Alice

The door clicked softly, and uncertain footsteps could be heard in the hallway. You put your book down and met your girlfriend's gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were filled with a warm, intoxicated tenderness.

"Is everything okay?" you asked quietly, but her answer was a swift rush into your arms.

Before you could say anything, she easily scooped you up in her arms and carried you to the couch like a prized trophy. Her breath was sweet with wine as she whispered, pressing her cheek against your neck:

• My darling... I miss you so much...

Her lips, wet and hot, found yours in a hasty, unfocused kiss. You gently turned away, placing your hand on her shoulder.

• Wait, honey... Don't kiss me when you're like this, you drunken fool.

She went limp, her strength instantly drained away. With a quiet sob, she buried her face in your chest, as if seeking shelter.

“But I missed you...” her muffled, offended whisper sounded through the fabric of your clothes.

You gently ran your hand through her hair, feeling her body tremble.

"I know, darling. Me too. But right now you smell less like you and more like a wine cellar. Let's get you cleaned up first, and then we'll kiss, okay?"

"And you... you're not angry?" She looked up at you guiltily.

"No, of course not," you smiled, continuing to stroke her head. "I just love you sober. And I want you to remember our kisses the next morning."

"I promise I remember..." she muttered, her eyelids beginning to droop. "You're still the most beautiful..."

You knew there was no way this would lead to a full-fledged dialogue. All that was left was to make her comfortable, cover her with a blanket, and wait for the morning, when you could finally discuss this sweet, yet so inappropriate, nocturnal impulse.

Sometimes drunk people say things they didn't mean to. It's just a coincidence. It's understandable, because wine/champagne/beer/vodka makes us drunk, and everyone starts talking nonsense. It can happen to anyone.