i lose my voice when i look at you,
can't make a noise though i'm trying t o . . .

⚡️⚡️⚡️

I haven't experienced many hangovers in my life. I mean true, deathly, borderline-zombie-state hangovers. What I thought was classified as a "hangover" in high school was just waking up the next day with little to no sleep after drinking too much alcohol that my teenage body could handle at the time, since the substance was so new.

Well, I was proven very wrong the morning after my twenty-first birthday.

When I finally became conscious, I couldn't move. Even opening my eyes seemed like it'd be too much of a struggle. I didn't think it was possible for me to feel so shitty when it had nothing to do with 1. my anxiety or 2. a nightmare. But a disastrous hangover changed that thought real quick.

I didn't know what to expect of the bar last night. After all, the only thing I could go by were scenes in movies, and I never really planned on going into one. Maybe here and there, but it wasn't something on my bucket list. That changed due to my friends making plans without my knowledge, thus forcing me to go to a bar to celebrate my birthday.

On the edge of town was a bar called Skipper's – a small, dark place where people from areas all around came on the weekends to get cheap drinks and listen to good music. For a Wednesday night, I was surprised at how busy it was when the four of us got there at half past ten o'clock. Apparently, that was the appropriate time to get to a bar, or so I've been told by my friends.

Cheyenne bought the two of us drinks since I had no clue how a bar worked, what I liked, or how to even order. The thought of the whole process made my heart rate spike, but thankfully it didn't last due to my brazen best friend being a nightlife connoisseur. She got something that was in a tall skinny glass, claiming that I'd enjoy it. When the fruity sensation hit my taste buds, I knew she was right.

After that, everything gets fuzzy. I'm guessing that's why it felt like death came over me this morning.

For awhile I laid there in my bed, somewhat awake but not bothering to open my eyes or move my body. Cheyenne was sound asleep beside me, since I could feel her presence but she was awfully quiet. I couldn't pinpoint what time it was, but it had to have been early for Cheyenne to still be sleeping. No matter how late she stays up, she always gets up early. The girl has been a hardcore morning person since birth and nothing could change that.

When I heard Cheyenne let out a lengthy sigh, I did the same. There was no point in me trying to catch some more shut-eye, my body rejecting the idea since I'd been pointlessly lying in my bed for God knows how long. It took every ounce of strength in me to turn over and open my eyes.

If I didn't think this brutal hangover was a rude awakening, then waking up to someone who was clearly not Cheyenne sleeping next to me certainly fell under that category.

I stared at Ronnie, unable to take my eyes away from him while hundreds of questions flooded my hazy mind. Every part of me tensed up, wondering where Cheyenne was, when I got home, how Ronnie got in my bed, and what the fuck to do to get rid of this spinning feeling. Luckily, I wasn't waiting that long for some answers because Ronnie soon stirred, coming out of his peaceful, unconscious state. If I wasn't so anxious about not remembering my night, I would have sat there and watched him sleep all day.

"Oh." Ronnie sort of flinched when he focused on me, laughing a bit. "Good morning."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," I chuckled too.

He lazily smiled at me before he shifted onto his back and rubbed at his face with his hands. The muscles in his arms were mesmerizing, and I felt frustrated at the fact that he was wearing a t-shirt. I certainly wasn't complaining about Ronnie in my bed, and a shirtless Ronnie at that would have made it even better. I just doubt my dad would feel the same way.

As he leaned over to grab his phone from my nightstand, I happened to see that it was a little after eleven o'clock in the morning. I had class in about two hours and I knew right then I wasn't going to make it, unless I wanted to embarrass myself by either falling asleep during lecture or throwing up on my desk. There was a chance that either of those things could happen, and I wasn't one to take risks.

"So I hate to throw all this on you right now, but I just don't remember how we got home, or why you're in my bed, or pretty much anything from last night," I sheepishly explained, and he let out another light laugh.

"It's fine," he insisted and put his phone back on the nightstand. He rested on his back again and folded his hands across his stomach, gazing up at my ceiling. "We called a cab at two o'clock to come home, and we all decided to crash here to make sure you'd be alright."

"Where did everyone sleep?" I furrowed my eyebrows, glancing around my room for signs of Cheyenne or Tommy.

"You and Chey were in your bed, then me and Tommy crashed on the floor."

Nodding in understanding, I hummed. "Speaking of it, where are the lovebirds?" I asked.

"Downstairs. We all woke up earlier and they wanted breakfast so I'm pretty sure they just made themselves something since no one was home," he told me, and I nodded again.

"That's fine," I shrugged it off as a smirk started to creep its way across my face. "And what about you? Not hungry for breakfast?"

"Not necessarily," he ground out. And damn, if that didn't have my stomach fluttering, I don't know what would. "But I was still pretty beat, so I figured I'd take Cheyenne's place and sleep next to you, since it looked like you weren't gonna move for another day."

"Shut up," I grumbled jokingly, attempting to bury myself further under my comforter. "It was my birthday, I drank too much, and I had a lot of fun. All I care about is that I didn't puke."

"True," he agreed with a yawn.

I mimicked the gesture of exhaustion, then somehow pried myself from my bed and stood up. All I could think about was washing my face and brushing my teeth because I know I did neither of those things when we got home last night. So I told Ronnie I'd be right back and disappeared to the bathroom.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I realized most of my makeup disappeared in my sleep, probably staining my pillowcase. I made a mental note to wash my sheets later on. Even though I'd do anything to have Ronnie's scent all over my bed, I couldn't leave it like that for much longer. Besides, there aren't many things that make me as happy as a fresh bed does.

Ronnie was exactly how I left him when I got back to my room, a sleepy smile turning up his lips as he saw his sweatshirt covering my torso. My cheeks got hot from the look, and I crawled back in my spot next to him.

The warmth under the covers blocked out the chill that overcame the house every winter. It was no doubt that whenever my birthday arrived, it always seemed to bring along the coldest weather. I wasn't sure if it was just because of my tired state, or that Ronnie was with me, but it just felt cozier. Never did I ever imagine I would have another guy in my bed, and yet here he is.

In my daze, I noticed Ronnie staring at me with an impish expression, like he had a secret and he wanted me to guess what it was.

"What?" I asked with a smile in my voice, wondering what could be going through his mind. He wore the mischievous look pretty well, so there was no telling what he was thinking. Though the next few words definitely weren't what I was expecting.

"I saw your tattoo."

"That narrows it down," I said flatly, noting the fact that I had six of them.

He rolled his eyes now, a playful hint to the action, before he clarified himself. "The one you said you were never gonna show me."

And that's when my face dropped.

Did something happen last night that no one's telling me about? Was I an idiot with a guy, yet again? Am I reliving my hellish past?

"I-it's not what you're thinking. We all changed in front of each other last night before going to sleep. It was kind of hard not to notice it," Ronnie stuttered through an explanation, quick to squash any ideas that were forming in my head.

I slowly nodded my head, an uneasy smile coming onto my face as I let out a small sigh of relief. "Mystery solved. You found it."

"Couldn't really tell what it was, though. I think I saw some hearts or something?" He questioned.

It sounded innocent enough, but I knew it was a subtle way of asking permission to see it. The debate didn't last long in my head – he already saw it. It's not like I could hide it any longer.

To be honest, I'd be lying to myself if I thought he wasn't ever going to see it. Sure, back when I tried convincing myself that I didn't like him, I probably would have believed it. Now that I've somewhat let my guard down and allowed him to come into my life as more than a friend, what's the point of keeping so many secrets?

Other than the ones about my mental state and family life.

"Yeah," I breathed, then I rolled onto my back and prepared myself to tell him this story and to show him the permanent mark I thought would be a good idea at sixteen-years-old. "You ready for this?"

"Hell yeah," he said as he leaned up on his elbow now, resting his head in his hand and latching his gaze onto me. I glanced over at him to see a goofy, eager smile on his face.

It was the kind of look that made me realize how uncomplicated things could be. Like I could just pry myself open and show Ronnie every part of me. And it was looks like that which scared me to death.

I shook it off and flashed back to the night that kick-started my ink addiction. "Alright. Well, I met Manny when I was sixteen, and I've never gone to anybody else for my tattoos. He's the only guy I trust. So anyway, my boyfriend at the time was a year older than me and he would always take me to parties, so naturally I got introduced to Manny when my ex brought me to a party at his place. He's actually the only person I'm still friends with from that time in my life because he really had nothing to do with my ex. They just had similar friend groups and would be at the same places together sometimes."

Weird. It was so weird to be talking about Ben in this way. I didn't know what to think of how casually I mentioned the word "boyfriend" and how it didn't cause an onslaught of goosebumps to cover my skin. Or how it didn't cause my heartbeat to go into double time.

It was fucking weird. But I guess I had Ronnie to thank for being so easy to talk to about it all.

"But that's all beside the point," I quickly recovered from my brief moment of zoning out and brushed the feelings aside. With a dismissive wave, I went on with the story. "Anyway, at that time, Manny was around the age that we are now, and he was just finishing up being an apprentice. Pretty much, he was about to start working for himself, so he had a little makeshift shop in his basement where he'd practice and get work shit done since he didn't have a studio yet. And it was that night at his party when I found out he was a tattoo artist, and I pretty much bugged him all night about it. I wanted him to tattoo me right then."

"Shit. And you were sixteen?" Ronnie commented, his eyebrows raised as if he couldn't believe what I was saying.

"Yup. It was reckless and kinda stupid but I don't regret it," I shrugged, knowing damn well no matter how embarrassing the small symbol near my hipbone might be, I still love it with every ounce of my being. Like I do with the rest of my tattoos. "I'm pretty shy for the most part, obviously, but sometimes I just want to do something unpredictable. Like get a tattoo."

"I'll say," he agreed with a chuckle. I just sent him a playful eye roll and kept on talking. Now that the words were coming out so effortlessly, I couldn't stop them.

"So Manny said no about three hundred times that night – not that he couldn't do it because he's fucking good at what he does – it was just that he didn't necessarily want to tattoo a minor. Especially because my dad would have killed me if he knew what I was doing. I brought it up to him a bunch of times before 'cause I've always loved tattoos and I knew I'd eventually get one, but he wanted me to wait until I was eighteen. He also would have wanted me to stick with just one, but obviously that didn't happen.

"Then eventually I guess I got to Manny and he said he'd do it, but I couldn't tell anybody I got it from him. So he brought my ex and I down to his basement and he did it. And... this was the outcome," I dragged out the last sentence while I pushed the covers away from me so I could show Ronnie the tattoo. After lifting up my sweatshirt a little and pulling down my shorts on the left side until my faded bikini tan line was visible, the two hearts with a clef note in the middle appeared.

I watched him as he slowly sat up and leaned over to get a closer look, the position probably seeming more intimate than deemed be to an outsider. His eyes were squinted in thought as he took a gander at the ink on my skin, not overstaying his welcome and being a gentleman about it.

"It's small, it's cute, and it's in a spot that I could hide from my dad. For a little while, at least," I shrugged. He nodded at that and went back to leaning on his elbow beside me. "So after that, I waited 'till I was eighteen to get my next one because I knew that wasn't going to be my last tattoo, and I figured the likelihood of my dad killing me over it would lessen if I was a legal adult."

"Did he ever find out about your first one?" Ronnie asked curiously, his eyes lit with so many questions.

"Oh yeah," I chuckled with a nod. "Two years ago, I think. My family and I were at the beach and he saw it once I was in my bathing suit. He just shook his head and laughed it off, thankfully. Not much he could do about it now."

He let out a soft laugh at that, commenting, "He seems like a pretty cool guy."

"Yeah, he is," I murmured, the smile still on my face from before. "Anyway, the feathers behind my ear was my second tattoo and I got it for my sister. I just asked Manny to draw up two small feathers that looked like they'd be on a dream catcher, so he did. I read something about Egyptians believing that 'a pure heart weighs as light as a feather', and that they represent hope. With all that we've been through, I've learned that you always have to have hope, so I thought the feathers suited Haleigh and I pretty well. She's also got a heart of gold and it might be weird to say, but I wish I could be more like her. I told her when she's older she can get the same tattoo if she wants and we can match, but only if she really wants it.

"Then I got my back done almost a year after that, which was the biggest one I had at the time. It's that quote from Marilyn Monroe that everyone knows, 'imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring'. Maybe a little cliche, but I don't care because I love the meaning of it. Also, my mom loved her, so... I got it for her. Simple as that."

"Wow. Nice." Ronnie's eyebrows lifted with a sort of fascination at my explanations. He didn't seem the least bit judgmental, and his next question came out seconds later. "When did you get your sleeve done?"

"About a year and a half ago," I said after thinking it over for a moment, trying to remember the time frame. "Took us three days to get it done, about four hours in the chair each day."

"Shit. There's a ton of detail in it though so it makes sense," he mused while I pushed the sleeve of the sweatshirt as far up my left arm as I could manage, giving him a better look at the masterpiece.

"I know, it's my favorite one out of all of them." I smiled as I looked down at the masterpiece. "Manny and I were throwing ideas back and forth one day, so he sketched something up and I just fell in love with it. There's a clock, which is obviously kind of a symbol for how short life is. Half of the girl's face is a skull and the other half is a butterfly – I've always loved skulls so there's no crazy reason behind that. The phases of the moon are along the top of my shoulder, there's a rose in here towards the bottom, and just a bunch of other cool stuff to fill in the spaces. I'm a firm believer in tattoos not needing some kind of complex, hidden message to be special. To me, all that matters is I like it and I think it looks good."

"Well, you're right about that. It does look really good on you," Ronnie's compliment came out husky and low, a ghost of a smile lingering on his face.

All I could do was murmur a thank you and try to hide the blush that was consuming my entire face. I slide the sweatshirt sleeve back down my arm and nuzzled back into my pillow, clearing my throat. "Then uh, my last and most recent one is the 'forever young' on my fingers," I mentioned, as I picked up my right hand and separated my index and middle fingers to show him. "I have a bunch of other ideas for new ones I want, but I gotta take it slow so I don't kill my dad."

He nodded at my last piece of ink, his eyes switching from my fingers up to my own gaze. There was a certain gleam in the look he gave me that felt like he was truly content with all my tattoo stories. Like he never needed to know anything else about me – and it was those kind of looks that made me feel utterly secure. It seemed that the background of all the various artwork covering my body was enough for him to know and like me.

That was it. Deep down, I knew that really wasn't the case, given how closed off I can be and how fucked up my past is. But for the time being, I wanted to believe that to be true, even if it was just for one morning.

I took the time out to switch gears and ask him something instead, figuring it was appropriate since we were on the subject. "Do you have any tattoos?"

"Nah. I always thought about it but I never committed to any idea," he halfheartedly shrugged. "But I know if I do ever want to get one, Manny is the guy to go to."

"He's the best," I advocated for my ever so reliable tattoo artist, knowing damn well he's one of the best. And not just because he's my friend and my go-to guy, but because he is that good.

Ronnie sent me another sleepy, heart-stopping smile, as he turned onto his back to stretch again. Watching him yawn was equally the most adorable and amusing thing, which is probably why it stole my attention and had me oblivious to how loud my stomach was growling. Not having eaten since dinner the night before, it makes sense why I'd be starving right about now.

He glanced at me from the side, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "You hungry?"

"Yeah," I shamelessly admitted with a nod. "I need some greasy breakfast food pronto."

"Ditto. Let's see if the two lovebirds are up for making us something," he grinned, thus rolling out of my bed and standing up in one fluid motion.

I reluctantly left the comfort of my mattress and took Ronnie's hand that he outstretched to help me up. Once I was on my feet, he kept me close to his chest, our fingers still barely intertwined. I didn't even have time to decipher what he was doing before he planted a gentle kiss to my forehead, then led the way downstairs to where our friends were gabbing away, our hands attached the whole way there.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

A/N - sighhhh, savannah and ronnie my lil cuties. this was sort of a filler