killer instinct - || h.s. ||

36

" brought the angels, know the devil would try "

---

aurora astor. *

I grab the half-empty bottle of wine from my fridge, clad up in my comfort clothes which just consist of sweatpants and this t-shirt swimming on my upper body. The fridge light dances over my dimly lit kitchen at this hour in the night before sealing off the cold draft seeping from it.

I walk my bare feet across my small living space, sinking right back to where I was on the couch and kicking my feet up onto the coffee table. I pop the screw-off top from the bottle, tossing it onto the table before sticking my wine-bottle efficient metal straw into it.

I sip on the red, ensuring it doesn't stain my teeth as the television flashing in retro in front of me.

The loneliness is at its finest tonight as I find comfort in my own company. I'm still processing the recent shit dumped upon me, and proof of that is sitting here watching 10 Things I Hate About You while hugging a bottle of red to my chest.

The flickering TV illuminates the dark space this late at night, and the wine barely produces a buzz before there's an abrupt knock at my front door.

I swallow the gulp of wine, nearly choking on it at the reason my heart skipped a whole beat in my chest. I strain to hold back a cough while I get up to my feet, walking myself over to the door with that persistent knocking.

I lift up on my tiptoes, as usual, to look out the peephole, only to be met with this Irish acquaintance I've made over the past week and a half.

Confusion washing over me as I glance at my digital clock glowing in the kitchen to read: 9:30. With that, I slowly unlock my door and pull it open to take him in full under the brighter hallway lights.

Dragging my eyes down his tall frame, I start at his silky golden-brown waves to the glimmer of the small gold hoop earring in one earlobe. I trail lower to the glittered black button-down, exposing his soft chest hairs, and a pair of black trousers to accompany it.

Then my eyes rake back up, noticing him doing the same to my contradicting appearance.

"Jesus Christ- you look awful, darlin'," he nudges my door open with that damn Irish accent of his. I scoff at him inviting himself into my apartment yet again.

"Why are you interrupting my night again?" I ask abruptly as he shuts the door, humming to him as he glances around to my nighttime activities.

Then he clasps the entirety of the wine bottle from my hand and analyzes it with a snort at the straw sticking out of the top.

"Real classy," he comments.

"I didn't ask–" I extend a palm to instantly smack the side of his arm, but he speeds past me. I scoff as he manages to grab that very wrist, tugging me into my own room.

"We're going out," he decides for me as I groan out to keep up with his pace, and the comfortable night I had planned for myself.

"I was enjoying myself and my damn wine," I snatch my wine back from the fucker's ringless hand with my eyes tearing daggers into his soul.

He only smirks at me, "Well, I'm not exactly takin' no for an answer because we need to celebrate the reunion of my favorite people!" He exclaims.

That one throws me off guard, blinking a few times to entirely process it in my head. And the sounds of him dragging my dresser drawers open snaps me out of my thoughts, swatting at his hands and stopping him.