PLATFORMS ↛ D.A

Alcohol and Testosterone

Waterloo | 23:21pm

Damon had decided hours prior to this current moment that his day hadn't been bad, right now he would consider it about an eight out of ten but that could easily be his drink talking. Initially he had rolled his eyes when Amelia had insisted they drink tonight, she had said it was to make him and Jamie more tolerable, although, she then proceeded to openly flirt with Jamie for hours so he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Besides that, they had work in the morning so he wasn't too keen on getting hammered but that was out the window by eight, the living-room covered in bottles.

Work wise, Amelia had hovered around Damon all day, faxing his papers and proof-reading his articles, in other words doing her job. They had been mistaken as a couple about three times on their walk to the station, and by the time they had reached it, Damon wasn't growing any fonder of the strangers around him.

His annoyance had built up to a tipping point largely about to break before it was soon forgotten and turned into laughs upon Amelia trying to fill time and cure her boredom, attempting to wrestle him. Not the wisest thing to do on a platform. Let's just say Damon's
dad-mode had reappeared and he had sat her back down, insisting it was a stupid thing to do on a platform and striking a bargain to do it at home instead, an idea he fully expected to be forgotten and avoided.

Thus, it was not forgotten and now leads swiftly into the current situation, Amelia persuading him to move the table and wrestle right here, right now. "C'mon then, let's have you." She would say, flicking his bottle caps at him from across the sofa. Funny thing, he knew he would fuck something up tonight. Here it comes! A solid reason not to drink with people you dislike.

"I'm not wrestling you, don't be stupid."
He reached his arm across the back of the sofa, tipping a bottle to his lip.

"You're not wrestling me 'cos you know I'm stronger, look at your arms, no chance you could deck me." She smiled and Jamie laughed.

Damon eyed Jamie, a sudden need to prove him wrong although he didn't speak. His arm was bent around the back of Amelia's side of the sofa, fingers grazing her shoulder.

"What're you staring at? You moving this table or not?" Jamie nodded to the glass table, sweeping the bottles off it and watching them roll onto the rug.

"I'd rather fight you." Damon spoke without thinking and Jamie had laughed out loud.

"No you wouldn't," He stood, bringing a few bottles to the bin. "Anyway, I'm not 16. What's the point." He turned his back to light a cigarette.

Amelia sat between the two of them with a beaming grin, pulling her knees to her chest and snagging Damon's bottle from him, attempting to push him up out of his seat.

"Yous' should fight, would make great telly for me." She earned a scowl from Damon who had pushed his way back onto the sofa, resting his head against the back of it with his arms crossed over his chest.

Jamie moved more bottles from the floor, tossing them all in the bin and the room was taken by the loud clatters and cracks, Damon groaned.

"Could you be louder?"

"What's that?" There went another bottle.

"Don't be a cunt." He sat up with a furrowed brow, eyes squint from the bright kitchen light.

Amelia looked up and suddenly felt like a Sky Sports commentator, Damon had stood and was now in the midst of squaring up to Jamie who looked at him through his permanently stoned eyes and stand-out lazy smile, cigarette hanging from his finger. No indication of a threat at all.