lungsandlips
âWhat do you mean what am I doing here?â The last half of his question was a poor attempt at mocking Ansel. Liam was never like this, never let himself get messy drunk or too overwhelmed with emotions. He had always been so good at shoving things down and dealing with them on his own time and in his own way that this need to be here, pointing a literal finger in blame was all new to him. Without trying to stand, as it seemed even he was aware that would get him nowhere, he kept pointing, jabbing the finger and the bottle in Anselâs direction as if it were doing something to prove whatever point he had come here to make.
âIâm here because this is your fault. All of thisâŠâ His free hand made a grand sweeping gesture, presenting himself as some sort of evidence. âAnd you donât even care, do you? Of course not. Where were you, hmm?â There was an accusatory tone to his voice, eyebrows raised high as he waited only a split second for an answer. âWho cares, right? Who cares. But I care. I care because Iâm such an idiot and I was so in love with you and now look at me.â
It seemed that the only damaged thing that presented itself was the man before him, though things had been shifted, knocked over, out of the otherâs path. With a job like his, keeping constants in his life had always seemed like a terrible idea. If he wasnât traveling to cover some story, his parents had him at their beck and call. But in reality there seemed to be this resounding fear within him that held him back from ever actually relying on just about anyone. Even though time and time again Liam had vocally let him know heâd be there, every fiber of Ansel screamed about what a god awful idea it was to let this continue. So heâd broken it off, let any spark they had die off, half expecting the other to avoid him as everyone else did. But here he was, wasted and very obviously disgruntled. It wasnât like he was wrong, in a very big way it was on Ansel because despite how much heâd wanted to make it work he hadnt even tried. âWhat does it matter where I was, I told you....â he trailed off, pinching at the bridge of his nose as if that would help him gain some sort of composure. âI told you we couldnât see each other any more, its not my fault that you fell in loveâgot attached, what did you think this would get you?â as he spoke this dull ache heâd been subduing these past few weeks reignited in his heart. The real reason heâd pushed him back was because heâd almost started reciprocating, almost let himself care, hell maybe he still did care.
