Chapter 3 Sasha | Slow Dancing.

I watched Lyons reach out for the remote control, and wiped away the last spools of tears. He leaned back and pulled me closer. The contact of his hands around the small of my back felt good as I clung to his side, though this wasn't a position we'd always adopted every movie night. We'd always sit on each sides of the sofa with my legs up on his thighs as he stroked my toes for example, or I'd lay with my head on his thighs and he stroked my hair as we made small talk while watching our favourite rom-coms. But this was new. Perhaps he sensed how much I needed it.

I was cutting up inside and I needed him to glue the pieces together.

He'd always been an immense support to me. Best friends since college days, we'd seen each other through mathematical crises, relationship issues, family dramas, and the loss of loved ones. He'd been there for me when I lost my mother and had no one to support me in the hospital because my father had ran away and my brother was terribly sick. I'd gone to him when he lost his gran and the family's dog. He was the one person I trusted, who was always there for me to count on. Even when he'd been living at the other side of the world before he finally returned to Bristol City for good, he was my go-to person. The one I called when a blind date flopped and I was feeling down, or had exciting news to share.

He blew my hair apart to kiss me on the forehead, scrolling through Netflix. "Okay, how about episode twenty? My favourite."

"Sounds perfect." I said in a sleepy voice, enjoying the warmth that wafted off his skin. I noticed the trail of hair that ran down his stomach for the first time since I arrived. I'd been too wrapped up in grief to check him out closely, and looking back to past years I realized I'd never paid his looks much closer attention. He was only wearing black boxer briefs and I didn't want him to catch a cold. I'd warmed up now and my clothes had dried with the heat coming off his body but still felt he needed to have something on. Sitting up to pull the comfy blanket off my shoulders. "Here." I draped it over both our laps and then reached for the wine bottle again.

We watched a full season as we passed the bottle back and forth. Slow Dancing had always been our favourite movie since uni. It had quite an exquisite plot with a deceptive female lead and a gorgeous male lead who'd gotten blind from an accident. Lyons and I loved the steam and the emotions the love between these two left us with, which was why we never got tired of watching it multiple times - and it was exactly what I needed tonight. A temporary escape from my petty reality. I wasn't ready to wallow in the impact Alex's betrayal left me with nor how it'd wreck my life onwards. The alcohol helped a great deal and by the time we'd gone half the second season, I was giggling at nothing at all - too drunk to care about anything.

I blinked as the new episode began, feeling like I was floating upwards. Lyons lay sprawled beside me, his breathing deep as he slept and his feet up on the coffee table. At some point I'd slumped sideways with my head on his laps like we normally did and he put his arms around my bosom, his skin warm and solid, and I felt weird from the contact. It made me realize how long it'd been when Alex last showed me such physical affection. This should have been some sort of clue to me that something was wrong somewhere - something other than being overworked and tired.

"You still up, Sash?" I felt him adjust as he rubbed at his bleary eyes with the back of his palm.

"Y-Yeah." I slurred, too lazy to move and in no mood to talk. I was warm and cozy, and having Lyons close helped to dissipate the ache in my heart. Not talking helped me not to think about anything other than the present.

He yawned and stretched out his arms, ribs lifting as he mistakenly tipped the empty bottle with his foot. "You're gonna feel like shit in the morning."

"How long have we been watching this movie?" I asked, head spinning and eyes blurry.

"Been an hour. Sorry Sash, mind if I use the restroom for a minute?"

"Oh yes. Of course." I sat up, scooting closer to my original position that evening so he could stand and collapsed on the arm rest so I was lying on the sofa. The room tilted a bit with the movement. "Ugh. My head hurts."

I drifted off for a few minutes before Lyons returned, the sofa dipping as he sat on the other edge. He patted my cheek softly. "Sash? Get up and drink this, and then we should turn in for the night." He was holding out a glass of water and reeked of toothpaste.

I took the glass from him and gulped down its contents, the cool droplets coursing through my bloodstream, diluting the alcohol and restoring some sanity. "Thanks." I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

He took the glass and put it down for me. "Go wash up your teeth and stuff. I'll make the sofa bed up."

Standing up was a challenge, but I managed it. I rummaged through my bag for my toothbrush and other bathing essentials and went to the bathroom. After easing myself a bit of all the alcohol and water in my system, I brushed my teeth, then rinsed and spat. As I straightened up to stare at my sullen reflection in the mirror, the room spun around me. I gripped the edge of the sink to keep steady and gasped at the stranger that stared back at me. The skin around my eyes that was normally fair was ghostly pale in the bright light of the bathroom and my flaxen hair was the only splash of colour against the utilitarian white tiles and walls. The large bags underneath my eyes looked as though they'd been stitched in place by a sewing machine. I felt weak too, fighting down a wave of pain as thoughts about Alex pushed out from the alcohol recesses of my brain. I shoved them back, not wanting to deal with that now and turned on the shower.

Back in the room, Lyons had unfolded the sofa into a bed which I knew from experience wouldn't qualify as the most comfy thing in the world, having lounged on it the few times Alex and I had our mini fights and I was too angry to sleep under the same roof with him. But I was too hurt to care about feeling comfortable - too hurt to feel anything at all.

He spread out a sheet, bending over to tuck it in and I stood by, admiring the tight curvature of his arse. I ripped my gaze away as he straightened back up and turned to face me. "Ugh, I feel so woozy. You'll need to help with the duvet cover. I'll never be able to do it alone with this much booze."

I laughed and poked his stomach before we got the duvet under the cover. Once it was on the sofa bed, he flopped onto it with a groan, face down and his arms out sideways. "God, I feel beyond shitty. You're the cause of this Sasha. You tempted me to drink."

I giggled. "I thought this was supposed to be my bed."

He held up a finger. "Yup, be out in a minute."

Shrugging, I pulled on my nightdress and got into the bed. There was just enough space for me on one side with him curled up in a heap on top of the covers. I rubbed at my eyelids which were beginning to drop almost as soon as I laid down, the heavy exhaustion of alcohol and too much emotion weighing down on me. I was just about to drift off when he began to snore.

"Lyons." I patted his cheeks softly. "Go to your bed, or at least get under the covers if you're too tired to move so much."

He groaned, but heaved himself up. "I'm going. Nighty Night."

"Nighty Night." I mumbled.

He turned off the lights on his way out, plunging me into inky darkness with the moon filtering in through the windows that were slightly drawn apart to let in some air. The last thing I heard was the click of his bedroom door before I sunk into a dreamless abyss.