on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
It’s quietly becoming a standoff — not that it wasn’t to begin with. That hardened look in Casimir’s gaze that screams for him to avoid any further questions, alongside hiding the scar in question. Thorn doesn’t intend to question it, not unless he’s willing to answer his own.
And he isn’t. It’d take a whole lot more liquor for that to slip out and even then it would take a lot of pushing, which he doubts Casimir is capable of. But the tension is thankfully relieved with the approach of the waiter, and Thorn slips back into a version of himself from before he’d gotten all confused and twisted up inside.
Only, he isn’t expecting Casimir to do the same. His attention flits to the bartender as he pointedly points at the dish he wants with a face sharp enough to cut someone should they look a little too long, and gods does Thorn continue to watch in quiet amusement.
But then, there’s something that seems more open, a shift to the bartender’s face, the way he leans in like a secret is ripe on his tongue and he has to share. And for Thorn? It’s a honey trap. He’s pretending like his breath isn’t baited as he waits to hear whatever drop of that rough, lovely voice he might get, only to watch as it combusts in a whole lot of nothing.
Thorn laughs. The sound rich and vibrant from his throat as he sits back and relaxes against the back of the leather booth, shoulders hunching up by his pierced ears before they fall and he exhales out a sigh. “Y’know, I’m pretty sure they call that edging, in case ya wanted to keep your lingo up to date.” Chin tilting up, Thorn peers back at the handsome bartender with an amused, feline twist to his lips and a look that seems to suggest game on.
And he isn’t. It’d take a whole lot more liquor for that to slip out and even then it would take a lot of pushing, which he doubts Casimir is capable of. But the tension is thankfully relieved with the approach of the waiter, and Thorn slips back into a version of himself from before he’d gotten all confused and twisted up inside.
Only, he isn’t expecting Casimir to do the same. His attention flits to the bartender as he pointedly points at the dish he wants with a face sharp enough to cut someone should they look a little too long, and gods does Thorn continue to watch in quiet amusement.
But then, there’s something that seems more open, a shift to the bartender’s face, the way he leans in like a secret is ripe on his tongue and he has to share. And for Thorn? It’s a honey trap. He’s pretending like his breath isn’t baited as he waits to hear whatever drop of that rough, lovely voice he might get, only to watch as it combusts in a whole lot of nothing.
Thorn laughs. The sound rich and vibrant from his throat as he sits back and relaxes against the back of the leather booth, shoulders hunching up by his pierced ears before they fall and he exhales out a sigh. “Y’know, I’m pretty sure they call that edging, in case ya wanted to keep your lingo up to date.” Chin tilting up, Thorn peers back at the handsome bartender with an amused, feline twist to his lips and a look that seems to suggest game on.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
