meet-weird for Charon/Max
“i lost my asshole friends in this club and im kinda drunk and youre kinda gorgeous, please help me”
He isn’t having a panic attack. He isn’t.
Because he knows what those feel like. He knows when his world gets Tripped and the chest pains set in and the world starts to detach fully from the edges of his reality. This isn’t that.
This, he suspects, is Drunk. This is everything tilting blearily despite the strict way he’s trying to hold his arm upright. This is clinging to the back of a chair not because he can’t stay upright but because everything’s spinning far too fast at too strange an angle.
He doesn’t recognize the figure moving to stand beside him. He doesn’t know the curves of the lips suddenly close to his cheek or the darkness of the eyes boring into his soul or the voice asking him from somewhere Beyond his understanding of the world at the moment.
The voice is asking him if he’s all right. The lips are curling up into a smile. The eyes are impossible to look away from, because they’ve got that magnetic depth that Nina’s always sighing about while her attention trails off after Liam.
His tongue feels stupid and useless in his mouth. His fingers grasp helplessly at the stranger’s sleeve (except it isn’t a sleeve, apparently; it’s skin covered in lines and he doesn’t understand but now he can’t stop touching). His eyes are locked with the beautiful black holes in the other man’s face and he’s practically gasping for breath trying to remember how to survive without clinging here just like this.
The stranger is speaking, his voice a low chuckle beneath all the pounding music and flashing lights. The glass pressed into his hand makes the air in front of his mouth taste suddenly like the nothingness of water. He isn’t having a panic attack, but he isn’t sure if it’s possible he’s falling in love with a shadow covered in lines and laughing close to his skin.
