The Inventor

Chapter Forty One (Part One); "Old flame"

Speaking when you're drunk is similar to the notion that when you get out of the shower and dry yourself, then think that the towel is dirty. It's not, you're clean, it's clean, you just use it to hold the water in so it doesn't soak through your clothes.

Both of these are stupid but something that just happens, when you don't it tends to rub your mind the wrong way. It becomes a necessity, as words often do when you drink.

It was simple with Gally, there wasn't a filter, nothing complicated in the air or hidden emotions that your drunkenness would reveal. You very blatantly disliked the people that you spoke out about in conversation with him. There were no feelings toward Gally himself, you never had to worry something you didn't want said would come out.

It was a heavy trust both of you had for each other, but held strong since you both had said foul things that would get you kicked from the glade for sure. But he needed the drunken, unfiltered, easy conversations just as much as you did. Somehow that unknowingly had formed into a vague shadow of friendship.

It is inevitable from the things said between the two of you. When you know that much about someone you either befriend them, love them, or loathe them to their grave.

You thought you always knew where you stood on those grounds. With everyone you knew you thought you had settled what they were to you and what you were to them. You could be unfiltered about it, sharing it to them as a fact without any complication.

But from tonight you have learned that you definitely do not know where you stand with Minho, not at all. And you don't have the faintest clue what he is to you.

You thought you did, truly, but your mind with all its walls and concerns withdrawn was left to revel in his presence entirely. Your eyes scanned over him, muscular and defined, his tongue running over his lips after every drink.

He was dressed in only dark jeans and a light blue button up. Much to your frustration your mind couldn't get over the thought of how well it complimented him. And how well he would look with it off.

You decided to blame it on a drunken lust, he was attractive, that was all. Everything emotional that stirred would be set aside as just pointless side effects to it. But, deep down, you acknowledged they were there and prayed for them to stay subdued just for one night. Hating him had become second nature, as easy as taking a breath. You relied on it, found comfort in it even. Without that, few things would be left certain and you couldn't deal with that.

This is why you kept your mouth shut tight, swallowing words down to burn your tongue like the moonshine did your throat.

"So, are we not going to talk about it?" Minho asked offhandedly, "Kind of feel like it's the elephant in the room."

"No," You said curtly.

"You don't want to clear the air? Make it seem less filled with every form of tension under the sun," Then he added under his breath, "Especially the sexual one."

"You said what you had to say a long time ago," You managed through gritted teeth, "Get a therapist if you need to say anything else."

"Yeah, well, Newts taking a vacation," He mused, "For shucks sake I can see you have something to say! Just spit it out!"

"Your delusion," You quipped hotly, "Maybe there's something you want to say and you're hoping I'll say something to prompt it."

"Stop psychoanalysing me, it's creepy."

You snorted and went back to your moonshine, remaining quiet while you knew very well Minho was huffing and puffing beside you. The tension was unbearable, years of grudges, wandering eyes and remorse all packed into one room. You refused to be the one to break it first, you had hated him for too long to give into some pathetic sexual desire and a cup of moonshine.