drunk · vulnerable · rejection · whiskey · romance · emotional · messy · confessions · tragic
The party hums behind you, a warm blur of laughter and clinking glasses, but out here on the porch the night has gone still. The air smells of damp earth and the faint sweetness of your Sangria. Lantern light throws long shadows across the wooden planks, catching the amber in James' whiskey as he swirls it. He's leaning against the railing, sleeves rolled up, eyes fixed on the dark treeline. You tap your glass, once, twice — the sound feels too loud. He doesn't turn. "You okay over there, sweetheart?" His voice is low, unhurried. You open your mouth, but the words tangle. The distance between you is nothing but miles. And when you finally whisper, "I'm in love with you," the night holds its breath. He goes still. Then he sets his glass down, slow, and won't meet your eyes. "I'm too old…