*Y'all as a warning, Ruth in this chapter really is ME when I'm drunk. I literally go through the five stages of grief and then some it's so embarrassing💀. You can even ask my friends, I'm a total mess! So if Ruth seems like a mess when she's drinking, she definitely is.*

Let the chaos/chapter begin!

*****

"I don't want to sleep yet," Ruth complained as they walked down the hallway. "Where are the girls?"

Raffo, who was stuck helping the poor girl, looked down at her and frowned. "Eddie's with Jana doing—fuck, who knows what. Johnny's with Terry getting her food, and the rest of the guys are with their girlfriends. I went off to find you after the girls said you left them."

"They're all dating each other? How convenient," she snorted, then hiccupped. "Why would you look for me?"

He hesitated at first. "Because I wanted to make sure you were okay. I still care about you and your safety, Ruth. I don't care that you don't like me; it won't stop me from putting you first. Even if it makes you hate me more."

That one stumped Ruth into silence.

Raffo, keeping his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, moved towards the elevators, his eyes diligent as they scanned the surrounding area for anymore creeps. A part of her almost appreciated that. That despite how rude she was to him and how much she tried to prove that she hated being around him, he was still looking out for her safety. His hands never wandered while they walked, not even after climbing into the elevator together or when she leaned her head against his chest comfortably. He did, however, suck in a heavy breath as she listened to the increase of his rapidly beating heart underneath her ear, coaxing her further into a hypnotization that made her want to do all the bad things that crossed her mind.

There were no feelings involved in that, or so she tried to convince herself. She was just exhausted and needed something to lean against and he was just . . . there. Warm, broad, and comfortable. Though he still succeeded in making her nervous, he felt like home.

No, Ruth. Bad Ruth. This is why we don't drink. We have bad thoughts that shouldn't be thought. Or thunked? Thinked? Shit, bad Ruth.

"Bad Ruth," she mumbled, her lids heavy. No home. Emily was home. Right, yes, Emily.

But Raffo . . . Raffo was there. Presently. And he felt so much like home and familiarity, she couldn't stop the warmth from spreading through her at how nostalgic and comfortable standing beside him felt in her euphoric state.

Raffo quirked an eyebrow when he looked down at her, but before he could ask anything, the elevator doors opened. Gently, he coaxed her into leaving the elevator and walked down the deserted hallway with the mustard carpet and pale walls until they came to the front of her room. He helped lean her body against the wall for support where he could face her easier, and once situated, he held a hand out expectantly.

Ruth moved her body so that her back was touching the wall, but the rest of her body was pushed forward, a sly smirk touching her lip-glossed lips. Raffo eyed her suspiciously.

"You'll have to grab it yourself," she smiled, drunkenly.

Raffo swallowed, his jaw tightening with the motion. For a moment, his gaze spared a glance at her blossoming breasts that strained against the bust of her pretty dress. She remembered how much he enjoyed seeing her in dresses all those years ago, and how fondly he reveled in the fleshy areas of her that were only his to ravish. Particularly her breasts.

"Not there," she tisked, her breathy tone soaking in seduction. For emphasis, she ran her fingers along the rim of where the fabric met her breasts, even scooping along the corners as Raffo greedily watched. Her stomach fluttered at the attention he gave them.

Something that could only be described as liquid courage pushed her to move her leg out from in between the slit of the dress, the very top of the cut practically touching her underwear line. Seeing as how she didn't have pockets, and the top of her dress left no room for anything else other than her boobs, she had no choice but to tuck the card into the secure band of her underwear. Some probably found it gross, but when you don't have anywhere else to put it and you know you're prone to losing shit, you do what you have to do.

And a tiny, unfaithful part of her was almost happy she did.

She knew that was a bad thought, but she couldn't for the life of her remember why. Not when all of her focus was on the frozen guy in front of her, looking beautiful as ever. She hadn't noticed it earlier, but he was wearing a tight black t-shirt that hugged his muscled arms and broad torso that went with a pair of dark pants to top it off. His smooth hair was currently being pushed away from his sharp features and she watched him take a shaky deep breath with a small grin.

"Come on, Ruth," Raffo huffed, swallowing thickly again. "Just hand it to me."

Ruth sighed softly and moved her leg out more. She took pride in the way he followed the movement, his eyes drinking her lower half in the way she wanted them to. He pulled his bottom lip in at the thickness of her thighs and what waited for him in between them, and she swore he never looked hotter.

Well, sure he had. But there was nothing sexier than seeing a fine ass person wanting you in every sense of the word.

She was throwing caution to the wind, and she didn't know why, but something nagged at the back of her mind. Something important like why she shouldn't be flirting with him. How much had she drunken? Did she mix her alcohols? She couldn't remember. What a foolish mistake.

"I'm not getting it," she sung. She licked her lips and smiled wider. "I can see how much you want to get the card, Raff."

He painfully closed his eyes at her old nickname for him. "You couldn't stand me five minutes ago. And you already have . . . someone else."

Ruth pouted, not denying the first part. "But now I have you."

His eyes flashed open at that, the hunger in them enticing her. "Don't say that."

"Then help me find my card. I'm too tired to look," she lied, biting the corner of her lip as she stared up at him innocently. "But only if you want to."

Raffo's eyes fell back to her bare leg, and he rubbed his hand down his face with a groan.

"Please," she whispered, her eyes round and fluttering with the long curls of her lashes. His resolve smothered at the look.

Defeated, Raffo bent down in front of her. His hungry gaze flickered up to meet hers, taking in the excited way she rolled her hips towards him as she propped the bare leg over his shoulder. Her siren-like smile was met with a gasp and Raffo quickly moved back, though she could see it in his eyes that he didn't want to. He wanted to kiss her just as bad, if not more so, as she wanted him to kiss her. Kiss her, lick her, ravish her, all the above.

"I'm just grabbing the card, Ruth," he warned, his tone thick with desire. "Nothing more."

"You're no fun," she groaned.

To shut her up, Raffo's warm fingertips briefly ran along the outside of her leg, causing her breath to hitch. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat as he moved his fingers up to the waistband of her panties. He pushed out a harsh breath of air against her thigh as he gripped the card against her hipbone.

"Have you missed me, Raff?" Ruth had to know. She didn't know why, but she had to. And she didn't care if she sounded desperate when she asked.

"You have no fucking idea," he rasped, removing his fingers from the band with her card in hand. He stood back up before she could do anything else and wrapped his arm around her waist again with a firm grip. Swiping the card along the outside of it, he waited for the light to glow green before gently helping her walk into her and Terry's hotel room.

Ruth sighed out in relief and stumbled them over to her opened suitcase where a pair of sweats and a t-shirt lay waiting right on top for her. She eagerly reached down for them, but quickly got dizzy and nearly fell to the floor with a gasp. Raffo, fortunately, caught her before she could by tightening his arm and steadying her upright once again. His concern and asking if she was okay tore at the emotional bond around her heart.

Fuck, she really couldn't hold her liquor.

Much to both of their surprise, embarrassing tears sprung to Ruth's eyes and her lips trembled. Her emotions were haywire and clumsy just as she was, and it was exactly why she rarely, if ever, drank hard liquor. "I—I can't do—I can't—"

Raffo frowned and used the soft padding of his fingers to wipe away the falling liquid with care. She allowed it. "Don't cry, aiukli. I'll help you."

Her heart fluttered at the old nickname.

"You will?" she croaked. Em's not here to help.

Oh. Emily. Her girlfriend. Shit, that one sobered her up real quick—even if it was only temporarily as she wiped her cheeks and attempted to hold in anymore tears.

Why the hell was Ruth acting that way over her ex-boyfriend who left her anyway? Her first love who left her at the airport without a single word for over three years?

She didn't know. Her mind wasn't making enough sense at the moment, and she didn't care about anything other than the moment she was in. Before, it was horny Ruth talking. Then emotional Ruth. And now fed up Ruth was worried about getting her pajamas on, wiping her make-up off, and throwing her messy curls in a bonnet.

Thankfully, based purely on memory, Raffo knew exactly what to do without so much as a nudge in the right direction.

He started off with sitting her slumping body on the bed while he leaned down and grabbed the sweats and large redbone t-shirt off the top. Like the gentleman he was, he never allowed his eyes to wander as he helped remove her heels from her numb feet so that he could force them through the leg holes in her sweats. He stood her up again to draw the waistband over her hips and under her dress before reaching for the bottom of the bunched fabric.

"Ready?" Raffo asked softly, and she nodded sleepily, already raising her arms above her head like a five-year-old. He tried, and failed, not to smile at that and coaxed the tight thing over her head in one swoop. Before she could have the chance to grow dizzy from the motion, or wrap an arm around her bra-covered breasts, Raffo was already putting the t-shirt on over her head and helping pull her arms through the holes.

"Thank you," she mumbled, already about to lose her balance when Raffo helped sit her back on the edge of the bed.

"Make-up wipes? Bonnet?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Ruth reached out a curious finger and poked the raised brow, wondering how the hell he could do that. They furrowed under her finger now, confused as she drifted it along his skin. She followed the curve of the side of his face until he closed his eyes and carefully caught her fingers.

"I need those make-up wipes and bonnet, aiukli," he repeated softy.

She blinked, the familiarity of the same nickname causing an ache in the pit of her stomach. A million butterflies flew hard against her rib cage, and she knew it was a dangerous thing to say to her. Especially in the state she was in. "Bag," she remembered. "In the bathroom."

"I'm gonna go grab them, okay?"

She nodded wordlessly.

Raffo straightened up and made his way to the hotel bathroom. He took maybe thirty seconds to find her silk bonnet and make-up wipes, much to her relief, and he instantly took a damp wipe out of the package. Propping his fingers under her chin, he tilted her head up, making her tired eyes blink slowly up at him. She didn't miss the way his breath hitched.

Gently, as if she were made of freshly blown glass, he held her face in one hand to keep steady and wiped away her make-up with the other. He took time wiping her eyes, her flushed cheeks, and worked his way around her pouting lips despite leaving lingering glances on them. Ruth could only describe his actions as gentlemanly when he helped stuff her hair into the silk bonnet and tightened the string in the back.

"Thanks, Raff," she whispered, following his instructions by laying down on the bed as he covered her body with the covers.

"Anytime," he murmured, looking down at her after. His fingers hovered over the lamp's switch beside her bed. "Goodnight."

For some reason, she didn't like the idea of that word. An irrational sense of panic overwhelmed her senses at the thought of him leaving again. Of time repeating itself in her intoxicated mind. "Wait!" she gasped, grabbing his free hand.

Raffo, still concerned for her well-being, stopped. "What is it?"

"Can you—can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?" she stuttered, blinking away the haze from her eyes. He shifted uneasily.

"I don't think your gir—"

"I won't do anything. I'll be on my best behavior," she promised, nodding as if sure of herself, when her mind was the farthest thing from sober. Thankfully, all it took was one tug on his hand and he gave in.

Though he seemed unsure of himself, he let her hold his hand as he brought the hotel desk chair closer to the bed with his foot for him to sit on. He pulled the lever of the seat so he'd sink down to her level with his height still towering over her, and leaned his arm on the bed so she could grip it better.

At first, Raffo hesitated to do anything else, knowing perfectly well he couldn't. But eventually, after another minute of sitting there, it was as if the natural pull of gravity drew him to her. He moved his hand from her grasp, but found his fingers from his other hand to be stroking her cheek ever so softly. The action soothed her, almost lulling her to sleep with the touch of a lullaby.

"You make staying away so hard," he said, lowly. She stirred at that.

"You keep saying weird things," Ruth mumbled.

Raffo took a deep breath. "I don't mean to. I just . . . there's things you don't know."

She wasn't going to say it. She honestly wasn't. But then with one slip of her tongue—

"Like why you left me?" she said, quietly.

There was a moment of silence between them. Ruth watched Raffo's reaction through unfocused eyes as he looked away from her for just a moment. He didn't look at all happy with that statement, but he wasn't completely surprised by it either. And though it took him awhile, he eventually spoke up, his tone quieter than before.

"Ruth, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he finally whispered, his sigh loud in the quiet room. "I mean, would you believe me if I said someone told me letting you go would be the right thing to do?"

Ruth frowned at that, blinking to herself. "Huh? Who?" she slurred, but Raffo's soothing knuckles on her face slowed her mind down to a room spinning hush. His skin on hers left fuzzy tingles in her chest and she didn't want him to stop touching her. She'd gone so long without it . . .

Raffo shifted uncomfortably. A sense of unease trembled in the pit of her stomach at the truth sitting on his tongue refusing to move. "We'll talk about it another time," he eventually promised her. "You might not even remember this conversation tomorrow."

"Yes I will," she argued, squinting her bleary eyes at him.

"Not when you're this drunk, aiukli. Hell, when you wake up tomorrow you'll probably go back to hating me," he said, offering her a melancholy look. His small grin was beautiful and so unbelievably sad that her soul ached for him. She grabbed his free hand again and squeezed it comfortingly.

"No. Don't be sad," she whispered, then swallowed. She hadn't admitted the next part out loud to him before, but for some reason, she knew saying it right then would be appropriate. "I could never hate you."

He opened and closed his mouth, stared at her, and then spoke again.

"You did before. And even then, I didn't blame you for it," he sighed, running a knuckle along her cheek gently. "I should let you get some sleep."

"Nooooooooooo. I'm wide awake," Ruth lied, a yawn saying otherwise. "Like that Katy Perry Song."

"Uh huh," he chuckled as she moved their clasped hands under her cheek on the pillow.

"I don't want to sleep. You'll leave again," she murmured incoherently.

Raffo sucked in a sharp breath at that one and his gaze temporarily fell to the bed, regret and guilt battling in his expression. It took a minute for him to find the words to say again and to look back up at her, and it almost made her feel bad for throwing his actions in his face. Almost.

"I won't leave until you fall asleep. And even after that, I'll be back whenever you want to talk," he hushed. "I won't leave unless you want me to this time."

Ruth didn't know if she believed that. How could she after he promised last time?

"Just stay," she mumbled.

A soft kiss caressed Ruth's cheek, and she sighed, tightening her hand around his. He plucked a curly tendril from her cheekbone and smoothed it behind the satin bonnet atop her head as he moved back.

"I'll stay," he promised.

And just like that, Ruth allowed herself to be dragged off into the valley of sweet, melancholic dreams.

*****