(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]

[ 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?

[viced]

I think that depends on how much you drank, pal.

[ Because it's easier to pretend this didn't happen than anything else. And don't think I didn't see that tag there.

He leans against the car, not giving a shit about the filth. ]

You had way too much. Do we need someone to take the car?

[waiting]

Probably. I can drive, but we'd be in trouble if I got pulled over.

[ Everything's normal. Everything's fine. Shit he admits to himself in the privacy of his head when he's spent too much time alone doesn't matter.

Maybe if he tells himself that enough, he'll believe it. ]

Just ... call a cab home, pal. I'll get the car back in the morning. [ Also, spending time in an enclosed space with Mitch pretending everything is okay seems just about the worst idea right now. ]

[viced]

[ He should leave him. He really should. Just. Go home, and pretend this didn't happen. That's the safe, the logical thing to do. He could have a cab swing by, and get him, and none would be the wiser. But... even if he can't say it, because goddammit, he can barely admit it to himself without the threat of death over his head (or a drunken night that he knows Rick won't remember because he's painfully incoherent as it is) he just can't leave him.

Maybe it's his way of showing him that he cares, after a fashion. He can't speak it, he can never admit to it, but he can do something small for his friend. Because it's a way of showing it, without actually... showing him. Subtle in his actions, and forever veiled behind a wall of subtext, he puts his hand on the car door. ]

UNLOCK. Come on. You're in a worse place than I am, let's get you home first.

[waiting]

[ Mitchell Hundred is the most terrible excuse for a human being Bradbury knows.

He decides this is a fact, with uncharacteristic vindictiveness and a startling clarity for the current concentration of alcohol in his blood. His hand rests on the edge of the open window, as if that might somehow keep Mitch from actually opening the door; if he does so now, in fact, Bradbury's likely to fall right out. The radio's still going softly in the background - all my instincts, they return, and the grand facade, so soon will burn - but he doesn't pay it any attention. ]

You don't need to do this. [ Stating a fact, or a question, or maybe just reminding Mitch what they are. He leans against the door a little. It's a cold night out. Mitch should be home. ]

[viced]

I know.

[ He opens the door, giving him a look. One of those, "you're drunk and being stupid" looks. ]

Come on, you're not sleeping in the car, you might fucking blow chunks in it.

[ Wow, that's not exactly sexy, is it? He shook his head, tugging on the door. ]

[waiting]

[ He starts to roll his eyes, winces, and stops.

Thanks, asshole. [ But he lets Mitch get the door open (though they'll have to roll up the window, he thinks distantly, well, Mitch can just tell the damn car to lock itself, can't he?) and manages not to fall out. The coffee cup and his suit jacket get left behind, and he hauls himself to his feet, then leans against the car waiting for the vertigo to wear off.

Other people are lucky enough to lose any sense of what's going on when they're intoxicated; Bradbury wishes he was one of them. ]

Satisfied?

DROPPING IN THOSE ICONS AGAIN

[viced]

[ He not only tells the car to lock itself, but also roll up the window, and he pulls the keys from the ignition after shutting it off via his green-tinted voice. He pauses for a moment, reaching out to clasp Rick on the shoulder with a familiar friendliness.

It's a clumsy attempt at being his friend, he knows. It's really all he can offer right now. He just hopes Rick can hold off from this shit for a while longer. After an awkward pat, he pulls out his cellphone. ]

Let me call a cab.

DAMMIT!!!

[waiting]

Yeah, okay. [ He doesn't react much to the hand on his shoulder, because really, what can he say? Sorry for the awkward drunken confession, man, I don't know what got into me?

Apologizing for something that's true is stupid, anyway. He starts to reach for his cigarettes, then remembers that he left them in the car, and ends up just crossing his arms and shutting his eyes. ]

NOT SORRY!!

[viced]

[ He steps aside, calling one of the cab companies. He doesn't know which one, he just gets one out here, pronto. He doesn't really know what else to say, but he's not going to exactly leave him until he sees him in a cab.

Wow, he really is a great friend, Rick. Just remember this. It's not like he just spurred you because of his political aspirations and no other reason, right? It's not like he's pretending he doesn't care with his mouth, but still trying to show you that he's your best friend forever by getting you a cab to take you home in. ]

There, it'll be a few. Your head starting to clear?

WELL YOU SHOULD BE

[waiting]

Mm. [ He murmurs a vague affirmative. He understands, vaguely, that this is supposed to be the gentle letdown, the let's just be friends talk that he's been on the receiving end of more times than he cares to remember.

Mitch is being particularly confusing right now, though, and with a little less alcohol in his body, it's worse. Rick can think more clearly than he wants to, go over that awful five seconds two hours earlier and pick the moment apart again and again in his head. Seriously, he's being way too nice about this, and Rick's sure what the fuck he's supposed to take from that. ]

I'M NOT!!

[viced]

Well, at least you're going back to your native tongue of grunts.

[ He's trying so hard to keep the banter up. Right now, he really, really wants to get home, take a blunt, and just forget this happened, but maybe a part of him is too fucking nice. No, that's not it. It's the fact that he feels like shit.

So he just waits, shoving his slightly cold hands in his pockets while he considers how to handle this. How to preserve loyalty without being a fucking moron. Not admitting the same was the first step, it seemed. His jaw was intact.

Baby steps. ]

Come on, pal, speak up. You need to be conscious enough to give them your address, I don't even fucking know where you live. [ Not true, but he needed to erect a barrier between them, however small and weak it was. ]

[waiting]

[ His eyes are half-lidded, but he's watching Mitch from under his lashes. It's not... forward planning isn't his strong suit, not really, and Mitch has always been difficult to read. His shirt sleeves are a bit shorter than they should be, exposing his wrists to the cold - yeah, taking off his jacket wasn't the smartest move, but it had seemed a lot better in the car - and he shivers a little as the wind picks up, fingers spreading against the surface of the car. ]

M'fine. [ The words are still a little slurred, but that's calculated, now, and his heart's beating faster in his chest, ears straining for the sound of a cab pulling up, something to tell him he has his escape route worked out. He's not sure how much longer he has before he does something phenomenally stupid and desperate again. Maybe if he telegraphs get the fuck away from me, this is a bad idea loudly enough, Mitch will listen this time. ]

[viced]

[ Except Mitch can be incredibly stupid when it comes to cues, especially when they don't agree with what he wants them to be. Right now, he just wants Rick to forget, and pretend this doesn't happen with the quiet desperation of someone trying to forget and pretend themselves. He looks at Rick with all the intensity that his eyes can speak, and he was well known for having one of those gazes that just shot into someone.

He just wished it could speak what he wanted it to. He was looking at him like he'd jump out of his skin, like he'd do something stupid again, but he couldn't just leave him. Not right now, and not while he was vulnerable. It was fucking stupid. Especially while drunk. That was the last thing he needed was an article about his head of security, drunk, proclaiming feelings and all sorts of fucking things on the street. ]

Good. Come on, you want your coffee from the car? I can unlock it.

[waiting]

[ Shit, don't give him that look. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that look? ]

... Sure. [ He shifts his weight uneasily, moving aside - though of course, it's not like Mitch needs him to move to unlock the car, right? ]