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josh washington just wants to have a good time (
2015-11-04 03:29 am (UTC)
josh's foggy gaze fixes back on chris, who looks as tired as he feels—and who's
trying to be a bro, even when his eyes are falling shut.
what a champ
and maybe it's the liquor, but he can't squash the small bloom of hope at chris' words. sam, samantha, sammy... if only. hey, it probably
be great. josh can imagine it now: sam, his wife, two and a half kids, white picket fence. dreamy. yeah, right.
maybe. maybe. maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong. josh allows the corner of his mouth to quirk up in a self-deprecating lilt. he's not so far gone not to realize what's happening here—that chris' is turning his own advice right back on him. serves him right, he guesses. a taste of his own medicine. still, he doesn't think he has it in him to sustain a conversation about that possibility, not when he's like this. it'll have to stay locked up inside him. but this time, it'll be chris' words knocking around his head instead of his own, and that's a little better. at least, for now, when he's too drunk to really think about it.
with a long sigh, he lets his eyes fall shut, focusing instead on how he can feel the rise and fall of his stomach underneath his hands with each steady breath. it's lulling; he feels the weight of his tiredness pour down on top of him in gentle, soothing waves. without opening his eyes, he nudges chris' leg again and mumbles out a topic change, cotton-headed and heavy-tongued.
Well, now I can't see at all. But don't even think about sneaking out on me, bro. I'll know. [
he means—when he's asleep, because he can feel it creeping up on him. it's a joke, almost; he knows chris is in no condition to be driving back home, but he wants to make sure, even so.
] And I know—I know where you live. I'll... drag you right back.
it doesn't even make sense, but he feels better confirming to himself that chris isn't going anywhere.
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