@nymphxlis // Sebastian for Desmond.
The tiredness of the day only now presses on his shoulders, making his tense and sore, especially when his mind wanders to the next few days. For the first time in forever, Sebastian feels like he has spread himself too thin, however he can’t back out hallway through the semester from the extra classes he has chosen to take this year. Just as he is about to internally lament more about his life, the sound of what seems angry voices wafts to him and he slows down his pedalling just in time to catch the whole affair. He doesn’t recognise him at first, basking in the poorly lit glow of the darkened streets, however as he stops to watch him get kicked out from the bar, Sebastian puts a name to the face. Desmond - always sits a few rows behind him, has never jumped at the chance of having Sebastian’s attention lavished on him.
With a leap, the bike is left behind and his steps bring him closer to the silhouette who is currently raging - Sebastian can guess - at the bouncer. He presents an appeasing smile to the tall man, slotting himself to the side of his class mate, an arm wrapped around his shoulders.
“You need some help, Desmond?” he asks, turning his bright grin towards the bouncer now. “He’s my friend, thanks for looking after him,” he says as he presents a cute smile, before beckoning Desmond away from the bar. “Hey, you okay? Like… You don’t look good?” he says, a tinge of worry in his voice as he inspects the other, spotting the bruise on his cheek.
To say it was a fight would be generous. Desmond wasn’t a fighter, he was just an idiot, really, who didn’t like when people felt comfortable using slurs in a public place. So he picked an unwinnable fight, lost miserably, and got kicked out for trying. Really, he is just fucking stupid.
He skids to a stop on the sidewalk, barely stopping himself from a faceplant by clinging to a street sign as he knocks into it. The world isn’t spinning just yet, but does seem to be swaying a bit. He holds on for dear life, waiting for the floor to stop moving.
The fight has gone out of him. He wants to holler at the bouncer to throw out the other guy too, but before he can even take a breath to yell, there’s someone at his side, gently easing him off the sign and supporting his unsteady footing.
Desmond recognizes him a little. It’s a hazy night, blurred by bad neons and bad choices, but he thinks he knows this guy from some horticulture class.
Wonderful. He laughs joylessly at the thought of someone seeing him like this. God, he really fucked up this time, huh? “Yeah, ‘m fucking fantastic. M’ face hurts like I go’ punched with a brick.”
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