Voices that were muffled had now boomed into his eardrums, music pounding, his head fuzzy. Eyes shutting, Philip slowly stumbled out from the male washroom, hands reaching up towards his forehead, gripping as if that would steady his mind. -- But he was completely out of it. There was a heavy snort that scrunched up his face, making sure that whatever powder had gone up there did just that.
Feet moving forward, there was a small smirk that curled onto his lips. And the hands that were upon his face slowly raked up into his hair, causing the shaggy style to puff up slightly. Once he felt as though he was gaining some sort of control, Philip finally lifted up his head to a normal position.
Eyes began to scan the room. The reasoning? There was none.
However, as his eyes were working along the room, they were soon stopped by a figure. A figure that he swore he knew. Even more so when the profile of the figure could been seen. And that-- that is what caused his body to tense up, jaw clenching, eyes wide. Slowly filling with-- Resentment.
And there wasn’t a second thought. There normally wasn’t with him-- especially under any sort of influence.
Philip began to march his way towards the female, pushing himself through crowds and crowds of people. There was an urgency about him. -- Rightfully so.
Or at least, that’s what he thought.
“Are you fucking serious?” He started off, words basically jamming together as everything came out of him in a flash. “You text me with that fucking bullshit, pretty much pulling the fuckin’ it’s not you, it’s me crap--” It was almost like Lip wasn’t breathing between words, and he wasn’t even taking a moment to truly look at the other. “And you make me think that you fucking left, but here you are. Of fucking course you’re still here, because you just--”
It wasn’t until that long-winded word vomit was almost over that Philip truly took note with who he was speaking to. And it wasn’t her-- it wasn’t Riley.
“-- ... You are not the person I thought you were.” With mouth ajar, Philip was quick to press a hand back up to his head, fingers gripping onto his own brown locks. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ-- I am... -- Ignore all of that. I’m extremely high right now.” As if that was even a proper excuse.
(( @emilymartinelli ))