ohdittoh
still kicking :)
@trev_or_nah
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MOOD || relishing
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OUTFIT || pajamas
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LOCATION || his apartment
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INTERACTIONS || ash
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MENTIONS || n/a
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TAGS || Winona
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OUTFIT || pajamas
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LOCATION || his apartment
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INTERACTIONS || ash
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MENTIONS || n/a
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TAGS || Winona
Trevor’s plans for the night had been, originally, to leave the game, chipper as a bee and high as a kite, go home, perhaps work on his manuscript, and then turn in; when his plans had, so inconsiderately, changed, his plan was just to go to the party and drink a little bit. Nothing more than that, really. He hated changes in plan. They made him antsy. Gave him headaches.
But here he was, doing something he’d never expected to be doing in anything other than his mind, and he wasn’t even thinking what the feck are ya doin’ or anything of the sort.
Nah. Sure, his heart was beating in his throat, but the liquor kept him from thinking too much over it.
His lips moved with hers, as if she and he both, even in their drunkenness, remembered the moves to some kind of weird dance that their hearts conducted— that weird dance to confusing music that their hearts’d composed behind their backs, without them knowing, and then angrily chucked at their heads any time they were near one another.
His hands found places all around her body to rest upon and move about, even in the short breaks he took to catch his breath.
This felt different.
This felt good.
This felt right.
Had he been in his fully sober state, he would’ve been flipping out. He, Sean Trevor Callaghan, was making out with Ashton West on the couch in his shared apartment’s living room, in full view of anyone who was to walk in. Well, odds were he wouldn’t be doing this if he was sober— and neither would she— but if, by some odd coincidence, he did end up in this situation, he would have broken away before anything else could happen.
Of course, he wasn’t sober, so he didn’t stop, and neither did his lips, nor his (rather shaky) hands—
Until a ringtone blared from the phone in his back pocket.
“Shite,” he mumbled, pulling away for a moment and giving Ash a sorry look. He didn’t look at the caller ID— he was a bit too flustered for it. Instead, he just slid his finger across his screen and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Sean!”
Shite. It was his grandmother. He knew that rough-yet-sweet voice from anywhere.
“Nana,” he greeted, trying to catch his breath and looking away from Ash. “What is it?”
“Are ya alright?” his grandmother asked, voice rife with concern and...irritation. He knew this tone all too well.
“I’m fine,” he said, slightly irritatedly. “Why’re ya callin’?” He tried his best to speak as if he wasn’t heavily intoxicated and out of breath.
She paused. “Ya didn’t text me and yer ‘da that you were goin’ ta bed like ya always do,” she said. “I got worried.”
Shite.
“I forgot,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. He had forgotten.
“Forgot? Heavens, ya should be in bed by this hour, Sean!” she fussed.
He blushed, embarrassed that Ash had to hear this. “I know. I’m just...up late’.”
“Writin’ or som’n?” she asked sarcastically. “Boy, ya sound drunk!”
Well, she was right.
“Sean, ya can’t just not tell us where ya are— it’s parta our agreement fer keepin’ ya over there!”
“I know...”
“Well, then apologize!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Genuinely.”
He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry.” He really was, but the way he said it made it obvious that he also really wanted to end the conversation.
His grandmother sighed. “Alright.” He could hear a small, concerned smile in her voice. “Me ‘n yer granda worry about ya, ya know it?”
He smiled slightly. “Yeah.”
“Goodnight, Seany. Go ta bed now,” she bade.
“Alright,” he said, and he hung up.
He looked embarrassedly at Ash. The air of the room had grown more tense as he’d spoken to his grandmother, but not necessarily in a good way. More in a way of well, now that we broke apart, what happens? kinda way.
He had an answer to that. He stood chuckled awkwardly. “‘t was m’Nana,” he said, as if she couldn’t hear. “I...” He glanced at the time on his phone. “Yeah, it’s...late, ya know.” He blushed and coughed awkwardly into his hand. “So, uh...”
He studied her face for a moment, considering giving her a goodnight kiss, but he turned away. “I’ll see ya in tha mornin’. Think we got some blankets ‘neath tha coffee table.” He glanced back at her, then blushed and chuckled again, looking away. “Uh...”
Feck it. This would probably be the last chance he got— when both of them were drunk off their faces and when his judgement and decision-making skills were impaired.
He planted another quick kiss on her lips, and he gave her a little, goofy grin. “Alright. Goodnight,” he bade.
With that, he walked away from her.
Then he stopped, turned around, and came back to her. “Wait, no, you go sleep on m’bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep here.” He grabbed a pair of blankets and made a shooing motion as he plopped on the loveseat.
His long body hung over the edges, but he pretended not to mind, covering up as much of his tall body as he could with the blankets before feigning sleep.
But here he was, doing something he’d never expected to be doing in anything other than his mind, and he wasn’t even thinking what the feck are ya doin’ or anything of the sort.
Nah. Sure, his heart was beating in his throat, but the liquor kept him from thinking too much over it.
His lips moved with hers, as if she and he both, even in their drunkenness, remembered the moves to some kind of weird dance that their hearts conducted— that weird dance to confusing music that their hearts’d composed behind their backs, without them knowing, and then angrily chucked at their heads any time they were near one another.
His hands found places all around her body to rest upon and move about, even in the short breaks he took to catch his breath.
This felt different.
This felt good.
This felt right.
Had he been in his fully sober state, he would’ve been flipping out. He, Sean Trevor Callaghan, was making out with Ashton West on the couch in his shared apartment’s living room, in full view of anyone who was to walk in. Well, odds were he wouldn’t be doing this if he was sober— and neither would she— but if, by some odd coincidence, he did end up in this situation, he would have broken away before anything else could happen.
Of course, he wasn’t sober, so he didn’t stop, and neither did his lips, nor his (rather shaky) hands—
Until a ringtone blared from the phone in his back pocket.
“Shite,” he mumbled, pulling away for a moment and giving Ash a sorry look. He didn’t look at the caller ID— he was a bit too flustered for it. Instead, he just slid his finger across his screen and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Sean!”
Shite. It was his grandmother. He knew that rough-yet-sweet voice from anywhere.
“Nana,” he greeted, trying to catch his breath and looking away from Ash. “What is it?”
“Are ya alright?” his grandmother asked, voice rife with concern and...irritation. He knew this tone all too well.
“I’m fine,” he said, slightly irritatedly. “Why’re ya callin’?” He tried his best to speak as if he wasn’t heavily intoxicated and out of breath.
She paused. “Ya didn’t text me and yer ‘da that you were goin’ ta bed like ya always do,” she said. “I got worried.”
Shite.
“I forgot,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. He had forgotten.
“Forgot? Heavens, ya should be in bed by this hour, Sean!” she fussed.
He blushed, embarrassed that Ash had to hear this. “I know. I’m just...up late’.”
“Writin’ or som’n?” she asked sarcastically. “Boy, ya sound drunk!”
Well, she was right.
“Sean, ya can’t just not tell us where ya are— it’s parta our agreement fer keepin’ ya over there!”
“I know...”
“Well, then apologize!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Genuinely.”
He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry.” He really was, but the way he said it made it obvious that he also really wanted to end the conversation.
His grandmother sighed. “Alright.” He could hear a small, concerned smile in her voice. “Me ‘n yer granda worry about ya, ya know it?”
He smiled slightly. “Yeah.”
“Goodnight, Seany. Go ta bed now,” she bade.
“Alright,” he said, and he hung up.
He looked embarrassedly at Ash. The air of the room had grown more tense as he’d spoken to his grandmother, but not necessarily in a good way. More in a way of well, now that we broke apart, what happens? kinda way.
He had an answer to that. He stood chuckled awkwardly. “‘t was m’Nana,” he said, as if she couldn’t hear. “I...” He glanced at the time on his phone. “Yeah, it’s...late, ya know.” He blushed and coughed awkwardly into his hand. “So, uh...”
He studied her face for a moment, considering giving her a goodnight kiss, but he turned away. “I’ll see ya in tha mornin’. Think we got some blankets ‘neath tha coffee table.” He glanced back at her, then blushed and chuckled again, looking away. “Uh...”
Feck it. This would probably be the last chance he got— when both of them were drunk off their faces and when his judgement and decision-making skills were impaired.
He planted another quick kiss on her lips, and he gave her a little, goofy grin. “Alright. Goodnight,” he bade.
With that, he walked away from her.
Then he stopped, turned around, and came back to her. “Wait, no, you go sleep on m’bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep here.” He grabbed a pair of blankets and made a shooing motion as he plopped on the loveseat.
His long body hung over the edges, but he pretended not to mind, covering up as much of his tall body as he could with the blankets before feigning sleep.
code by ditto (head empty go bonk)