the day has been long and exhausting, and the night ? well, that’d been a fucking blast if you ask flora. his feet are aching, practically begging to be freed of the heels they’ve been confined to for the past few hours ( paired so cutely with one of his favourite masc outfits ), and the moment he’s in the doorway of their little flat he’s kicking them off with a happy groan. ❛ that right there ? better than sex, ❜ he announces, wriggling his toes against the carpeted floor and waggling his brows at bris in unison. he pads his way over to the sofa, though he pauses in front of it to consider for a moment. the taste of the last whiskey sour he’d drank is still on his tongue, and he chases it as he licks over his lips and lets out a soft hum. ❛ we should keep drinking. i’m not ready to fall asleep yet, ❜ and he knows himself well enough by now to be sure that sitting down without a drink in his hand is a one-way ticket to snoozeville.
@bristolelliot















