Drunk, and barefoot in the villa kitchen, Jamie was busy humming along to a classical opera tune blaring out of his phone, still adjusting to the time difference, his brain firing on all cylinders despite the 3 AM time. Italy seemed to have awoken something in him, the boy suddenly cheerier than he usually was, and definitely more intoxicated. In between pouring splashed of wine into the marinara he was making, he kept taking swigs, getting drunker and splashing more of the sauce onto the stove as he cooked. Looking up, he spotted Romy, red-lined yes lighting up. He was always cheerier when drunk. “Wait! Come over here and taste this. Whoa, um. That sounded so dirty. That wasn’t a proposition. although I’d be open for that later,” he joked, running a greasy hand through his curls, brushing them out of his face, cheeks rosy from the alcohol. “Tell me if it tastes too boozy.” A spoon extended from his hand, the other held out just beneath it to catch any falling liquid. @andrcmda
