// i saw the walls, finished and plain //
Thorn shouldn’t be surprised, and yet somehow he is, that Casimir does indulge his plan to drift directly to his bed. The weight of him sinks into the plush mattress, pillows shifting and blankets moving just enough that the courtesan does finally let go of the bartender. But sluggish eyes follow the departure, almost as if expecting him to be there and gone in an instant.
He thinks he’s right, for the time that Cas is in his bathroom collecting the towel, and Thorn’s had just about enough time to shrug out of the jacket and toss it to the floor in another nameless heap, working on his shirt before he looks up to see the bartender’s face. He can’t help the way he lights up, a smile blooming brighter on his face than it had the entirety of the evening – now that he’s got somewhere comfortable to sit for how drunk he is and a washcloth that promises cleanliness because he doesn’t trust himself in the shower.
He takes it gently, avoiding touching the bartender’s hand but only out of sheer luck. Lifting it to his face, he wipes away the dirt and grime until his sunshine face remains, brighter if not for the bags under his eyes that remain. At least the dirt is gone. When the cloth lowers, he glances over to see Casimir still lingering, blocking his door like a bouncer might, standing there in uncertainty and Thorn is a little too drunk to fully comprehend the way he’s in a holding pattern of will I won’t i.
“Y’can stay if y’want.” He hums, leaning forward to set the washcloth on the makeup table, snagging his hairbrush instead to rake through the wind tossed tangles of his hair. “I also won’t be offended if ya leave like last time.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out the way it does, the way it sounds flat and harsh.
To be honest, Thorn’s just happy he’s still here, even if he can't get his mind and voice to be on the same page.
He thinks he’s right, for the time that Cas is in his bathroom collecting the towel, and Thorn’s had just about enough time to shrug out of the jacket and toss it to the floor in another nameless heap, working on his shirt before he looks up to see the bartender’s face. He can’t help the way he lights up, a smile blooming brighter on his face than it had the entirety of the evening – now that he’s got somewhere comfortable to sit for how drunk he is and a washcloth that promises cleanliness because he doesn’t trust himself in the shower.
He takes it gently, avoiding touching the bartender’s hand but only out of sheer luck. Lifting it to his face, he wipes away the dirt and grime until his sunshine face remains, brighter if not for the bags under his eyes that remain. At least the dirt is gone. When the cloth lowers, he glances over to see Casimir still lingering, blocking his door like a bouncer might, standing there in uncertainty and Thorn is a little too drunk to fully comprehend the way he’s in a holding pattern of will I won’t i.
“Y’can stay if y’want.” He hums, leaning forward to set the washcloth on the makeup table, snagging his hairbrush instead to rake through the wind tossed tangles of his hair. “I also won’t be offended if ya leave like last time.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out the way it does, the way it sounds flat and harsh.
To be honest, Thorn’s just happy he’s still here, even if he can't get his mind and voice to be on the same page.
Hawthorn
// lavender blooms on the ink of my name //
