( he thrusts out the bottle to her like his arm is something mechanical, like he's pushed a button inside of himself to make it move rather than thought the movement into existence. her gaze lifts, follows the length of his arm curiously, from his wrist to his elbow to his shoulder, and when she looks at him, he's not nearly as indiscernible as he has been, before. is she starting to understand his patterns? to get to know him better? or is it the alcohol making her feel like she gets things that she has no idea about at all? he looks--oddly, almost troubled, as though his own thoughts are spiraling out of control, or perhaps he's thinking things or wanting to supplement his own words though she knows that he wouldn't do something like that. he says what he wants and it's always honest, at least as far as she's known, as far as she can tell.
she reaches with both hands, takes the bottle and gently pops it out of his mechanical arm grip.
for a moment she thinks maybe he isn't going to be able to get out a question, which is fine, and which means that she can prop the bottle up against her lips and try to weigh with how much more she thinks she can really handle versus how much more is left in the bottle; she should likely drink more than him, given that he doesn't drink much, but he's so tall, shouldn't that make a difference? he's thin, too, wiry but strong...
do you, he starts, and her eyes lift to watch him, the bottle pressed to her open mouth.
really trust me?
she doesn't take the drink, lowers the bottle with some amount of surprise. )
I do. ( it's an odd question, she thinks. perhaps he doesn't get trusted often. ) I think even if you don't like me, or don't want to be friends... If I got up and walked off the roof, you'd grab me before I could do it. If I told you a secret, you wouldn't tell anyone. If I were in trouble... You would help, if you were there. And I trust that you're honest with me, because that's the kind of person you are.
( a laugh, then--embarrassed, she brings the bottle up, takes a swallow, suffers, and then takes another swallow, before she holds the bottle out to him with her nose wrinkled, licking her lips. she might be at her limit soon, but she's not going to tell him that. )
I guess that sounds stupid from someone who barely knows you, right?
no subject
she reaches with both hands, takes the bottle and gently pops it out of his mechanical arm grip.
for a moment she thinks maybe he isn't going to be able to get out a question, which is fine, and which means that she can prop the bottle up against her lips and try to weigh with how much more she thinks she can really handle versus how much more is left in the bottle; she should likely drink more than him, given that he doesn't drink much, but he's so tall, shouldn't that make a difference? he's thin, too, wiry but strong...
do you, he starts, and her eyes lift to watch him, the bottle pressed to her open mouth.
really trust me?
she doesn't take the drink, lowers the bottle with some amount of surprise. )
I do. ( it's an odd question, she thinks. perhaps he doesn't get trusted often. ) I think even if you don't like me, or don't want to be friends... If I got up and walked off the roof, you'd grab me before I could do it. If I told you a secret, you wouldn't tell anyone. If I were in trouble... You would help, if you were there. And I trust that you're honest with me, because that's the kind of person you are.
( a laugh, then--embarrassed, she brings the bottle up, takes a swallow, suffers, and then takes another swallow, before she holds the bottle out to him with her nose wrinkled, licking her lips. she might be at her limit soon, but she's not going to tell him that. )
I guess that sounds stupid from someone who barely knows you, right?