His soft strands tickle me at first, but as I sit there immobile, I forget about the itchy feeling and focus on the fact that I am about to fall off the lounge. 

I implant my foot out from under the table to the side and grip my left hand on the table, as his torso is leant on my right arm. I bite my cracked lips as I try to think of another way to support him, as this position is becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second. 

Maybe I should just wake him.

I glance at Baekhyun. His head is slightly tilted forward and I can barely make out his features in the dark. His eyes are closed, and I can feel his breaths heaving in and out of him. 

Looks like he's not acting.

I gasp as my high heel slides forward a little from Baekhyun and I's weight. I press my heel harder against the ground, already feeling the bruise of the strap digging into my ankle. I am not going to last long like this. 

Not being able to find another way to keep both Baekhyun and I comfortable, I consider waking the drunk boy from his passed out state. What would happen if I try and shake him? Would he blink rapidly and look around his surroundings confused, before landing his eyes on me and mistaking me for a girl that wants to play around with him?

I shudder at the frightening thoughts.

Suddenly, Baekhyun turns his head and pushes into me, his hands wrapping around my arm and his cheek digging into the crook of my neck. This whole act has resulted in both of my legs on the side of the lounge to support our weight, my right hand plastered on the seat of the couch in between us, and my left hand is somehow lying in Baekhyun's hair. It seems like my touch is keeping his head against the backrest of the seat. Realising this, I quickly pull my hand away and hope with all my might that Baekhyun is still passed out. 

My torso is now twisted - this is definitely an even more uncomfortable position than the last one - and my right arm has pins and needles sprinting across my skin. The music has also changed from a slower pace - something I had not realised was giving me a less bother of a headache, and oh how I wish I had relished in - to yet another upbeat remix, pounding into my ears and making my heart beat furiously. 

I feel that I should wake the damn boy - why should he drag me to a party only for him to be enjoying my uncomfortable state - before my senses alert my attention to a wet drop on my arm. My face contorts into one of disgust as I slowly rotate my head to look at the boy. The strobes not offering enough light, I slowly inch my finger towards my arm and my face worsens as it comes in contact with a wet patch.

Eww! How dare he drool on me?!

"Bastard," I find myself shrieking as I, in one impressive movement, move my legs back under the table and lean my torso back, the wretched boy falling into my awaiting hands, and with as much strength as I can muster, I shove the boy away from me, and the said boy falls on the couch on his side. 

There is no time for me to grin in victory though as I forget about the gap between us and the black band, and soon my torso is painfully wrenched at before I find my head on top of Baekhyun's waist. I have collided the top of my cheekbone with his hipbone, and so I take no mind to our current position as I tenderly massage the top of my cheek, wincing.

Why is life so unfair? I think to myself as I slowly start to take in my surroundings. My eyes go round and my mouth freezes as I realise I am hovering over Baekhyun and stop myself just in time from springing back, the bruise on my waist in mind. I position myself as far away as the band would allow, one hand on my cheek. I breathe out shakily from the past ten minutes. How did I get myself into this mess?

Narrowing my eyes, I glare at the boy. The fact that he got himself so intoxicated that he passed out, and caused such an inconvenience for me is absurd. And he's still sleeping. 

He's still sleeping?!

I wait and observe his motionless figure. I can just barely make out his shoulders moving up and down at a steady pace. 

This boy...  

-

The sore pain in my neck registers in my brain before I command my eyes to open.

I carefully inch my head out of its craned position and stare blearily around me. 

Flickering blue lights, empty cups turned over, a boy slumped on his side next to me.

The party.

I scratch my head as I bid the buzzing numbness in my head to leave me be. My eyes stray away from the familiar-yet-not-so-familiar boy to the other side of the table. The blinking lights show a strange form of mist is present in the room. It is too dark to distinguish more than the outlines of pushed-over chairs and lounges, and so I look down and glance at the floor.

People are sprawled across the space, in every form and shape. None of them move. The room is heavy with alcohol residue and barf. I stop scanning the people when I realise that the reason why I can see the skin of body parts I shouldn't be seeing is not because they are wearing see-through clothes. I wipe the dried saliva from the corner of my mouth.

What time is it?

I look back to the table and catch sight of an iPhone sitting vulnerably in front of me. I gingerly press the home button and a white flash burns my eyes. My mouth falls open to shriek but no sound comes out, as I keep my eyes clenched and my body stiff. My terrible headache still does not subside. Slowly, I peel my eyes back open and stare at the black screen. Prepared, I press the button again and squint at the white figures, the massive -cheeks displayed as the wallpaper taking no place in my mind. 

1:58am.

I sit there, glaring at the black device, pressing the home button frequently until the white numbers finally change into a time I want.

2:00am.

"Party's ended," I holler to myself, unsure if I said that aloud. Not that my words would have reached anyone else's ears.

I am about to heave myself off the lounge, when I suddenly stop and look behind me. The boy is slumped in the same position as after I had woken up, and before.

"Get up," I say, my eyelids half closed. 

He doesn't get up.

"I said get up!" I raise my voice and land a slap at his waist. 

I wait for a few seconds, and when he still makes no move, I reach my hand over to his bare bicep, gather his skin between my pointer and thumb, and squeeze mercilessly. 

At once the boy jolts backwards and collides with the back-rest, kicking his feet forward and probably jamming his toe on the table leg. A grunt escapes him and I look down on him, still wondering why my head hasn't stopped hurting.

"Are you up?" I ask him loudly and the boy lifts his head towards me, scrutinising me with his tired eyes. I watch him as he slowly props himself onto his elbow, staring at me for a bit longer, before pushing up into a sitting position. All the while his gaze never leaves me, his black pupils half concealed by his eyelids. My eyes finally pry fully open when the boy leans towards me, his gaze following behind me as his body inches closer to mine, before he doubles over and a gurgled sound is heard, mixed with an unmistakeable ejection noise.

He disgorged just next to my shoulder, but my senses are still muddled up and I had not thought to move out of the way, and so it traveled down to soak my dress before making contact with my bottom.

My senses being still numb can be the only explanation as to why I do not move while the stench fills my nose and my dress absorbs more warm liquid. I wait while the boy chokes out everything, watching his back violently push forward with each heave. Finally, he limply retracts his body to stare at me with his tired eyes.

"Let's go," I say as soon as he lands his eyes on me, and wobble on my high heels. The world spins before my eyes and I clutch at the backrest, kicking off the black shoes in irritation. The boy pushes himself off the lounge, sliding straight through his own mess, and stands up beside me. Without a word, his warm palm encircles my wrist and before I know it, he is dragging us across the room, not bothering to walk around or over people, and I do the same. The bodies feel sweaty and heated under my cold feet, and I must've stepped on some spilled alcohol, or something the like for once we exit the room, my feet are left sticky on the marble tiles. 

The front door is wide open, which explains why the house felt so unwelcome. Outside, it is bitteringly cold and I shiver in my thin dress. The boy's hand is still clamped on my wrist, offering the only warmth available, as we trudge across the lawn strewn with cans and clothes, and a wardrobe, to a sleek car. The opening of a car door sounds and a man seeming a tad familiar gets out. He is a litle taller than the boy I was at the party with, dressed in a formal suit. The man bows to the boy and I, and in a minute, I find myself sitting on cool leather seats. The boy whose hand isn't on my wrist anymore is sitting beside me, his head resting against the tinted windows, breaths even. The man in the black suit is sitting at the wheel, and turns his head around, giving us a once-over, before the engine starts with a warm rev. 

I watch as the house with its blinking blue lights weakly flash through the windows slowly roll away from us, before my head feels heavier than ever and all I can see and think is nothing.