on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
”You’d be missed.” It’s precisely what he wants to hear, precisely how he wants to hear it, and with the alcohol burning through his head and chest it’s as close to an admission that Thorn can whisk away into his creative mind, the artistic narrative that he’s conjured up. Casimir would miss him, his clients would miss him — but the difference was that his clients might come to visit him in a different region. He’s not so sure Cas could get out from behind this bar and venture out that far.
He’s not so sure the bartender would want to, least of all for him. So the game is fun, refreshing, even when brutal honesty comes creeping in through the cracks and Thorn has very little time to notice it before it’s already there, sitting like a dark cloud above all his usual sunshine and vibrancy.
“Good.” He murmurs, trying to reach for the sun’s rays again but the fingers of alcohol are long and sharp and keep him rooted under the shade of the clouds. “I’d miss ya, too.” The courtesan says before he can think about the words, not sure how they’d land or how Cas might spin them to make fun of him when they’d been said with such pure honesty.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he supposes.
So he focuses instead on fidgeting again and trying to not blatantly stare at Cas with all the curiosity and desire that’s grown in the past few years, because opening that door always brought trouble and Thorn was tired of dealing with the monsters that crept in. He chooses this time to fiddle with the rings on his fingers, spinning them idly just to do something with his hands, and before the courtesan knows it, he’s speaking again.
“I’d miss this.” He admits, taking a moment to look around the bar like he means the view entirely. But his seafoam gaze lands back on Casimir, shadowed but bright, like storms of worry couldn’t quite keep the glimmer of hope from streaking its way through like gods rays.
He’s not so sure the bartender would want to, least of all for him. So the game is fun, refreshing, even when brutal honesty comes creeping in through the cracks and Thorn has very little time to notice it before it’s already there, sitting like a dark cloud above all his usual sunshine and vibrancy.
“Good.” He murmurs, trying to reach for the sun’s rays again but the fingers of alcohol are long and sharp and keep him rooted under the shade of the clouds. “I’d miss ya, too.” The courtesan says before he can think about the words, not sure how they’d land or how Cas might spin them to make fun of him when they’d been said with such pure honesty.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he supposes.
So he focuses instead on fidgeting again and trying to not blatantly stare at Cas with all the curiosity and desire that’s grown in the past few years, because opening that door always brought trouble and Thorn was tired of dealing with the monsters that crept in. He chooses this time to fiddle with the rings on his fingers, spinning them idly just to do something with his hands, and before the courtesan knows it, he’s speaking again.
“I’d miss this.” He admits, taking a moment to look around the bar like he means the view entirely. But his seafoam gaze lands back on Casimir, shadowed but bright, like storms of worry couldn’t quite keep the glimmer of hope from streaking its way through like gods rays.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
