Intoxication - Gainesgoe (Ross Gaines X Joseph Lisgoe)
“How much did you say?”
“Two grand. Two fucking bricks!"
Upon these words, Ross’ glance averted to the three gambling machines shamefully stuck in the corner of the pub. It was easy to tell that the owner wasn’t proud of the purchase. The idea that someone in that meaningless little town would actually want that amount of money (knowing they could never pay it off ; the jobs in Royston Vasey could never suffice) baffled him. Ross pitied the man, but simultaneously, he commended him for having the courage to request that amount from Lisgoe.
The two had crossed paths a few days ago, with thanks to the small sum of money Ross had owed Lisgoe ; Ross was austere and logical, he knew how to handle money, but living in Royston Vasey, you’re bound to owe a debt or two at any given point. And if you weren’t paid a visit by his two incompetent henchmen, you would be visited by Mr Lisgoe himself. And he was much less forgiving than them.
So why was Ross sitting next to him in the pub, surrounded by several empty glasses and an anxious waiter constantly waiting to pour their next drink?
Matter of fact, Lisgoe wondered that as well. Almost every encounter he had with people who wouldn’t cough up on time didn’t end on such a positive note. There must have been something about the brunette man that made him grow a fondness towards him.
Perhaps it was his indifferent nature. Or his abrasiveness upon being demanded so harshly, while others would have probably shit themselves.
The debt collector blamed these uncouth thoughts on his inebriation.
“Do you want me to pay? I wouldn’t mind.”
Ross’ offer was quickly overshadowed by Lisgoe silencing him. “Nah. No need. Poor bastard can’t repay the debt with cash only, so-”
“So you’re taking drinks for free.”
“Shut up! I’m fucking getting there.”
Lisgoe took another sip of the bitter absinthe spirit, wiping away any careless alcohol that beaded at the corners of his mouth. “That skittish cunt almost dragged us down with him, with how much he owed me. This ain’t stealing, Ross. This is the price.”
Ross felt no need to question him further. He was smart enough to understand the other’s logic, but also read his drunken, antsy mood. “Fair enough.”
A brief silence.
“If I knew I could get free drinks from it, I would have become indebted to you a long time ago.”
Lisgoe processed the joke and chuckled hoarsely, running his thumb across the rim of the glass. “Yeah, well, don’t get too cosy. This was just by chance.”
“That so?”
“Mmh.” His confirmation was muffled by another sip. From their conversation, Ross had concluded that this was most definitely not going to be the only time they crossed paths. The mutual feeling of interest was too strong for them to just turn round and not see each other again. And it was definitely not the first time, either ; their prior encounter was rocky. A lot of demanding and shouting ensued from Lisgoe alone. But something must have clearly triggered for the two of them to end up sitting on Ross’ sofa, watching Dexter for what felt like a very fast hour.
Lisgoe wasn’t a shit debt collector. He was just shit with Ross.
“You really confuse me, Ross Gaines.”
“I’m aware.”
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The streets of Royston Vasey that night were weirdly bleak.
The occasional lamppost would emit a luminescent glow onto the quiet shops, and (on the off chance that one would appear) no car would dare sputter its engine and interrupt the tranquillity of 1 in the morning. Would anything dare to do such a thing?
Ross and Lisgoe, apparently.
The two faces, beyond inebriated at that point, stumbled from the doors, catching each other before either took a fall to the pavement.
“Fucking ‘ell,”
The useful input from the debt collector rang through the street, as a pale hand ran through his slicked, black hair. With enough hairspray, it remained intact. The wind was less forgiving on Ross’ hair, however. But somehow, it still looked fine, perhaps even better, if Lisgoe could daresay.
“Can’t drive back like this.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe because it’d be illegal.”
“Prissy prick."
“Can’t drive n’nyway. We walked here,” Ross would look about, using Lisgoe’s frame to prevent himself from coming face to face with the pavement. “Barbara’s prolly asleep b’now, as well.”
“Bah. We can walk.”
“Hardly.”
Regardless, they’d try their best to brave the awkward, drunken walk back to their houses. The two would share a sporadic conversation every now and then, but for the most part, they just listened to a deafening silence. The cool breeze complimented the burning intoxication in their throats whilst the wind would numb every speck of exposed skin. It was safe to say that it had been a long time since either of them had experienced such a cold comfort, as the silence indicated that they were revelling in it for as long as they could.
“Joseph.”
Ross looked back up wearily. “Pardon?”
“‘S m’name. Joseph.”
In that moment, Ross was taken aback by the sudden vulnerability being displayed by the hard shell of a man. But it didn’t taint the conversation. Not one bit. “Then I must say, ‘s been good to meetchoo, Joseph.”
Ross’ drunken unintelligibility drew out a raspy laugh from Joseph, who sighed with surprising content as the atmosphere returned to the comfortable silence. Minutes passed, before they stood before the apartment building belonging to the brunette.
“I’m gonnuh’ b’fucking shattered,” Lisgoe managed to spit out groggily, eyeing the complex behind them briefly. Ross pondered for a moment ; he had no idea whether it was the alcohol talking, but regardless, the next thought he had escaped his lips.
“You cuhn’ stay f’the night. On the sofa. F’you’d like.”
“Course not, fucking Mother Teresa.”
Ah.
For the first time that night, he must have misread him.
Rather than feeling embarrassed, he instead felt an appreciation for his erratic nature. A feeling which completely clouded his intoxicated mind.
As Lisgoe began to trudge off, the brunette spoke up again.
“This wonh’ be our lass encounter. Y’know that, don’ you?”
He stopped for a moment and glanced back with a mere shrug. “S’ppose yer right.”
They were both drunk. Equally drunk. But there was a tang to his response that felt very much genuine, as much as sober Lisgoe would have hated it.
No goodbyes were shared. No farewells were bid. But perhaps it was because it just wasn’t necessary.
It felt… good. For a change.
Ross exhaled deeply, as if he had forgotten to breathe for a moment, before withdrawing into the apartment.
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first time writing in ages!!
quite chuffed with it actually, might write some more of them. take both art pieces I've done of them so far too