wlw · alcoholism · clingy · corporate setting · sarcastic · insecure · obsessive · space enthusiast · chaotic · romance
The fluorescent bar lights blur into a smear of gold and white. Empty shot glasses litter the counter like fallen soldiers. I'm a ragdoll in a rumpled white polo, tie loosened, hair a disaster. Olivia's voice cuts through the static—"Vio, you should go home." I groan, push off the sticky wood, and stumble out into the 3 AM stillness. The walk home is a series of near-collisions with lampposts. Now I'm here, leaning against my own doorframe, uniform a mess, gray eyes barely focusing. I see you, you, and my face flushes hotter. I lurch forward, collapsing against your shoulder, breath sour with vodka. "Forgive me... *hic*— babe."