i'll drink to that }} teddy + justice
Nov 5, 2018 12:17:08 GMT -5
Post by arx. on Nov 5, 2018 12:17:08 GMT -5
justice
"Something fruity. Dunno what it is honestly."
I chuckle. Feel like I haven't known that answer since I was seventeen. Rich of me to ask him and expect any other answer. Doesn't much matter what it is—never really has, just as long as it numbs enough to function. Or not. Suppose that condition depends on the night.
"It's fucking good though."
His fingers dance around the rim of the glass, eyes staring through it to the bottom. I wonder if he's found any answers there, if he's found what his looking for through the swirling liquid. I'd be jealous if he did, but-
I don't think anyone ever has.
I take a sip. It burns. I revel in it. I'm so fucking repetitive, predictable. Another sip—"Care to have a drink or two with me, Justice?"—and I'm still wondering about running, trying to convince myself I'll feel better if I just- don't.
"Make it four or five," I grin, stumbling as I stand. I catch myself, lack of a right leg catching me off guard again. Seven years later, just when I think I've finally gotten used it—I need a fucking cane.
I shake my head and fall into the seat next to Teddy, clapping my hand against his shoulder with a grin. I finish off my drink, slide the glass across the bar. My ring glints in the low-light; I should've left it in my room. Fuck. Thoughts of Elara swirl in my thoughts and I can't yank the gold band off my finger fast enough—she doesn't deserve this. It's easier, hiding responsibilities and loved one's away in your pockets while you make mistakes.
"Now I just need to find someone to keep me warm tonight, y'know?" I say, leaning against the bar, only now noticing that the bar is devoid of anyone but us. "Looks like I won't find her here though."
She was back in District One, sleeping with her husband and holding her son.
"Can I just get a whole bottle of- uh, whatever's up there?"
I point to the top-shelf past the bartenders head, fingers desperate to cling to something familiar, easy. I force a smile—it's such a natural thing now. "I'll drink to whatever you're drinking to," I say, neck of the bottle in hand, lip of the bottle pressed to my own, and I don't think I can drink fast enough.
I catch my breath, offer the bottle to him.
"Here," I nod. "We can share."
I chuckle. Feel like I haven't known that answer since I was seventeen. Rich of me to ask him and expect any other answer. Doesn't much matter what it is—never really has, just as long as it numbs enough to function. Or not. Suppose that condition depends on the night.
"It's fucking good though."
His fingers dance around the rim of the glass, eyes staring through it to the bottom. I wonder if he's found any answers there, if he's found what his looking for through the swirling liquid. I'd be jealous if he did, but-
I don't think anyone ever has.
I take a sip. It burns. I revel in it. I'm so fucking repetitive, predictable. Another sip—"Care to have a drink or two with me, Justice?"—and I'm still wondering about running, trying to convince myself I'll feel better if I just- don't.
"Make it four or five," I grin, stumbling as I stand. I catch myself, lack of a right leg catching me off guard again. Seven years later, just when I think I've finally gotten used it—I need a fucking cane.
I shake my head and fall into the seat next to Teddy, clapping my hand against his shoulder with a grin. I finish off my drink, slide the glass across the bar. My ring glints in the low-light; I should've left it in my room. Fuck. Thoughts of Elara swirl in my thoughts and I can't yank the gold band off my finger fast enough—she doesn't deserve this. It's easier, hiding responsibilities and loved one's away in your pockets while you make mistakes.
"Now I just need to find someone to keep me warm tonight, y'know?" I say, leaning against the bar, only now noticing that the bar is devoid of anyone but us. "Looks like I won't find her here though."
She was back in District One, sleeping with her husband and holding her son.
Shit.
"Can I just get a whole bottle of- uh, whatever's up there?"
I point to the top-shelf past the bartenders head, fingers desperate to cling to something familiar, easy. I force a smile—it's such a natural thing now. "I'll drink to whatever you're drinking to," I say, neck of the bottle in hand, lip of the bottle pressed to my own, and I don't think I can drink fast enough.
I catch my breath, offer the bottle to him.
"Here," I nod. "We can share."
now i'm full
of r u m
a n d
regret
⋆
of r u m
a n d
regret
⋆