caught in a landslide, a riptide, a storm — he’s too lost in the sound to properly pinpoint a single word to capture the indescribable, this flux and flow of momentum that runs fluid all over. can’t be help, this energy is infectious, enough so that the end of one round only justifies the means for a second, the second then bleeds into the third and it’s suddenly a matter of falling dominoes.
but it’s already been a few hours and he still hasn’t had all that much to drink, which is a first. there’s still the pills, the molly, the guaranteed train-wreck that comes in the taste of other vices — all of it waiting, untouched; another first. it’s an abrupt change, one where he’s decided he doesn’t need any of it, when he’s found the distraction he needs. dressed in jeans and sneakers (yet somehow still managing to be absolutely stunning all the same) is choi sora, only a few feet away from him, frankly looking like she’s having the time of her life, and it’s a delight to watch, even from this distance.
he’s only quick to make a move when there’s a sudden misstep, the tripping of feet over air. “woah woah woah woah, easy— ” he manages just in time, catching her by the arm seconds before her head hits rough carpet.
