Chapter Text
In retrospect, buying a whole ass bar’s worth of alcohol, spirits, and liquor when you were a very single, very lonely woman was not one of your smartest pre-Dateviator decisions. One that would eventually bite you in the ass when you came into possession of the Dateviators and started acting as resident problem solver slash unlicensed therapist for all the objects in your residence.
This decision further bit you in the ass when you embarked on Beverly’s quest to make the re-re-re-re-reopening of The Tipsy Tumbler the happening place to grab a drink (or three) in the house. You had sipped several of her cocktails and mocktails before, but after some cajoling from the beverage-slinging, orange-haired bar proprietress, she had enlisted your help in crafting a signature drink.
You had named Beverly’s new drink Throat Burner just to get a laugh out of her, but the last sane thought fizzling in your brain was ‘Unholy Mother of God How Much Fucking Alcohol Did You Put in This Thing, Beverly You Crazy Bar Cart Bitch’.
Nobody was prepared for a drunk you. You were an absolute menace, a side of you that hadn’t shown itself since your undergrad years, culminating in one fateful evening when Sam dared you to drink “The Rainbow”, one of her high-as-fuck inventions where she poured every bottom-shelf cheap liquor you owned into a mixing bowl and dared you to slurp it down in one go. You were hospitalized for a week, but you had become something of an icon at university for the absolute shenanigans you pulled that legendary night. Too bad you didn’t remember shit.
Cabrizzio was one of your first unlucky souls, with you opening every cabinet door like you were an angry cat. “Oddio, ma che sta succedendo?” he blurted out. “Mi amore, what’s going on with you tonight?”
“She’s drunk, Cabrizzio,” Kopi informed him. She prayed you wouldn’t ask her to make some over-complicated coffee drink that would mess with her programming. “Bev, I’ve made her Irish coffee before but what exactly did you put in her drink?”
Beverly’s face paled. “I am so sorry, ‘Brizzio! I really thought she could handle her liquor!” Her eyes were off you for barely a minute before she heard a large crash near the dining room table. “Sorry Kopi, gotta go!”
You stumbled from the kitchen to the dining room of your house, pulling the curtain and rod down with you. Scandalabra was unnaturally quiet to avoid attracting your attention lest you grab either of his candlesticks. The Dateviators were overstimulating you, but you wavered between taking them on and off. You spun several of Rainey’s records like the worst college DJ and banged on Keyes’...well, keys much to her frustration. Maggie got bent out of shape, Gaia got a migraine from how hard you spun her globe, and you nearly burned your hand on Dante’s hearth.
“You need to stop this, you're hurting the others!” Beverly grabbed your hand but due to the amount of perspiration and the adrenaline in your veins, you slipped out her grasp and the Dateviators slipped off your face. You shoved them down your shirt. She couldn’t touch you now.
You were now in the living room, having constructed what you thought was the most awesome-est blanket fort out of Chairemi and Mateo, the two dizzy after bumping heads from the forced physical interaction. Koa was less than settled with his cushions all over the floor. Not only were you somehow screwing up the Thing Theory wavelengths by constantly wearing your Dateviators on and off, you were making a huge mess of your house. The Dateviators slid off your head and onto your nose as your next target came into view: Lux, your bestest frenemy.
“Oh my god, you’re so VILE! Get your pleb hands OFF me!” Lux screeched, your small hands gently brushing their blonde locks as if their head was a plushie. "Help, HELP!"
You giggled out a small burp. “You’re sooo pretty, Lux. You’d be so much cuuuuter if you were nicer to meee.”
“Ugh! I know I’m cute, you little-,” but Lux was cut short by Beverly’s arrival before they could go off on another high-pitched rant.
“Aaah!” Beverly cringed, grabbing you by the shoulder. “Lux, so so so sorry! We’re leaving right now!”
You broke free from Beverly’s grip again as you bumped into your television set, poor Telly wobbling before settling back onto the console table. You ran your fingers across the window panes of your front window, admiring your reflection as your feet mindlessly charted their own course despite your jumbled brain's efforts. This was not going to end well.
Skylar had also been summoned into existence by the Dateviators, but she had been in and out of the physical plane due to your constant on-off use of them. She trailed after you, though it didn’t stop her from checking in on Mateo, Koa, and Chairemi and apologizing in your stead.
“The bloody fuck is going on ‘round here,” came the booming voice from the most stern of all Dorians - Front Dorian. “You all know I can't afford to leave my station. Bunch of ruckus with you lot-," His brown eyes widened when he saw who was causing all the trouble. You were the last person he expected to be causing such a mess.
"Dorian, watch out!" Skylar yelled.
You spun around on your sock-covered heel and almost face-planted into the hardwood floor. It would have knocked your front teeth out from impact. Thankfully, the floor never met your face. The smell of oak, wood oil, and amber immediately filled your nostrils. You knew those scents belonged to your favorite resident of the domicile. Dorian had cut your fall short by catching you by the waist and pulled you up into him. You weren’t going anywhere else.
Dorian glared at Beverly and Skylar as he kept a firm grasp on you. “What in the bloody hell,” his thick British accent ramping up with his rising anger, “did you do to ’er?”
Beverly grew small under Dorian’s glare. “I-I…we were trying to come up with drinks to launch my bar, 'cause you know, all of the coolest bars have a signature drink. I wasn’t sure if it was going to taste good and you know, I really respect her and her opinion sooo,” she painfully squeezed out her next set of words, “I-may-have-overestimated-how-much-liquor-I-poured-into-her-drink.”
“Overestimated?” he repeated Beverly’s words back to her. “She's outright pissed. In all my years of guarding the house from intruders and all sorts of unsavory individuals, I didn’t think I’d have to protect the inside from her! She could have hurt you and the others, hurt herself eve-,”
“Doriiiannnnn,” you stretched his name in quite possibly the most sing-songy voice you could muster. As he momentarily let his guard down, you let out a large burp as you nestled your head near the crook of his armpit. “You smell nice.”
Beverly did her best to stifle her laugh. She knew of your obvious crush on Dorian and had spent many a night pouring you girlypop cocktails and mocktails as you talked about your adventures, but always lingering on your Dorian-related interactions. Granted, the whole house pretty much knew you were head over heels for Dorian, even if you hadn’t outright admitted it to anyone. Why would you? You were friends with Dorian per his wishes.
Dorian tried his damndest to not look down at you, but even he couldn’t help a brief glance at your tomato-red face as you nuzzled further into his shirt. If you weren’t so pissed, he would have thought that blush spreading across your round cheeks and nose was rather becoming, cute even. But now was not the place for such thoughts, especially since he was beyond furious at Beverly for putting you in this situation. It was one thing for Beverly to get drunk off her own supply, as it happened quite often, but he had never seen you this drunk.
“We should probably do something about her, shouldn’t we?” Skylar cut in, temporarily shifting Dorian’s red-hot gaze from Beverly to her. “Those Dateviators have been running all night and they’re this close,” she pinched her thumb and forefinger together, “to shutting down.”
“Doriannnn,” you whined. He didn’t respond to your use of his name. You tried again, though you were getting rather sleepy and your motor functions weren’t going to function for much longer. “Dorian, I’m tiiired.”
“I know love, let’s get you to bed,” Dorian agreed, shifting the tone of his voice to be less Big Scary Guard Dorian to Proper Nice Chauffeur Dorian. “Be good for me and put one foot in front of the other,” he motioned you to start moving towards the stairs. Bad idea.
Like drunken clockwork, your knees gave out. Before your ass hit the hardwood floor, he managed to bend down and catch you from falling again. This time, in one swift motion, he lifted you up bridal style. Ever the proper gentleman, he made sure his left hand was only holding the widest part of your back and his other forearm directly underneath your knees. Nothing improper or weird going on here. Just one muscular friend carrying his lightweight drunk friend in his arms.
“Ooh, Dorian,” Skylar clicked her tongue at this new development. “Who knew there was a charming prince underneath all that Oak-Dry wood polish?”
“Skylar,” he refused to acknowledge her ‘prince’ comment, “get Farya and Cam to meet me up at the bedroom, along with River and Sinclaire. Make sure Betty is ready for her to crash,” Dorian was about to then spotted Beverly slinking away. “Bev? Don’t wander off. You and me are going to have a proper chat about those pours and ratios.”
Beverly winced at his words, but she knew better to talk back. Nobody in the house would be dumb enough to refuse a Front Dorian command.
Dorian inhaled a deep breath and began to carry you up the stairs, making sure you were securely in his arms. This was absolutely fine. A totally normal thing for friends to do for other friends in such predicaments. It’s not like you fit perfectly against his broad chest, your wet lips slightly pouted as you blearily looked up at him. This was the closest you two had ever been. That wasn’t even counting the time you had accidentally discovered Trap Dorian in the crawlspace, and he still hadn’t fully recovered from that experience.
“You got yourself in a right mess of things, haven’t you, love?” He let out a small ‘tsk’ under his tongue as he went step by step, holding you closer as the light faded in the middle of the staircase. “Can’t entirely blame you, I s’pose. You were just trying to help a friend."
You hadn’t really been actively listening as the talking sounds grew more muddled in your skull. Judging by the distinct scent and touch, you knew it was Dorian carrying you up the stairs, and an even deeper part of you was secretly happy you were in his arms. Though you would absolutely never cross that friendship line without his consent or permission, you still secretly wanted more.
“...Dorian?” you weakly asked. You could barely lift your head, so your eyes were met with the curve of his neck and chin. Your consciousness was fading quickly. You were fast approaching the blackout zone.
“Yes?” he replied with a genuinely soft tone to his gruff voice.
“Mmm. I love you,” you whispered before drifting off to a rocky sleep.
It was different when Dorian addressed you as 'love'. The term of affection was light on his tongue. It felt natural. A "Good morning, love," in passing was friendly, nothing serious. You had maintained that friendship boundary to your best efforts, proven you were true to your word. However, these new words of yours brought Dorian to a full stop, his heavy foot hovering above the next upward step. Instead, he set his foot back down and just stood there. You were pissed and your faculties weren't in working order. Of course you didn't mean it seriously. Why would you? Drunk people said things all the time that they didn't mean, and woke up the next day none the wiser.
You wouldn't remember. But Dorian absolutely would, and it was going to torment him.
“Dorian?” Stella asked for the second or third time, worry stretching her narrow face. He didn’t realize he had stopped right in the middle of the stairs, thus attracting her attention. “Is everything okay?”
“Apologies, Stella. Just makin’ sure I didn’t misstep with such precious cargo. Wouldn’t want that,” he gave the older woman a quick excuse as he brought you into your bedroom.
The homeowner was nestled gently among her bed’s billowing blankets, sheets, and pillows provided by the considerate Betty, the Dateviators still perched on the edge of her nose and flashing a warning red. There wasn't much time before they shut off due to a dead battery.
“Farya, how is she?” Dorian asked, his tone grave as he watched the kind-faced doctor check the homeowner’s vitals.
Farya grinned as she removed the stethoscope from her ears. “Good news! She doesn’t appear to have alcohol poisoning. Heart rate is fine. I even checked my book of rare illnesses! The worst she’ll feel is the world’s worst hangover and nausea in the morning. I’ll leave some tablets here with Abel. Though, I did take some notes for future studies~” she winked, much to Dorian’s chagrin. Her eagerness for the homeowner to be her test subject unnerved him sometimes. She exited the bedroom, leaving him with Betty, Skylar, Cam, River and Sinclaire.
“Betty, I trust you’ll take good care of her. And she’ll need some water as well," he mentioned, eyeing both River and Sinclaire.
“Yes, of course,” River nodded, nudging Sinclaire to get the faucet turned on so she could work her magic.
He shot a look at Cam. “I ask that you stay by her side should she require your services tomorrow.” This was not a request. He disliked Cam, but he disliked Jean-Loo more. He did not want the homeowner to retch her guts out anywhere near that Frenchman's general direction.
“Yeah, yeah, anything for your dear lady,” Cam mimicked Dorian’s accent, earning a dark glare from Dorian.
“Not my lady,” Dorian gruffly replied. Betty and Skylar traded coy looks with each other. Betty pretended to solely focus on making the homeowner comfortable while Skylar sidled up to Dorian.
“C’mon Dorian,” Skylar’s voice dropped to an unnatural low for the peppy pinkish girl. “You know, it was cute at first. The whole ‘I can rely on friendship’ thing. You think you’re so cool for that. But you’re also the world’s biggest idiot if you don't think I can't see what's going on between you two. After what she did for you with Keith-”
“Don’t,” Dorian gritted his teeth at the mention of his ex. Keith had been the first object Realized not because the homeowner loved or even remotely liked him, but to get him the fuck out of the house (at the cost of several hundred dollars stolen from the safe, an act Monique and Sophia were still salty about). The fact she used her first-ever Realization charge to get rid of someone that had deeply hurt Dorian was not lost on the house’s occupants.
Skylar would have loved to stay on the subject and get Dorian to literally open up about his feelings, but she could sense that the Dateviators were about to shut down. “Fiiiine. But don’t think you’re completely off the hook, you stubborn man,” she winked.
As everyone returned to their usual positions, Dorian was the only one left standing over her. His eyes followed the darkening outline of her face: nose, cheeks, those slightly pouty lips.
I love you.
Ever since she had moved into this house, the homeowner had been filling it with her own unique touches and trinkets. Even before the Dateviators allowed them to formally interact, he had greatly appreciated her charm and presence compared to the home's previous residents. She was a good homeowner, even if she was a bit lazy with some chores and hard on herself. And even after she got stuck in job limbo, the burden of the Dateviator technology thrust upon her without asking, and now entangled in the messy lives of this house’s inhabitants, she still kept herself busy and determined to resolve everyone’s business and eventually Realize everyone in an effort to ultimately destroy the Dateviator glasses. It was admirable, really.
She was a good friend. Friendship was safe. It was good for everybody to be friends. He lightly ran his calloused thumb from her temple down her reddened cheek and stopped just before the dip of her lower lip. Friends made sure their loved ones were safe. And wasn’t she a loved one? He pulled his hand back.
“Sweet dreams, love,” he muttered low enough in the hopes Betty wouldn’t hear (oh but she totally did, and so did Ben-Hwa, and that damned Scandalabra found out all this from Lux, but that was for another day). Dorian headed downstairs to give Beverly that promised talk, grateful for his other selves to keep an eye out on the homeowner as she slept.
You woke up hours later to the world’s most powerful hangover and migraine combo. If you hadn’t had “The Rainbow” experience years earlier, this hangover would have kept you bedridden for a day or two. You couldn't discount the nausea racking your abdomen. Your bones ached, there were several unknown purplish bruises forming on your forearms and legs, and your throat needed instant relief.
Your nightstand presented you with a tall glass of unnaturally cold water along with some ibuprofen tablets that you knew came from Farya’s first aid kit. The lights were thankfully off, and the curtains pulled tight to prevent any extra light from blinding your bleary eyes. You rolled over on your side, feeling a bumpy item underneath your arm. Weird, the Dateviators were actually in your bed and not on your nightstand. Weirder still, you saw they weren’t blinking at all.
Oh shit, did you have them on the entire night? That was impossible! You always took them off before bedtime to charge them. Your scrambled mind began trying to piece together last night’s events. It was an awful mess of noises, sounds, colors, and textures out of place and time. Nothing made sense.
The water didn’t stay down. Your esophagus burned with last night's retribution. Note to self: apologize to Cam. One post-vomit moment of clarity later, you vaguely recalled you had only one drink last night at the bar cart. With Beverly.
Oh fuck.