We're all mad here, it's Wonderland.
~
Harry latches onto my passionate on-beat arms as he keeps me from moving forward. "Are you fuckin' mad?" He grits through his teeth.
"I'm in Wonderland, Pretty Boy," I throw my free arm in the air, motioning t...
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~
Soda.
~
Harry is a pussy.
We have been staring at the bottle of whiskey for a solid ten minutes, neither of us saying anything as we mentally decide who will take a shot first.
You're both pussies.
Harry's hand is wrapped around his chin while I squish my cheeks together, leaning forward as the brown liquid taunts the pair of us. I'm not sure what the hell happened, or why we aren't fucking chugging, but here we are.
I even went to get glasses as Harry searched through my different record collection. Judging by his occasional scoffs and cursed murmurs, he isn't the greatest fan of my music taste.
It's okay. Some people are just uneducated.
He fell upon my Geowulf record, the compelling cover interesting him as he switched the music.
This specific style of music held a very special place in my heart. The 80s inspiration beautifully accompanied the translucent futurism, a feeling of both nostalgia and forthcoming sparking the sensory nerves.
Neither one of us speaks, we just eye the liquor hoping the other will be the first to reach for it. The entire atmosphere is new for us, the absence of bickering causing us both to have a lack in vocabulary.
At this point, I'd rather have the arguing.
Harry shifts, clearing his throat as he readjusts his button-up shirt. The sun has nearly set fully, the indoor lights becoming more prevalent as night falls upon us. "I'm having a terrible time."
My mouth gapes, my face contorting dramatically as I whip my head around in various directions. "Oh, I'm sorry? Not really sure who the fuck invited you to stay but it wasn't me," I sarcastically laugh, ripping the bottle of Balvenie from the table.
Harry has the nerve to enter my beautiful hut unannounced and say he is having a terrible time. I'm about two 'crazies' away from shoving a rusted nail up my ass.
First, he barges through my front door with no warning, nearly sending me into cardiac arrest. Then, he plants a bomb that is still trying to disguise itself as whiskey. And finally, he accuses me of lacing his drink with fucking drugs.
Scratch that, I'm two whiskey-bombs away from shoving a rusted nail through his dick. He'll lack the ability to produce semen and possibly contract tetanus.
As I attempt to touch the glass bottle to my lips, a firm hand rips it from grasp, the inebriant contents slightly spilling as I whip my head towards Harry. "You know, for being clinically insane, you're quite the bore." He hums, the light tap of the glass hitting the wooden table in front of us.
