zephyr
A version of you either much drunker or stone sober might have made a very bold move indeed, in response to Sam's quasi-kiss of your palm. As it is you simply stare at him, running your thumb over the stubble on his cheek, taking in the eyes as blue as lakes surrounded by pale white sand. So very sweet, you think to yourself. Despite all of the bullshit, still so very sweet.
And suddenly you realize how incredibly stupid you are. What an ogre you must be next to him, an old man with a fucked-up face and a fucked-up arm and a fucked-up history. To think there might have been a chance for anything-
Well. Better not to dwell on it.
You drop your hands back to your sides, watching him stand up and walk away, then lean back against the couch. Large hands run, exasperated and tired, through your graying hair. A drink sounds good. And then probably bed, before you can do something stupid. Something you'll both regret.
The drink is met with a grateful grunt, and then sputtering unhappiness as you realize the damn dirty trick that Red has played. "This ain't vodka!" you exclaim indignantly, gesturing toward the glass. "I take it all back. Yer a cruel man, Red." But there's no real malice or anger in your voice, and you knock back a large gulp of the water, some part of your brain aware that you cannot handle a hangover as well as you used to, and that this is a very considerate thing.
And suddenly you realize how incredibly stupid you are. What an ogre you must be next to him, an old man with a fucked-up face and a fucked-up arm and a fucked-up history. To think there might have been a chance for anything-
Well. Better not to dwell on it.
You drop your hands back to your sides, watching him stand up and walk away, then lean back against the couch. Large hands run, exasperated and tired, through your graying hair. A drink sounds good. And then probably bed, before you can do something stupid. Something you'll both regret.
The drink is met with a grateful grunt, and then sputtering unhappiness as you realize the damn dirty trick that Red has played. "This ain't vodka!" you exclaim indignantly, gesturing toward the glass. "I take it all back. Yer a cruel man, Red." But there's no real malice or anger in your voice, and you knock back a large gulp of the water, some part of your brain aware that you cannot handle a hangover as well as you used to, and that this is a very considerate thing.
burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save
save all the people you're supposed to save
