just get things off your chest.”
Emilio nodded, wiping away his tears again.
“I’ll bring you some pillows and blankets okay?” Mateo said as he got off the couch.
“Hmm?” Emilio asked.
“So you can sleep here.”
Emilio looked down, then back up at Mateo with a you can’t be serious face. “I’m not sleeping on a couch.”
“Uh, what?”
“I'm not sleeping on a couch,” Emilio repeated. “It’s beneath me, I'm too good for that," he said matter of factly.
Then he stood up, only stumbling a little bit as he walked to the nearest door.
He opened it, ready to walk in.
“That’s a closet.” Mateo quickly informed him as he sat back down on the couch.
Emilio paused, examining the closet he had just opened.
He nodded, then in a very good British accent said, “and a mighty good one too,” as he closed it.
“And he does accents!” Mateo informed a non-existent crowd.
“The bedroom,” Emilio requested, still with his accent.
Mateo chuckled as he stood up.
He put on a serious face as he reached Emilio and did the very best bow he could. “This way my liege,” he said, attempting his own British accent, “thy royal highness, British Spongebob.”
Emilio nodded approvingly and followed Mateo to the bedroom.
“This'll do.” Emilio said as he looked around the bedroom.
“Mighty good to hear that,” Mateo said, dropping the British accent. His natural southern accent that usually only popped up when he was visiting family in Texas sounded heavier than normal.
Mateo’s bed was still unmade but to keep from feeling embarrassed he reminded himself that it had been Emilio who’d woken him up at 3am and made him leave his house running. No time for making beds in an emergency.
“That’ll be all,” Emilio said, waving Mateo off as we walked to the bed and flopped onto it, spreading out like a starfish.
Mateo chuckled then grabbed some blankets and pillows from his closet to go sleep on the couch. But as he was walking out he glanced back at Emilio, sleeping on his stomach.
“Hey,” Mateo whispered, “you’re not gonna throw up again, are you? I don’t want you to choke on your vomit and die or something. That would be pretty bad.”
When he didn’t get a response Mateo quickly dropped the pillows and blankets on the floor and walked over to Emilio to check his pulse. He let out a sigh as he found Emilio’s pulse beating strong.
He looked out his bedroom door to the living room. It felt too far away in case there was an emergency.
Five minutes later and Mateo had successfully brought in his recliner from his living room into his bedroom. He set it in the corner, at the end of bed.
Despite being very tired, he couldn’t fall asleep. He felt hyper-aware of every sound and found himself constantly opening his eyes to check if he could see or hear signs of life from Emilio. Emilio’s eventual soft snores were helpful.
After an hour had gone by and Mateo still found himself unable to sleep he got up and grabbed one of his sketchbooks. With the moonlight streaming in from the windows behind him, he began to draw, absentmindedly at first, abstract figures and shapes, until he eventually realized he was drawing a car, his car.
With a smile on his face, he continued his sketch of him and Emilio stargazing on the roof of his car.
"Where- where am I?” Emilio asked, squinting at the sun blasting in through the window.
“Mr. Everhart. You're awake.” Mateo grinned, walking into the bedroom.
“Please. Not so loud.” Emilio demanded, putting his hand up to block the sun. He took another look around.
He was laying on a bed that wasn’t his, wearing clothes that weren't his, staring at a tall handsome stranger who had a huge dopey grin on his face.
“Did we?” Emilio started asking, shifting on the bed—checking—but regretting it as soon as the world started spinning again.
“It would appear," Emilio stated, giving a tight smile to the stranger, "That I am hungover.”
“You don’t..." Mateo asked, grin slowly faltering. "You don’t remember anything, do you?”
“Look, please don't take any offense. I’m sure you were great and that we had a fantastic night, and I'm sure I enjoyed myself greatly-”
“No!" Mateo quickly cut him off. "What? You think we- we didn’t have—You, you, you called me last night to pick you up from a party! I didn’t know where you lived so I brought you back to my place. And," Mateo added, smirking as he tried to hide the amusement in his voice, "you refused to sleep on the couch because you're, and I quote, too good for that.”
“I called you?” Emilio asked, carefully propping himself up on his elbows. “Who are you?”
See ya in the next chapter! ♡(´・ω・｀)♡ (hopefully)
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