ALONE [manxman] ✓

thirteen:: when you're tired of fuckin' crying.

[Crumble by Kevin Abstract]

TRIGGER WARNING: PANICK ATTACK

THIRTEEN: when you're tired of fuckin' crying.

Sullivan was good at keeping a conversation flowing, he had this natural charisma that although was slightly overwhelming, just made you want to hear what he had to say. After getting food, he recommended this little open-mic bar that had comedy night and that was the first genuine laugh I'd had in a while.

He was funny, that much was obvious when -after two shots- he'd gotten up after the first free short sets, walking up to the stage. The first few jokes bombed but maybe it was how good he looked that convinced the audience to pay attention. He stood up there, voice nonchalant sounding, almost like he'd done this before and after a while- and a few stories- he'd gotten his footing.

"So, I'm on a first date right now." He'd said, the sound of the audience laughing seemingly catching him off guard. Squinting his eyes, he gave an incredulous look, "what, is that surprising?"

Biting my lip, I tried not to let my insecurity get the best of me, he was so confident and attractive and he knew it. And he was standing on stage like he owned it, if I weren't having such a good time, I would've been so embarrassed.

"This is actually my second time ever doing comedy but I figured if I fucked up now, the guy I'm seeing will already have the worst possible view of me." He knew when to pause and I was convinced that that was a lie. He performed with such awkward grace and it was entertaining. He laughed at himself, smile shining bright and inside, I swooned. "So, I mean, there's only up from there, right?"

Covering his face with one hand, he spoke faster. "No, 'he'slookingatmeohmygod, what do I do?' on the way back to his place." Peaking through his hand, he paused for a second, the audience laughing again and he reciprocated, dropping his hand and going to twirl the microphone wire. "Now it's like, well, you know know about my adoptive parents' ugly divorce, I mean, what are you gonna do?"

"Y-you can't just not see me again now. I mean, come on, gay, immigrant, and an orphan?"

Maybe the confidence was false, secretly, I kind of hoped it was. "Really checked all the boxes."

He rolled his eyes then at the gasp of the audience, shaking his head and exaggeratedly gasping again causing an eruption of boisterous laughter to sound through the bar and I chuckled to myself.

Sullivan was cute, kicking his feet around whenever he stood too stagnant and although he had that confidence outwardly, his mannerisms gave him away. His ringed fingers were toying with the chord, eyes looking around and he'd bite the corner of his bottom lip whenever he paused a bit too long. But he was brave all the way from his faded grayed pink tee to his black Chuck Taylors, tattooed arms contradicted the soft colored fabric on his skin and he looked unreal under the bright lights.

And he was looking over at me then, winking just enough for a blush to run up my neck and heat my cheeks. God. Upon seeing this, he looked back into the audience, scratching the back of his neck and I watched the muscle in his arm flex. "One good thing about being at the absolute bottom of the post-apocalyptic food chain is I qualified for all the scholarships, you know."

"I'm like right at the cusp of what a racist institution would accept without seeming so obviously biased."

He laughed. "They were like just take it, here, some affirmative action for your troubles... I'm like the Usain Bolt of the oppression Olympics."

Rocking on his heels, he widened his eyes. "The ride back it gonna be super awkward now that I've unloaded all my trauma." He said and I found myself smiling again.