I absolutely love an intoxicated Whumpees spilling more about their past/trauma than they ever would when sober.
But, I think I like it best when they’re not necessarily stoic in the traditional sense. They’re kind, friendly, and other people really enjoy being around them. They show a decent amount of emotion, and they’re able to bond with their team pretty well. However, maybe their team/friends realize that they don’t know all that much about Whumpee’s background/a time in their life, but when they bring it up Whumpee just shrugs it off.
Then, Whumpee gets absolutely hammered at an event, and as it goes on they become increasingly more talkative than usual.
At first, maybe their team thinks what they’re saying is a joke. Friendly and well put together Whumpee, who spent the larger part of their day walking their dog and going grocery shopping? Yeah right.
Except, a lot of the stuff they’re saying is matching up. That long period of time that Whumpee said they were visiting family, or maybe the marks that Whumpee swore were from an accident when they were a kid?
As Whumpee grows more intoxicated and spills more of their secrets, their team comes to a realization and everyone quickly goes from concerned to absolutely horrified.
In their state, Whumpee sees the look on their team member’s faces and slurs out something along the lines of “don’t worry.” That they’re perfectly fine, they don’t even think about it really.
What does Whumpee’s team do with this information? Do they start treating Whumpee differently, and Whumpee catches on right away? Maybe Whumpee calls them out on it, or starts beating themselves up for being foolish enough to let their secret slip. Or, does the team take Whumpee’s word that they’re fine, but maybe discovers some slight behaviors/mannerisms indicating they’re not that the team wouldn’t have previously thought much of?
drunk whumpee who floats around the room, their usual closed-off personality falling away, making their lips loose and they spill their past to caretaker, who finally understands some of whumpee's behaviors
The celebrations in Fhirdiad are in full swing. The city prides itself in its heated parties, to spite the cold wind and merciless winters. Alcohol and inhibitions flow freely in the otherwise strict kingdom and boisterous laughter fills the castle halls.
Dimitri has never been one for parties, nor drinking, yet at Sylvain’s continuous insistence for just one more shot, he can’t help but oblige. Out of duty and shame, if anything else.
He had taken so much from his friends, denied them so much joy, brought nothing but hurt. He owed it to them, to spend the party without a single word of complaint, pliable in their hands to make up for the monster he had become.
Though now, more than just a couple shots in, Dimitri finds agreeing to just one more is getting easier by the second.
He hadn’t drunk anything really, since… that one night in the cathedral, when he had not yet regained his mind, that he only remembers snippets of. That ended with a vengeful hangover and him waking up in Byleth‘s lap. Even with his ravaged mind, the embarrassment took over and he had scurried away like a mutt, throwing up somewhere outside, and then never spoke of it again.
Long after, the ghosts still ridiculed him for the unnamed feelings it left him with.
Now, pleasantly buzzing, the faces and voices of his loved ones have retreated into the fog of inebriation. There is no one to criticize him for downing glass after glass of Fhirdiad‘s best liquor.
Amongst the inhuman strength, his crest also grants him a heightened tolerance; a trait he must have shared with his father, if Rodrigue‘s stories were to be believed.
A pang of grief shoots through Dimitri at the thought, and he quickly grasps the closest glass of booze and drinks it. He finds the burning sensation chases any unpleasant thoughts away.
Briefly, he wonders why he hadn’t indulged more before.
Around the foggy buzz, Dimitri still converses with different nobles, never really without his duties as future king. Though, at this point, their conversation could be called senseless.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a slightly swaying Sylvain approach Byleth with another one of his just-one-more-shots. She obliges with a smile and knocks with back the with energy of a true mercenary. Yet, somehow she remains sober. Not even the faintest flush betrays the amount she has drunk.
Dimitri supposes it makes sense. He can take a guess at the rapid speeds of her metabolism, if the massive amount she casually eats are any hint.
Is it appropriate to think about the metabolism of a lady?
The noble besides him laughs loudly and slaps his back. „Your Highness, if that gaze of yours is any sign, we mustn’t worry about a royal marriage much longer.”
Dimitri sputters, chokes or dies. He can feel his face heat up like wildfire, blushing so hopelessly he cannot possibly blame it on the alcohol.
Instead, in a panicked attempt to avoid answering, he grabs the drink he was sipping and downs it in one go, barely breathing between gulps.
The nobles start cheering, as if they were in a bar and not the royal castle. The burning down his throat isn’t enough to distract him.
Instead, the Goddess must have it out for him personally, because he has barely recovered from his drink when one of the nobles loudly declares to the table: „Look at his Highness drinking like a fish. He will make a fine Faerghean husband one day!“
Dimitri grabs the nearest liquor bottle and downs it in its entirety, doing nothing to quell the nobels‘ claims, before excusing himself and hurrying away.
It doesn’t occur to him that this might not have been his wisest decisions.
He seeks out a table where some of the Blue Lions have collected, taking a break from the chaos. Sighing, he sits down, thunking his forehead on the wood.
„Since when is it allowed for nobles to treat the future king this way?“, Dimitri mumbles. „I have barely returned, yet they have become obsessed with finding me a bride.“
He can only speak that last part under the security of hiding his face in his arms. The cool wood does nothing to reduce his ever-burning blush.
Mercedes, a gentle flush on her face too, pats his head in consolation. „They’re eager for any sense of normalcy. I think marriage is the one thing they all agree on, rare as it is.“
Grumbling, Dimitri turns to face her, trying to focus his blurring vision. „When have they ever agreed on one thing? Now, it is like they speak in unison. Did Sylvain put them on this?“
„I suspect they came to that conclusion themselves.“ Mercedes giggles.
His eye widens, sputtering as her words make their way through his foggy mind. Someone, anyone, seeing Byleth as a wife, and quite possibly worse, imagining him as a husband her husband threatens to fry his brain.
Of course, one day Byleth will make a wonderful wife for someone who should thank the Goddess every day. It just couldn’t be him, no matter how much his heart yearns. For someone as dirty and tainted as he is, just being allowed to remain next to her should be more than enough. Never mind that Byleth deserves someone better, someone good, without hands smeared in blood and a fractured mind.
It is a sign of his inadequacy that he can’t stop the craving.
„Reign in your mind, boar.“ Felix sneers, though the softer tones in his voice betray his words. The alcohol has dulled his edges too, as well as the end of the war.
„I- I don’t know what you mean.“ he stutters, unconvincingly.
„At this rate, your pathetic yearning will become the talk of the year.“
„Oh shush!“, Annette leans on Felix‘ shoulders, pushing his head down with a giggle. „He‘s just being stupid, we are all still stressed from the war. What he meant to say was, you should talk to her. You barely have, for the entirety of today‘s festivities.“
Of course he wants to talk to Byleth. Dimitri wants nothing more than to stick by her side from dawn ‘til dusk. But hasn’t he asked enough from her, for she hadn’t left his side for the entire war. And with the alcohol flowing through his veins, holding himself back will be near impossible.
„Let her enjoy the fest, Annette. I don’t doubt she has seen enough of me for a lifetime.“
Annette scoffs in unison with Felix, then bounces up undeterred, her suspicions smirk clear as day even through the fog of inebriation. „Well, forgive me, your Highness, but if you insist on being stubborn, I will simply call her over!“
Before Dimitri can stop her, she disappears into the crowd, too determined to take notice of her own sway. Once again, he will be nothing but a bother to Byleth.
Groaning, he buries his head in his arms. Maybe Annette will forget, maybe she will spare Byleth the humiliation of being bound to the burdensome king once again.
But of course, Fate isn’t so kind to him.
„Oh, there you are, Dimitri!“
It’s embarrassing, the way his ears perk up like a dog.
„Byleth!“, he smiles, though his mouth feels lopsided, for some reason. „Have you been enjoying the fest- festivities?“
She nods, and despite the blur that is his vision Dimitri is sure that the corners of her mouth lift slightly.
„Being around everyone in such high spirits, it’s almost like being back with Father‘s band of mercenaries after a job done well.“
She stands right next to him, laying a hand over his, and it feels like the warmth of the sun has concentrated right above his skin.
„You’ve been drinking like a true mercenary too, your highness.“ she teases and Dimitri flushes helplessly, as if his cheeks have ever stopped burning. Maybe this is the one downside to indulging, because he is even worse at suppressing his feelings than usual.
„You saw?“ he all but squeaks.
„I couldn’t possibly miss y- it. Haven’t seen you stand since.“ It almost sounds like a challenge.
„I‘ll have you know, the strength of the Blaiddyd crest includes inhib- I mean tolerance.“
Bad idea.
The moment he stands, his entire world tilts and crashes to one side, sending him tumbling sideways into Byleth. Dimitri can feel the softness of her breasts press and mold against his chest. With a gasp, he recoils, falling backwards, only just avoiding collapsing entirely by the grace of Byleth catching him around the waist, pulling him close.
Her steadfast touch makes a noise bubble up in his throat that he is just barely able to swallow back down, lest it bring shame to his entire bloodline.
Instead, he slumps into her with shaking legs, shame burning across his face like wildfire. Pathetic. Pathetic pathetic pathetic.
Across from them, his friends can barely stifle their giggles, though Felix might plan regicide after all.
Dimitri doesn’t feel like laughing, all of the sudden.
„I‘m sorry,“ and now he’s stumbling over his words. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have joined. Believing he could be part of this was a mistake, when he’s capable of nothing but being a burden to everyone.
„This- this is unbecoming of a king. I shouldn’t have- this is my fault, I know. I just- I can’t be seen like this. I should be better, I-“
Suddenly, softly, Byleth lays her free hand on his cheek, tilting his head to catch her gaze. Despite himself, he seeks her touch like a starving man.
„Let‘s go outside, there are some benches we could sit on and get some fresh air. A break would be nice.“
Dejectedly, Dimitri nods. It’s a charade for who exactly? Everyone in this hall must know it is him who is a pathetic drunk, too stupid to stand, too prideful to know his limit. He can feel their eyes on him, staring and judging, knowing that this deplorable excuse of a king would be sure to bring them ruin.
Still, Byleth holds both a physical as well as a metaphorical hand out for him, a crutch to rest his failures on.
„I fear I will just fall and shame you“, he admits, turning away, unable to meet her eyes. Hoping his words are not slurring.
„Nonsense“, Byleth responds, ever the professor. „I couldn’t count all the times I had to carry my father when he was far worse off. Take a breath and mirror my steps. You will be fine.“
Her grip around his waist is steady, strong. She doesn’t falter, even when he stumbles and trips like a deer on ice. It’s pitiful. It’s more than he could dream of.
When they finally reach the balcony, Dimitri breathes a sigh of relief. Byleth guides him to sit down and even this he can’t accomplish without swaying.
Some part of him expects her to leave him there. He would deserve it, undoubtedly. But of course, she doesn’t. As if its no question at all, she sits down right next to him, a pillar for him to lean against. Once again.
He doesn’t deserve her, he never has.
Dimitri takes a deep breath. He must pay for his shortcomings, he must redeem himself for yet another long list of mistakes accumulated in a single evening. He must make himself worth Byleth’s time.
„I apologize. It seems I overestimated my condition. It shouldn’t fall on you to save me from myself once again.“
Byleth makes a sort of dismissive gesture. „I hear it’s a Farghean tradition to get humbled by liquor.“
Somehow, despite it all, she draws a giggle from him.
„You should have heard the stories Rodrigue told of his and my father‘s academy years.“
She leans her head against his and the contact alone steals all sense from his mind. Not even the reminder of his loss can pierce the wall of comfort and buzz formed around him like a shield.
„Oh, he did share the occasional tale, in the time I got to know him. Had I heard the stories first, I would have expected both their sons to be partying trouble makers.“
„I fear, at least in part, I have done nothing but create troubles.“
„Oh shush. We can’t change the past, we can only continue moving forward. And besides, seeing you loosen up and enjoy yourself, it was worth it all.“
Huh?
Dimitri freezes, caught between the fondness in her voice and his overactive imagination.
At the same time, Byleth seems to realise what she said, and if he didn’t know better, if his vision was less blurred, he’d think she was blushing.
„I guess we have Sylvain to thank.“
Dimitri sees this for what it is: a weak attempt at distraction. But he is putty in her hands, so he follows obediently.
„Rather to blame, for my current state. And those wicked One-More-Shot‘s.“
Byleth snorts. She actually snorts.
„You don’t think it might have something to do with that entire bottle you downed?“
„I don’t know why I did that…“ Dimitri lies, the scene, —their words— still burning a blush onto his face.
„You‘ve always been a lousy liar, your Highness. Though, of course you don’t have to tell me.“ she adds gently.
He stupidly shakes his head, making the world spin violently, immediately dropping it back onto her shoulder. „Those nobles truly know how to get under my skin, even if on accident. The past… the past five years have only reduced my capabilities and made me much too useless.“
Somehow, like it is the most natural thing in the world, Byleth‘s hand finds his again. She had made a habit of staying on his blind side. Dimitri can’t remember a time since losing that eye, that anyone being close has felt so safe.
„You’re so warm, as always“, he sighs. „I could never see the sun again, and not grow dissatisfied. You are my light, my star, my sun, my-“
Just barely, before ruin can tumble from his lips, Dimitri catches himself. If he thought he was blushing before, he was wrong. His face turns beet red, from his neck to the tips of his ears. In horror, he brings his free hand up to his face, covering as much as he can.
„Goddess, I- I apologize, I don’t know what came over me. The alcohol has me acting like a fool.“
A love-struck fool, his mind supplies, unhelpfully.
Byleth just smiles, in that soft, barely visible way of hers. „This is what I meant. Seeing you be so… so free, drinking too much with your friends and letting the alcohol make you silly. This casual normalcy is what we fought the war for. I… I want this. I want it, again and again.“
Oh, he will never stop blushing. Her words almost sound suspiciously like a confession. Leaning towards her, just a bit closer, turning his head, their lips touching; It would be so easy. But no, Dimitri isn’t that drunk to delude himself with fantasies of his wretched love being reciprocated.
Instead, almost unconsciously, he nuzzles his heavy head further into the crook of her neck. „They said with how I was drinking, I would make a fine Farghean husband.“ He says, giggling to himself. The thought is as dreamy as it is absurd.
„You will.“
He chokes and coughs, his entire body shaking with barely contained laughter, until it bursts from him in a bellowing howl and wheezing breaths.
It doesn’t occur to him that Byleth doesn’t seem to be laughing.
„I mean it.“ she pouts.
Dimitri has barely regained control when she sends him into another round of giggles. „You jest; You can’t possible mean that“, he gets out, once he can finally breathe. „Oh, professor, your humor is as dry as always. You’ve seen the beast I am firsthand. Even these joyous times can’t deny my brutish strength, my broken mind. All the booze in the world can only hide my nature and their voices for so long.“
Byleth averts her gaze, turning towards the clear night sky.
„You‘ve always felt so greatly, Dimitri. You feel so much, I can only imagine the strength with which you love. That is a gift, I think, to whoever will be so lucky to be chosen in love by you.“
The alcohol and laughter begins to turn his ecstasy into fatigue. He doesn’t notice himself slipping down to her breasts, only wonders why he is laying so softly. Maybe he is already dreaming, for her to speak the words he would never dare admit he craves.
„Mmmh, I doubt anyone else woul‘ agree, ‘f they saw me like you have.“
It doesn’t matter to him, not really. There is no need to think about being anyone‘s fine Farghean husband, because his heart is already bound tight to the one person he could never atone enough for.
But, like a dirty sinner, he can bask in her warmth and light, and for a moment feel peace he hasn’t earned yet. And that is enough.
„Forgive me,“ Dimitri yawns, then hiccups. „I‘ll rest my eye, jus’ for a moment. I’ll return to the fest- the fesiv- inside soon enough…“
That is how he drifts off, unaware of his body nestling into her breasts, or her gentle caressing hand carding through his hair.
Neither does he hear Byleth‘s gentle whisper for only the night and Sothis.
whumpee who drinks and regrets it. whumpee who has to drink in secret because if caretaker/whumper found out they'd be in so much trouble. whumpee who drinks then spends the next day trying to incospicuously make it up to whoever they're living with, hangover be damned. whumpee who regrets it with all their heart
and still reaches for the bottle the following night.
This was requested by my amazing friend @weirdthingweee . I hope all of you enjoy this story, and maybe get a little giggle. I was requested to really whump Whumpee, so I hope I did honor that request.
"I guess they got home early today", Caretaker looked at Whumpee's car again before unlocking the door and going inside.
"And they've started drinking. Must have had a day today", Caretaker sighed as they smelt the alcohol in the house.
Whumpee looked up from the counter where they were sitting when Caretaker stepped into the kitchen.
"Hey Whumpee", Caretaker smiled weakly, "how was your day today."
"It was okay, I'm sorry about the alcohol. It just sounded good", Whumpee frowned, "I don't have work tomorrow because of the weekend..."
"You don't have to apologize. You are an adult now, just be careful", Caretaker smiled. 'They aren't completely drunk yet, normally they get happy when they are drunk', Caretaker thought to themself, "so, you had a good day today."
"Oh, yes", Whumpee nodded, "will you take a shot with me?"
"Uh, I would rather one of us stay sober", Caretaker reached for the glasses, "I'll take a shot of water though."
Whumpee nodded and shakingly poured their shot.
"First though, where are your car keys? I'm going to put those away", Caretaker looked around the table, "we are not leaving tonight."
Caretaker came back after recovering the keys.
Whumpee watched them pick up the glass full of water.
"To the weekend", Caretaker smiled.
Whumpee was getting happier every minute.
Caretaker got some food into Whumpee, and let them go about being their happy drunk self.
"Can I have another drink?", Whumpee leaned on the wall. Caretaker did have a limit on how much Whumpee could consume, but Whumpee didn't know where they were on that limit.
"You can have one more", Caretaker nodded, "then you're cut off."
Whumpee nodded and staggered into the kitchen, "I want to try something."
Caretaker got up worriedly and followed quickly, "try what?"
Whumpee poured some vodka into a cup.
"Whumpee?", Caretaker watched.
Whumpee reached for an energy drink and poured that into the cup.
Caretaker then watched Whumpee grab something from the fridge.
"Whumpee, is that... jægermeister? You don't normally drink that. It's really, uhm, not your style", Caretaker frowned as Whumpee opened it, and poured, "plus it's not the greatest... I'd rather you didn't."
"You said I could have one more", Whumpee held it up happily, "it should be fine... maybe even a little healthy."
"How?", Caretaker watched the cup get closer to Whumpee's lips.
"Vodka is a disinfectant, jæg.. meister, mmm, is herbs... good for digestion, crap like that", Whumpee smiled.
"And the energy drink?", Caretaker frowned.
"Will get my heart rate going", Whumpee laughed drunkenly and drank the glass dry.
"Ugh, Whumpee, you're killing me", Caretaker sighed, "was it at least good?"
"N-no", Whumpee grunted.
"I tried to warn you", Caretaker sighed again, "come on, you need to sit down."
"I need to puke", Whumpee gagged.
Caretaker pulled Whumpee to the trash can and held onto them.
After a few dry heaves Whumpee looked up weakly.
"Come on, out to the couch with you. I don't think you'll be on your feet for much longer", Caretaker pulled them into the living room, "I'm going to get you a bucket and some water. Don't move."
"Mmm", Whumpee moaned, "that was a mistake."
"Yes", Caretaker nodded in agreement.
Caretaker heard movement before stepping back into the living room.
Whumpee was up and quickly walking in a circle.
"Uh, Whumpee, why are you up and walking in a circle?", Caretaker set the water down.
"The room is spinning, I'm trying to keep up, mmm, with it", Whumpee paused for a moment, "mmm, I don't feel good."
"Where did you even get the idea for that concoction?", Caretaker watched Whumpee hunch slightly.
"Mmm, a coworker, I added the vodka", Whumpee dryheaved.
Caretaker hurried with the prepared bucket.
"I'm good", Whumpee groaned.
"Whumpee, you are far from good", Caretaker grabbed onto Whumpee, "come on back to the couch with you. Let's see if we can sleep this off."
"Mmm", Whumpee grumbled.
"I bet you will never do that again", Caretaker helped Whumpee lay down.
"Mmm, no", Whumpee shook their head, "the room is still spinning."
"That is more than likely the energy drink", Caretaker knelt down, "I got you though, I'm right here."
"Mmm", Whumpee slowly blinked, "mmm sleepy."
"Get some rest, I've got you", Caretaker lovingly moved Whumpee's hair out of their face.
Whumpee sighed in relief, "thankyou Caretaker."
"You're welcome", Caretaker smiled as they cupped Whumpee's cheek, "get some sleep."
Whumpee's eyes fluttered a few times.
"Mmm", Whumpee moaned as they finally went out.
"You are going to have a nasty hangover way into tomorrow. I hope you are aware of that", Caretaker stood, "oh Whumpee", they sighed, "whatever will you do with you?"
Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all
"Hehehh," whumpee smiled and loosely grabbed caretaker's face, "your face is pretyyy,"
caretaker smiled as they brushed their friend's sweaty hair away from their eyes. "Thank you, whumpee,"
"heyy... cm'ere." Whumpee grabbed caretaker's cheeks and pulled them towards the bed. "I—" they giggled before finishing, "I love youuuu," they whispered while laughing hysterically.
"I love you too, whumpee," caretaker smiled, knowing whumpee wont remember this.
"nonononnn, like... like I love you. I wanna like kiss you and shitttttt,"
caretaker smiled. Whumpee wasn't the only person that's cheeks were red.
John getting drunk Santino home (Santino tripped over his own feet)
Hiiiii :3 This really veered off of the prompt aaaaaa it's not exactly the same thing, but it is filled with DRAMA!
(Also, this picture is pure gold. I think it’s saved on my Pinterest in like three places and it makes me feel something every time I see it.)
🖤💙 Walking Home 💙🖤
TW: alcohol, arguing
It was a brilliantly clear night in the streets of Rome. The cobblestones were scattered with flecks of golden lamplight and the moon perched its yellow hemisphere low on the horizon, echoing the distant domes of cathedrals. But John Wick had rarely felt his heart sit so heavily in his chest.
The evening had started off well enough. It was the third day of a getaway to Rome, which John had requested in an effort to keep Santino from working himself to death, and which Santino had agreed to because he never missed an excuse to pamper his “little guard dog”. After sleeping in and spending the day exploring museums and old shops, they’d finally ended up in a gorgeous restaurant and bar that John would never have noticed if Santino hadn’t been familiar with the area. It was there that the waiter mistook them for a married couple. John turned the same color as the tomato passata and said he thought that was very sweet. That he could picture it.
Santino disagreed. “What, you want to settle down and get married? Be serious, John.”
“And you don’t?”
He scoffed. “Me? Married? I can’t imagine a worse life, honestly. Well, I might have to marry for an alliance one day, but - ”
“You’re telling me you don’t see a future for us?”
And from there, things…escalated.
John had stormed out and found himself walking, weaving through crooked streets without really seeing them, replaying the memories of their argument over and over in his head. He winced again, thinking of the look on Santino’s face at the idea of marriage. It stabbed him right in the heart every time, to think that growing old together disgusted Santino so much. But why should he be surprised? He was just a killer, and Santino was a prince.
He found his footsteps heading for the Continental, since he had no intention of returning to the D’Antonio estate that night. Clearly this was the end of things between them. Why did he let himself get so attached in the first place? He was on a narrow, residential street that slanted downwards sharply enough to give him sight of rooftops stretching away, and to see that he was completely alone. He stopped, fought with himself for half a moment…but if he was going to break down anywhere, it might as well be here. He slumped forward into his hands and just let himself cry.
It was then that he heard someone calling his name.
“John, che - che cazzo ci fai qui? Stronzo. Devi seguirmi. [John – what the – what the fuck are you doing here? You asshole. You must be following me.]”
He opened his eyes to see the small, lithe figure that had emerged from some side street, dark curls glowing in the lamplight. He bristled and tried to wipe at his face before Santino could see anything. “I did NOT – “ but he stopped short. Something didn’t seem right about the way Santino was moving. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am! Me and the pinot grigio made our own fun without you. We even invited the whiskey. What do…wait…are you okay?” Santino had reached him by this point and absently patted a hand against his cheek, feeling tears.
“Hey, stop it…” But John could smell the alcohol on his breath. Both anger and hurt had instantly drowned in concern. “You’re drunk.”
“You’re crying. Don’t cry…” Santino was clingy in this state, his arms wrapping around John’s neck and his forehead butting into his chest. John didn’t know what to do with himself. The impulse was to hug him back but after the way they’d fought, he wasn’t sure he was allowed.
“Why do you care? I thought…” I thought we were broken up… “You know what, never mind. What are you doing out here? Where’s Ares?”
He pushed off of John’s chest again and stumbled a few steps. “I told her to leave me alone! Just…wanna go home…I think it was that way…” Home was not, in fact, that way.
John shuddered at the thought of the perils inherent in an important, highly recognizable man like Santino wandering unguarded through the streets, too drunk to defend himself. Guilt settled deep in his stomach. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left like that.” He fell into step with Santino, his eyes glued to him with concern and an arm hovering behind his back in case he lost balance. “The Continental is near here. We’ll go there, get a car, find Ares. Okay?”
Santino waved a hand dismissively but he couldn’t carry the gesture at all right now. “Don’t…don’t hover! I can walk.” His shoe hit an odd cobblestone and at that steep angle, it sent him reeling forward. John caught him around the waist before he could go down. He waited to be pushed away but Santino just leaned against him, and this time John couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around him. He felt so damn confused, but at least he’d rather be uncertain they were broken up than certain of it.
As if in answer to his thoughts, Santino let his weight fall against him even harder, pushing him back against a lamppost, and slurred, “Non posso essere quello che vuoi, John. Non sono... semplice. Pensi che potrei essere un marito? Guardami. Un litigio e... [I can’t be wha- you want, John. I’m not…simple. You think I could be a husband? Look at me. One fight and…]” He waved an arm across his dishevelment.
John opened his mouth to insist that he'd be a beautiful husband, even like this, but he still wasn’t done. “Vuoi che sia gentile e normale e non lo sono, ok? Sono un mostro, John. Non voglio sposarmi e vivere in qualche piccolo sobborgo a cuocere biscotti. Voglio metterti in mostra davanti alla Tavola Alta e poi sputargli in faccia. Sputare... sputare proiettili in faccia. Voglio scoparti finché... finché non sarò morto e ti amerò oltre la tomba. [You want me to be gentle and normal and I’m not, okay? I am a freak, John. I don’t want to get married and live in some little suburb baking cookies. I want to show you off in front of the High Table and then spit in their faces. Spit…spit bullets in their faces. I want to fuck you until…until I’m dead and love you beyond the grave.]”
John exhaled helplessly, beyond the powers of speech. He tipped his head back for a moment, eyes fixed on the vast chasm between the stars in a way that made him feel like he was falling upward for infinity. His hands were curled around Santino’s arm almost painfully, twisting the fabric. As soon as he found his tongue again, “È quello che voglio. Non mi interessa un pezzo di carta. E non mi interessa dove viviamo o se facciamo parte della Tavola. Non mi interessa nemmeno se avremo mai pace. Voglio TE. [That’s what I want. I don’t care about a piece of paper. And I don’t care where we live or whether we’re a part of the Table. I don’t even care if we ever have peace. I want YOU.]”
“Allora... di che cazzo stiamo discutendo? [Then…what the fuck are we arguing about?]”
John wasn’t sure which one of them started laughing first, but it wound up with lips and teeth pressed together, and Santino tugging hard on his lapels. And it ended with their gazes locked together, two stupidly sweet smiles matching the big “D” of the half moon.
He pulled Santino’s arm over his shoulder and started walking. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”
By the time Whumpee stumbled out of the bar, reeking of cheap booze and cigarette smoke, it was already pitch black outside. The air was frigid, snow an ugly slurry of refrozen water and dirt beneath their feet.
It was absolutely miserable out, and if the bartender hadn’t cut them off, they would’ve stumbled back in for another drink.
Whumpee sighed, half spoken curses leaving their lips. They squinted into the dark, looking for a sign, a landmark, anything that would help them remember the way back home. Or to another bar.
“It’s a beautiful night out, isn’t it?” a voice asked, suddenly beside them.
Whumpee turned towards the noise, squinting as a lanky figure had moved to stand beside them. Their face was turned up towards the night sky, though their gaze flicked downward to glance as Whumpee.
Whumpee hadn’t even heard them approach.
“Who the hell are you?” They slurred, drunken indignance on their face.
The figure smiled, cheeks painted red from the cold. They gave a theoretical half bow. “Whumper. Consider me a…friend.”
Whumee didn’t want a friend right now. “Fuck off.”
Whumper only laughed in response, and there was something so light, so unbothered in the noise that Whumpee felt their anger slipping away. They watched as Whumper dug into their pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. They elegantly lifted one from the package, offering it to Whumpee like a peace offering.
The cigarette was from their brand, back before they’d quit a few months ago. Distantly, they knew they should refuse. But it was late, and they were tired, and it wasn’t as if they’d gone out to get blackout drunk for their health.
Whumpee took the cigarette from Whumper’s hand, fingers brushing against theirs. Whumper’s fingers were boney and thin, almost delicate.
Whumper gave a pleased hum, stuffing the pack back into their pocket. A moment later, they were offering Whumpee a light. Whumpee accepted it without a word.
They took a deep inhale, warmth filling their lungs. The smoke tasted like chemicals on their tongue, unfamiliar in a way that caught them off guard. They must’ve forgotten how horrible they tasted.
The smoke left their mouth in a cloud, floating into the air.
And then the two of them were walking.
They were the only two on the street. The pair walked side-by-side beside empty roads, passing rows of shops long closed for the night. The only sound was the crunch of snow.
Whumpee’s footsteps were uncoordinated and wobbly, like a child still learning to walk. Each footfall threatened to send them stumbling to the ground, ice and snow working diligently against what little balance they had left.
Each time the ice got the better of them and they began to fall, a firm hand would set them on their feet again, lingering only long enough to ensure they’d remain upright.
Whumper effortlessly glided through the snow beside them, footsteps sure. There was a smile on their face, perfectly content, almost giddy. As if stopping a drunk from bashing their face on the cement was their favorite pastime.
Distantly, Whumpee wondered if they’d overdone it with the drinks. They took another inhale of the cigarette, smoke still foul in their mouth.
“Who did this to you?”
It took their mind a long moment to realize the silence had been broken.They turned, meeting Whumper’s eyes. “What?”
“This,darling,” they gestured to Whumpee’s disheveled state, a frown coming to their face. “A pretty thing like you, all twisted up with anger and grief, drowning your sorrows late at night. Who sent you there?”
“I…”
They’d done it to themselves, they knew. Like always. Because they always messed things up. Because they never saw things breaking apart until they were cutting their feet on the shards.
Because there was something wrong with them. They were stupid. so, so damn stupid. Because Caretaker–
Look I can’t–I can’t do this anymore. Whumpee, I can’t–
Because Caretaker deserved someone better than them.
The truth felt like a slap in the face. They took another drag, burning it until heat danced across their fingers, deep and choking, and prayed it would chase it away.
“It was Caretaker, wasn’t it?”
Whumpee could only nod, tears stinging their eyes. Had they mentioned Caretaker? They didn’t remember. “H-how do you–”
“They’re a idiot. An absolute moron, to not see how special you are,” Whumper interrupted them, voice sharpening. The change in tone was so dramatic, for a moment, Whumpee had to turn to confirm that the same stranger stood beside them.
Whumper’s gaze turned to them. Sharp, bright, so intense it stopped Whumpee in their place. “They looked at you and didn’t realize it was a honor to have your attention. They were blind, Whumpee. I would never do something so stupid. If I had something as valuable, as perfect to myself as you, I would never let go.”
“N-no I– fuck, it was my fault–,” The words fell out of them, unorganized snippets of half formed thoughts. They didn’t even know what they were trying to say.
Was this normal? The tension in Whumper’s words, the anger, all for a stranger they’d only just met? They didn’t know. Something was whispering in Whumpee’s head, anxious and frantic underneath the layers of haze. A warning alarm in the far distance, barely audible.
They didn’t want to think about it. They wanted to take any comfort they could, wrap themselves in the stranger’s anger and forget their hurt.
And yet there was that alarm, distant and full of warning. They could barely hear it, but they couldn’t ignore it either.
Hazy eyes glanced at their surroundings, and for the first time that night, Whumpee realized that they didn’t recognize the direction their feet had taken them. This wasn’t their street, it wasn’t even near their street. They didn’t recognize a single thing around them.
How had they gotten there? Had Whumper been following them as they walked aimlessly, or was Whumpee letting themselves be led to nowhere? They didn’t know.
They blinked, shaking their head in hopes of regaining any semblance of sobriety. Instead their vision smeared, a wave of dizziness hitting with such force that their legs gave out beneath them.
A pair of boney hands grabbed them.
“I’ve got you. Shh, I won’t let you fall, I promise.” The words were whispered against the shell of their ear. Whumper pulled them to their feet, moving one of Whumpee’s arms to rest over their shoulder. Their hand found a spot on Whumpee’s waist and didn’t let go.
And then they were moving again, Whumper guiding them
Whumpee could barely get their legs to work. They could only stumble along, The ground shifting unnaturally beneath them as they were all but carried along. They found their eyes slipping shut without their permission.
Whumpee’s head felt light on their shoulders, like it would separate from their body and float away. Their body felt so, so heavy. They didn’t know how Whumper was managing to carry them.
They weren’t a lightweight. They knew they’d drunk too much, but it shouldn’t have been this hard to stand. It shouldn’t be so hard to pull a thought together.
They blinked their eyes back open at the sound of a car door opening. Before they could speak, they were being rearranged, boneless body being all but carried into the passenger seat.
They wanted to say something, but the words turned to smoke in their mouth. The door was closed shut behind them.
A moment later, they heard Whumper slide into the driver’s seat. The car came to life beneath them.
Whumpee felt a hand run through their hair, the touch nearly revenant.
“I love you. I adore you; from the moment I saw you, I knew we were destined to be together,” their words were barely a whisper, but it filled the small space. They felt Whumper’s breath brushing against their face.
Whumpee tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited, how much it hurt to watch someone else touch what was mine. But we’re together now, finally. I’ll never hurt you like they did,”
Whumper leaned close, and the only resistance Whumpee could muster was a feeble hand against Whumper’s chest.
When a mouth pressed against their own, insistent and bruising, Whumpee couldn’t couldn’t move. They simply sat limply, mouth ajar as Whumper’s tongue moved.
When Whumper finally pulled away, they were panting, the smile so wide on their face it looked painful. Whumpee was barely awake anymore.
