These shots don't ricochet

Iskra

BREATHE IT IN, IT'S JUST SNOW, WE'RE JUST FALLING
WE WON'T ALWAYS FREE FALL BACK TO NOTHING

His haunted gaze found her over the rim of his glass. He nearly choked as he finished his sip, the burning liquid caught in his throat as his heart lurched up into it. His eyes watered with the burn as he quietly wheezed, choking it down as he set his drink on the counter with a thud, leaning over into a pained cough.

When he recovered, she was gone, having slipped from the bar back into the crowd. Iskra's gaze swept over everyone like a spotlight, even as some quiet part of him hummed about doubt. You've done this before the little voice inside said with complaint, as if he were nothing more than a frustrating child who could not learn from their mistakes. Iskra ignored it and kept looking, craning his neck to try and peer around a corner better. She isn't real, the voice purred more kindly. It was patient and rational to oppose the hammer of his heart in his chest. You were just thinking about her, that's all. Unable to find her again Iskra let out a sigh and slouched back into his seat. He probably did conjure up this ghost of his past; this is what he got for letting the memories play out, he looked like a madman.

Drink more, the voice crooned, promising to keep the ghosts at bay with some foul heat.

Iskra reached for his drink in defeat, but some other part of him still had hope and cast one more sidelong glance. His hand fumbled, tipping his drink in the same moment he swiftly rose, his chair and boots kicking against Goose. "MEL!" he called out, exasperation strangling him as much as the threat of the ground coming up to hold him as he tripped out of his chair in his eagerness to reach that red hair he caught a glimpse of in the crowd.

Madman the voice hissed as he crashed to the floor and his dog yelped.

I'M JUST STARTING TO LEARN
I'VE ALWAYS BEEN CHASING GHOSTS