A/N: It's a fic. Nothing difficult in it.
Disclaimer: My muse is not claiming this story. And neither am I. I blame it's bad-ness (not in theory, in execution) on the fact it's a really bad use of a writer's block. Oh, I also don't own iCarly. If I did the Spam probably would not be as awesome and subtle as it is now.
She can't remember ever being this happy.
This is what she wants.
She doesn't care that he's drunk. She doesn't care that he might not remember any of it in the morning. It happened; it's still him.
She buries her face into his chest as he mumbles sweet words into her hair and into the air. "You are perfect. Amazing. I love you. Can I call you 'baby'?"
"No," she smiles into his chest, and even though she shouldn't, she admits, "I love you too."
He continues to whisper to her, tracing his hand up and down her back. Contently, she falls asleep in his arms, not worrying about tomorrow. Whether this shit will hit the fan or if this dirt will be swept under the rug, it doesn't matter. Now is all she needs. She can hold onto now, and she can survive the morning.
A/N: This is the end of the fic. Really. It is. Please review! (so I can get the other two parts up)