فيزا
⚠️ mentions of violence. violence PTSD, and violence and that's it (although poorly and lazily written) ⚠️
To cut a long story short (I WISH!) I lost my mind, to say it à la Spandau Ballet. Or was it Duran Duran? I genuinely don't fucking remember which British band gave us that banger. But to make up for the loss of three quarters of my brain cells ... I found my boyfriend! I found my last surviving brain cell and spotted him from his eyes in a literal hoard of people, ladies and gentlemen! And although he's a little drunk and I can really, really tell it, I've found him in a rather surprising good mood! Much better than I thought I would've found him, and definitely tamer too! So, shame on me for having thought so ill of him for nothing again, I suppose. He's stumbling and struggling to stand on his feet, he's furrowing his brows like he doesn't remember why he's here and what he's doing here, like at all... but I swear, he looks well chilled up and too tranquil for his standard, behind that very visible wall of intoxication. And not just that, but he also seems to remember who I am, and the (loved up, I think?) glimmer in his eyes is really giving it away for him. He's smiling (god, I love his smile, so shiny and so beautiful), he's leaning in front of me and of my not very secret admirers, one of them flabbergasted to see him here and the other one no less, to the point he's withdrawn his arm from around my shoulders, and he's offering me his hand with a spare drink in it... either because he wants to pull me out of this Mark/porn actor dude sandwich and spend the very little that's left of this night with me, or because he really wants me to take a pull on the fact that he's left without the keys to his bike, and that we're left without a ride back to the hotel. But he's staying oddly quiet about it, like he couldn't care any less actually, with the serenity that only a guy who owns five more bikes (including a sexy Honda Four and a turn-off of a Harley-Davidson Dyna) could have, so I think I'll gatekeep the piece of information about me having his keys for shit and giggles for a little more. For his amusement, more than for my own. I think I'll finally swing 'em keys under his nose the moment he'll attempt to kiss me or something... and if he doesn't fucking eat my lips up, leave no crumbs of them and takes me away from this place where I no longer wanna be, I'll steal his fucking Kawasaki motorbike and never give it back to him again. Mark my words. But not Mark Frangipan, 'cause I've had enough of him, and he's one of the main reasons I want out of this shitty fucking night club already.
However, I grab the spare drink from his hands, because I am tipsy but I still wouldn't say no to getting beyond shitfaced with him, partially also because I really do appreciate the fact that he's made sure not to come back to me without a drink... and before I can put my lips on the transparent cup and take an alcoholic sip off it, I click it with Sean's. He clicks his cup with mine, and we both smile a knowing smile at eachother, before almost drinking our cups dry on the fucking spot. Cheers, I suppose. Cheers to us, and cheers to the fact that we're back together as we used to be before he realised he'd lost the keys to his bike and left me there, alone, to look for them around the whole night club. And probably even outside of it, 'cause only that would explain the fact that he went missing for well over half an hour. The only thing that's changed since then is that he walked back over to me to find me sandwiched by two dudes who weren't there when he originally left... but ask me if I think he might be bothered by that, and I'll say no. Maybe just a little bit, though. He's staying calm and shit, confident too, 'cause he knows he's got a chokehold over me and I don't want anyone's attention but his... but while he ain't looking at me like I'm the prettiest thing he's ever seen in his life, he's side eyeing Mark and his new porn actor buddy, wondering what the heck are they doing here and what the heck might they want from me as well. A piece of me is the answer, he's smart, he's a red blooded man like them, and he probably knows it... but still, he's playing it cool. He's acting all chilled up and unproblematic. And I really fucking love to see him like this, non belligerent and oh so sure of himself. So filled up by the trust he puts in me, as well. I'd prefer it if he grabbed me by my free hand and dragged me out of here already... but he ain't doing it just yet, and it's all is good as it is. For as long as he's finally here with me, all is good.
