(no subject)

[amoray]

LOVE CONFESSIONS MEME



DA RUUULES

1. Post as your character!
2. Reply to others with a character name.
3. They must confess their love to that character as ICly as possible.
4. No one is late if you say you are late I'll link you terrifying images or something.
5. Be hideous and prosper.

Comments

[waiting]

[ What's more in-character than a little liquid courage? At least it isn't in Mitch's bedroom this time. And they're not in a closet with the rest of City Hall. Actually, where the hell are they? Whatever, Bradbury's trying (and failing) to light up his last cigarette anyway. It's been a long night. ]

[viced]

[ Fuck if he knows where they're at. Probably like uh, some function, and Mitch is out there because he hates functions, with his own lit cigarette, but fuck if he'll do more than hand over his much better lighter which will totally work or something. ]

[waiting]

[ The problem is more his coordination than anything, but by the fifth try or so, he gets it, and he passes it back with a grunt of thanks. Just comfortably drunk enough that everything's passing by more slowly than it should, and all concept of a brain to mouth filter is gone. ]

Thought you hated this shit. [ Maybe he means the smoking, or the functions. ]

[viced]

I do. [ He replies, indicating a thumb back, before taking a drag on his cigarette. He's taken to smoking them more in the City, because his stress levels have been off the charts for ages. He takes the lighter back and slips it into his pockets. ]

That's why I've fucking escaped out here.

[waiting]

[ He grins, leaning against the balcony railing. ]

Everyone wants a piece of Mitchell Hundred.

[viced]

[ Bradbury's casual innuendo is driving him up the wall by now. He frowns, taking another drag. ]

Yeah, well, that's the price for being the Mayor, isn't it?

[waiting]

[ He doesn't answer immediately, apparently content to keep destroying his lungs. Neither does he notice (or seem to care) about Mitch's discomfort. ]

Guess it is.

[viced]

Shit, I guess if I had a problem with it, I could've not run again, huh? It's all a part of the job.

[ He's totally feigning ignorance here. Stop it Bradbury :( ]

smashes away depressing pairing icons with inappropriate ones with worse keywords

[waiting]

Hey, I don't have a problem with it either. Most people learn how to share by the second grade.

LMAFSLJKASDFJSDF SCREAMING

[viced]

Who the fuck said anything about sharing? [ Wait... ]

I don't think anyone needs a piece of me.

[waiting]

Nothing. Slip of the tongue. [ Bradbury smiles, lazy and self-deprecating, and he doesn't bother to respond to the second. ]

[viced]

[ Wow Bro. He makes a face, turning to lean against the rail, tipping his head back to inhale without holding his cigarette in his hands. ]

Yeah, sounds like it.

[waiting]

Hey, Mitch?

[viced]

[ He swings a look at him, not quite sure if he wants to ask what, but... ]

What is it?

[waiting]

[ He doesn't turn to look, and his voice is remarkably steady and sure of itself despite the alcohol slurring his consonants: ]

I'm probably in love with you.

[viced]

[ It hits him like a brick, and he looks like a caged animal for all of two seconds, before he flicks the cigarette over the edge of the rung, exhaling with a sigh of frustration. ]

You're fucking drunk. Why don't you sober up, pal? You know how alcohol goes to your head.

[waiting]

[ There's a moment when Bradbury turns his head and looks, really looks at Mitch, like he might do - something.

Instead, he just flicks his cigarette away and scrubs a hand over his face before jamming his hands in his pockets and turning away. ]

Yeah, probably. What the fuck do they put in that pink fruity shit, huh?

[viced]

Apparently fruity shit, what else? [ He asks it, crossing his arms, before deciding that was a bad idea. He turns around to grip the rung of the guardrail. White-knuckled. Yeah, just keep walking. Please. ]

Black coffee helps, by the way.

[waiting]

[ He fucked up, he thinks, he blew it; there goes the only friendship that's ever counted in years. Should've known better than to drink so much, but he didn't think he'd run into Mitch before he got a chance to sober up.

Who the fuck is stupid enough to fall in love with their best friend and then tell him about it, anyway?

Bradbury's such a fuck-up.

He doesn't trust himself to speak, so he swallows down the lump in his throat and raises a hand in a half-hearted wave Mitch isn't gonna see. He isn't heading back inside, though, stumbling for the relative quiet of the car where he can hate himself in peace. ]

[viced]

[ He doesn't watch, but when he doesn't hear the door close, when he can't notice the sound, he turns a little, watching him for just a moment.

Shit.

But the car doesn't sound like a good idea, but at least there he can listen to hear if Bradbury's going to do something stupid, like turn the fucking car on. He's just going to stay there, and light another cigarette, because that's the solution to this. He can pretend this didn't happen. (Again.) ]

[waiting]

[ He really is considering just driving the damn thing off the bridge, but he can't summon the coordination right now, and even drunk, he knows, that's just... beyond pathetic. Also, Mitch wouldn't be able to get home. So he tugs off his jacket, rolls down the window for fresh air, and turns on the radio instead.

He starts laughing, when the song registers, though he loses track of when the laughter maybe turns into something else.

Fucking Meat Loaf. ]

[viced]

[ He just smokes his cigarette away, trying to pretend he isn't thinking about it. Shit, he doesn't fucking know what to do right now. He barely notices the cigarette ashing without a flick, because he just keeps holding on to the rail.

Eventually, he grabs the cigarette to flick it, before shoving his hands in his pockets a bit rougher than he really needed to do it to.

Eventually, he made it to the car, after grabbing a coffee, and grabbing one for his friend. He tapped on the driver's window, holding a cup out to him. ]

[waiting]

[ Somehow, Bradbury's dozed off, but the party or function must be over by the time Mitch taps at the window, because why else would he be there, right? Hopefully, it's dark enough that he doesn't look as much of a wreck as he feels. ]

Thanks. [ Or sounds, for that matter. He clears his throat and grabs the coffee like it's a lifeline. ]

S'it done already? [ Shit, he doesn't think he's sober enough to drive yet. ]

[viced]

Yeah, it's done.

[ He hands him the cup, leaning against the edge of the car, gripping his own coffee like it's the only thing he's got to hold on to.

It really is. ]

How you feeling, champ? Better?

[waiting]

[ In another world, maybe, Bradbury's brave enough to look Mitch in the eye and tell him, no, actually, you should know exactly how I feel, because I was stupid enough to let you know.

In this one, he just sinks back into his seat, shutting his eyes and tipping the coffee up to his mouth while he groans. ]

I feel like shit. Is it possible to get a hangover in - [ He blearily checks his watch. ] - two hours?