This was originally going to be longer since it was a holiday prompt fill for... myself, basically. Posting it here for archives and because I like it.
Bubbles go flat in his stomach; the champagne's sweetness barely manages to mask the alcohol. His mouth feels stale. His muscles are loose, but the buzz has already begun to wear off. He can hear an old-fashioned clock ticking somewhere. For a moment it reminds him of the music room, then he remembers that he’s in Haruhi’s apartment. He doesn’t really care to figure out what time it is. Too late, that’s all he remembers.
“Haruhi,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. She doesn’t reply. She might be asleep. She must be asleep.
He blinks at the ceiling light. It suddenly looks like heaven.
“I’ve always liked you,” he says. Like.
He thinks about the English word, weak and connective, genial at best. When he says it in Japanese it’s laced with something heavy, something more.
He lowers his heavy head to look at her.
He closes his eyes and he, too, falls asleep, content to have broken nothing.