sweethymns | Pictures in the Dark

Yup. We got a lightweight on our hands.

[And luckily for Michael, Iona is a RESPONSIBLE person instead of a joker who would have liked to see how seriously piss drunk a friend could get.

I mean, she kinda does, but she's not mean! She pops the fry into her mouth.]

There, I ate my finger. Let's call it a night and head back, whaddya say?

[He'll appreciate it when he's more sober, Iona, I promise you that. And did she just eat... her finger? No way. Did he just imagine that?

Poor Michael looks highly confused, at both the edible finger and her question.]

Already? We haven't been here that long. [He seems to be thinking about something, then:] Two hours, ten minutes, thirty-five seconds. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven... [He's going to keep counting, please stop him.]

[And with that, Iona pulls Michael up with her right arm with little to no effort.]

C'mon hon, you're going home with me.

And not in that way! [She yells to her friends who are about to do the usual, "OOOOOOOHHH!!!" but she stopped them early, so that's cool.]

[Oop-- He finds himself hoisted up, and when he's on his feet is when he realizes that wow, the room is a little unstable. Not quite spinning, but certainly wobbling.]

Oh, wow, my head... [He mutters, as if it's some fresh sort of realization. Though he's still kind of confused why they need to leave; she was obviously not done talking to all her friends yet.]

We're going back to your apartment? [He's not all there, else he'd find this an embarrassing development. As it is, he just sounds curious.]

Yeah, we'll meet up with Oren too.

[Which means, they'll go to the cafe through her apartment, but she doesn't have to say that aloud.]

Say bye to friends, Mikey!

["Mikey" turns his head to glance at Iona's friends and holds up a hand in a half-hearted wave, and mutters something along the lines of "Bye, have a good night" before allowing Iona to shuffle him out of the bar.

The night air is cool against his skin, but it isn't enough to draw him out of his daze. He eventually tells her:]

I'm fine, you know. You didn't have to... leave.

Edited 2016-05-28 05:09 (UTC)

[Iona rolls her eyes.]

Boy, you are a lightweight. I really did not want to bring home a corpse to Oren.

A corpse? Do I look like a corpse to you?

[A zombie, maybe!]

Besides, I don't really drink that much. Never a reason to.

No need to start then.

And no, you're still cute and refreshing.

[Iona!!!! That's no alcohol talking, that's all her, 100%.

That said, she does want to see his reaction to that in his state.]

[Iona!!!

Though she might be surprised to find out that his embarrassment is toned down significantly in this state, as opposed to how he would have reacted with a more lucid mind. The tips of his ears still turn red, however -- or maybe, is that the alcohol in his system?

Regardless of alcoholic intake, it's impossible to not be completely self-conscious after saying such a thing, especially when he's so close to her, since he's practically latching on. His expression is graced by a light grin, however.]

You keep saying stuff like that and a guy can get the wrong idea, you know.

[(She wonders if he was the kind of guy she would have liked in high school. Then again, younger her was foolish and prideful and dealing with too many issues at once...)

He's latching on, but she supports him, no problem. A little awkward because of the height difference, but she manages.]

I hope you're not saying that you're getting wrong ideas.

[And let's just mess with him.]

[Likely she's just going to confuse him; the more flustered Michael will probably return once he remembers this conversation the next day. For now, he furrows his brow, unable to translate that comment as her merely messing with him.

He laughs, and it nearly sounds like a scoff.]

Do you really think I'm that courageous?

[It'd be a foolish thing to wish for, wouldn't it? Someone like him, withdrawn and antisocial, to even entertain the idea of someone like her, vibrant and full of energy, to be giving him wrong ideas.]

I think you're able to get there!

[Iona's voice is full of affirmation.]

Because things are changing at least right? I think you're doing a great job taking the first step forward for yourself. I think you're great.

...Ah, thanks. It means a lot to hear that.

[It's a little odd, though. Is she encouraging him? Or is she just being generalized in her statements? He probably shouldn't try to figure this out with such a hazy head -- he glances over at her, to judge her expression. It's as bright as usual.]

Still... not sure what to make of that, though.

[She shifts slightly so that Michael is a little more comfortable being supported by her as they walk back to the apartment.]

What I'm saying is that I think you can afford having some confidence in yourself and that you'll be able to find your courage someday. And I mean that for the important things ahead, not about wrong ideas.

[A beat and then she shakes her head, her smile of amusement hidden in the dark of the night.]

I guess what I'm also saying is... If you don't say anything, who's gonna know what you like, hm?

Yeah... I know. It's what we're... or at least, I'm working on. [The training was a part of that, and picking up weekends at the Grind, to socialize more with people. Confidence was what he needed, and not a confidence borne of alcohol that would loosen his tongue more than he'd like. If he could get his powers under control, he thinks it'll help a great deal towards that goal.]

It's not always easy to say what's on your mind. My mind. [He clarifies, absent-mindedly. Sometimes a filter between brain and mouth was a good thing; but what she says gives him pause. How would people know, if he didn't say anything?

He walks for a few moments more without saying anything, then:] You wear your heart on your sleeve, Iona. Have you always been like that?

[Good question.]

For the most part... I think so! But when I was younger, it made me sound more like a precocious brat than anything else.

[These days, she laid her heart bare with a sense of purpose and as a way to connect with others.]

I have my sad withdrawn days too. I don't like being stuck there though.

I can't imagine you sad and withdrawn.

[But he supposes that everyone has their days of gloom and doom, regardless of the brave face they put on.]

Hey... if you ever have one of those days again, don't hesitate to get in touch. We can do something to cheer you up.

[A little bolder thanks to the alcohol, but "bolder" is likely a relative term compared to some.]

[Her heart skips. She thinks it does, it was too quick after he said those words.

And it might feel like she's pulling him closer, almost like a hug, almost affectionate. Almost.]

I'll hold you to that offer.

... Thanks.

You're welcome. [It's a light response, more airy than his usual tone. If he feels like he's being pulled closer, it only manages to further relax him, somehow. It's nice. It's making him sleepy.

And so he has nothing else to add for awhile, as they walk back.]

[The night wanes. Sunday morning comes.

Oren stands perfectly still behind the counter of the Midnight Grind. The cafe is spic and span except for the sofa that has some comfortable pillows and an equally comforting quilt covering up a sleepy new employee.]

...

...

...

[ANY DAY NOW PAL, not that Oren would speak up to say anything really. He's got the patience of a literal rock, he'll wait.]

[It isn't much longer until Michael stirs, groaning a little. He opens his eyes, drearily, to look up to a ceiling that definitely isn't his apartment's.]

What...?

[Michael sits up, confused, looking around like he's not where he's supposed to be. Because he's not. The blankets slide off of him as he gazes around and spots Oren behind the counter.

The Midnight Grind?]

Oren...? [He asks, uselessly. He frowns (his head only aching a little, impressively), and rubs at his eyes.] What happened? [It's a little hazy, he remembers getting a tad tipsy while at the bar with Iona, and he had gotten sleepy...

And somehow ended up here...?]

Lightweight. Iona carried you in.

[Oren moves to turn on an electric kettle to get some coffee started.]

Will make breakfast.

[Carried in?] Again? [As in, he had to be carried by Iona to the Grind's couch a second time? It was becoming a habit he wasn't growing proud of.

He focuses, still rubbing at his eyes, trying to remember more clearly the details of last night. He remembers leaning on Iona as they made their way back, the concrete below them feeling far more unsteady than it should. They spoke about... what? Courage and...

Oh.] Ah, crap. [He mutters it to himself, recalling a few things he said that he would consider a bit embarrassing now. Maybe, he hopes, Iona will think nothing of it today.

He looks over at Oren, whose back is already turned as he makes coffee and breakfast.]

Need help? [He feels bad for being a couch bum for yet another night.]

No.

You need coffee.

Or coconut water.

Or both.

And eggs.

[Well, it's not a full on awful hangover, but it seems like Oren's covering all the bases regardless. How thoughtful!]

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