Maybe he had had too much to drink.
Maybe it was time to cut himself off. The empty bottles that littered the table screamed yes, yes it was time to put down that glass filled much too full of whiskey and not enough soda. But the darkness on the edges of his mind countered with a firm no.
It had been a rough day. He woke with a hangover that was eclipsed only by the blackness of his lost memories pushing in, begging to be explored. Like that was going to happen. He spent the morning slowly returning to the world of the living, nursing his headache with a handful of aspirin and a swallow of booze. Work had dragged on and on. He didn't even amuse himself playing around in the minds of his coworkers as he usually did when things were slow. His own mind was a minefield and he would rather block everything out entirely than look for distractions.
Now though, things were just fine. Now he was lounging on the couch of his best friend's apartment, sharing a laugh and a drink and a good time. Well, sharing might be a bit of a stretch. Dein hardly ever laughed, and never looked like he was having a good time. Landon knew the truth though. Dein was enjoying his company, whether he admitted it or not.
He turned his head to see Dein sitting on the opposite side of the couch, busy staring into his drink. The other man had barely drank anything tonight, though that was not unusual. Landon called over to his, his speech noticeably slurred.
“Mate, what was that thing you said earlier, when I got here?”
Dein looked up from his drink and glared at him. “That you should spend more time at your own damn house?”
“Yeah, well, see, you'd miss me if I did.” He laughed, running his hand through his thick hair. It was constant argument between the two of them; Landon liked it here, better than the dreary mess of his apartment, and Dein missed the privacy he had before meeting Landon. It was a struggle, but not one that either made any real move to win.
“I'd miss kicking your ass out, maybe.” The ghost of a smile graced Dein's face and Landon had trouble looking away from it. The kid was so fucking handsome when he smiled. And when he didn't, but that tough guy facade only worked for so long.
Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was the way Dein was staring at him, or possibly beyond him, Landon couldn't tell. In truth it was likely his need to forget, to do something that blocked out everything else.
Whatever it was, Landon let it take over. He slid himself over on the couch in one drunk, clumsy movement until he was inches away from Dein. He had time only to register the other man's shocked look before he went all in and pressed his lips to Dein's in a sloppy, hard kiss.
It lasted less than a second, but it was long enough for Landon to taste the whiskey on Dein's lips and ponder over how soft they were.
“What the fuck!” Dein shoved him off of him, voice rising louder than Landon had ever heard it. “The fuck!” He was now struggling to pull himself back onto the couch from where Dein had pushed him to the floor. He manged to seat himself next to Dein again before he felt the force of a closed fist strike him right in the jaw. “Get off of me!”
“Ow.” He brought his hand up to rub his aching jaw. That was going to hurt in the morning. He probably wouldn't even remember why. “Come on Dein. We're friends, it's just a bit of fun.”
“You're drunk. And even if you weren't I'd rather fuck a dementor than you.”
Landon sighed, then gave Dein another one of his winning grins. “Your loss, mate.
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