// i saw the walls, finished and plain //
So busy attempting to put himself in some semblance of cleanliness to ensure he doesn’t get the grime of the past few days all over his bed, Thorn completely misses the flinch that reverberates through the bartender. The brush is set off to the side and his hands run through his hair, pulling it back out of his face, half expecting Casimir to leave.
But the bartender doesn’t. And Thorn suddenly realizes when Casimir approaches that he’s still here, his face breaking into that vibrant smile yet again. He doesn’t get comfortable yet, but he does resign to perching on the edge. Thorn reaches down to untie his boots, kicking them off and rising to tug his shirt off of his head. All tattoos are on display again, curving around his hip and disappearing below the waistline of his pants.
“Thanks for stayin’, Cas.” He says softly, sucking in a sharp breath and looks over at Casimir, shuffling a smidge closer to collapse in against the bartender’s side. He’s too drunk to notice what exactly he’s up to, how it might affect the bartender. All he cares about is sitting this close, soaking up the warmth radiating from his muscles, breathing in the scent of bourbon and cinnamon like it’s oxygen.
But the bartender doesn’t. And Thorn suddenly realizes when Casimir approaches that he’s still here, his face breaking into that vibrant smile yet again. He doesn’t get comfortable yet, but he does resign to perching on the edge. Thorn reaches down to untie his boots, kicking them off and rising to tug his shirt off of his head. All tattoos are on display again, curving around his hip and disappearing below the waistline of his pants.
“Thanks for stayin’, Cas.” He says softly, sucking in a sharp breath and looks over at Casimir, shuffling a smidge closer to collapse in against the bartender’s side. He’s too drunk to notice what exactly he’s up to, how it might affect the bartender. All he cares about is sitting this close, soaking up the warmth radiating from his muscles, breathing in the scent of bourbon and cinnamon like it’s oxygen.
Hawthorn
// lavender blooms on the ink of my name //
