∂rinks ƒor тwo || sting + gilbert
There came a time in every student's life in which a drink was a necessity to kick back and relax. For Sting, that time was now. Mid-terms were kicking his butt. He wasn't used to the heavy workload. In English, it was essay after damned essay. Math wasn't fun in the least. History, he could get behind. Science? It was cool. His gym class was what he enjoyed most. Unfortunately, that was only one class out of his others. In all honesty, Sting was a bit overwhelmed. So, why not take a night off?
Sting stretched out his limbs as he walked down the road. He then stuffed his hands into his pockets. The sun was setting, and his breath visible due to the chill in the air. A drink sounded pretty good right about now. Sting made his way to one of the local bars. He entered, flashing his ID. Thank goodness the drinking age in this town was 18.
It wasn't that Sting liked going out of his way to get drunk, or anything. It was simply an enjoyable pass time for him. He sat at the bar, thankful the bar was much warmer than the air outside. He placed his order, leaning on his left hand while sliding money to the bartender with his right. His drink was acquired pretty quickly. He sipped at it, looking over to the guy next to him, who seemed pretty excited about being at the bar. Well, might as well make small talk instead of sitting by himself.
"Yo," Sting waved, "Pretty cold night out, yea?"