Awesome Title of Awesome

[ichbin_preussen]

Who: Francis and Gilbert
Where: A local bar..
When: Two weeks after previous log
What: Drinking and AAAAANGST.
Can other people participate: Sure
Summary: Francis and Gil meeting up for drinks, nearly two weeks after their last time hanging out ended on a sour note.

Comments

[beau_bonnefoy]

The past two weeks had been long and rather lonely to say the least. Francis had continued on as he usually did--attending classes, hosting his radio show, doing his homework. He talked to Mathieu, Alfred, and his other floormates, but it wasn't the same without Gilbert there to talk to, drink with...everything. And it was just so hard to talk to him. It was stupid, but he couldn't bring himself to reply to any form of message Gilbert sent him. He'd read it, stare at it for any amount of time, varying from a few minutes to once even a whole hour. So eventually he'd get the nerve to send something to Gilbert, but he got no reply...which was only fair, he supposed, since he didn't reply to Gil

[ichbin_preussen]

Any number of greetings rolled through Gilbert's mind when he saw Francis, all immediately discarded because they were too harsh and caustic. He missed Francis, much as he hated to admit it, and telling him off for his shitty occasional texting or lack thereof as soon as they were reunited wouldn't do any good. If he wanted to see Francis, he would have to make a concentrated effort to be civil and not bring the she-beast up

[beau_bonnefoy]

Wanting to be cautious about what he says, Francis was quiet for a moment. He didn't want Jeanne to be mentioned at all tonight, and he didn't want to jump in and say how he missed seeing Gilbert so quickly. Perhaps the alcohol would loosen his tongue enough for that later, but for now, he'd stay far away from that. "Fine, I suppose. You?" As if he'd bring up how complicated and confusing everything has been over the last few weeks, or how he's blueballed himself and not gotten laid at all. That was a bit pathetic, so Francis really didn't want to mention that either.

He was grateful when the beer came. He grabbed his bottle and took a sip, not giving the bartender who brought it over so much as a glance. Francis was never too keen on beer, but as long as it wasn't the shitty American kind, he could tolerate it.

[ichbin_preussen]

Eric was a bit dense, one of those types big on brawn, short on brains who would have been better suited playing hockey or American football. But he wasn't stupid enough to linger and chat when Gilbert had a guest along. He handed Francis his drink, patted Gilbert on the shoulder twice, and returned to his duties. Now, if they were sitting at the actual bar, Eric would stick around and talk until someone approached with an order. And make things uncomfortable, of course.

"Alright. Been kind of busy with classes."

But of course that was shitty American beer Francis had. Gilbert knew how terrible that stuff was, but he even had a bottle of it himself and wasn't about to go order something nicer for Francis. He could just get up off his ass and do it his damn self. Besides, the two screwdrivers Gilbert already had in him - rough mixes, too, like the ones he made for himself in his dorm room - sort of dulled the nasty beer taste anyway.

[ichbin_preussen]

There were only so many types of tires available for a bike like Gilbert's, and none of them safe on wet roads. His at the moment were probably the worst, not only because they were practically street slicks, but because even the small amount of tread on them was worn down. All his money went towards beer and other college-life necessities; there wasn't any left over to buy a new set of tires, and since it was still winter, it didn't seem immediately necessary.

But to give them credit, those well-worn tires carried him for nearly five minutes, long enough to get him going the opposite direction from the university, just to where the road hooked a sharp left into a straight stretch of highway running through the trees. In those few minutes, the stinging rain whipping into his face and soaking his t-shirt through his jacket was the only thing he could feel. Alcohol numbed the rest, leaving room for a sort of sick humiliation to settle in his stomach. Stupid. That was so fucking stupid but it couldn’t be taken back. What did it

Continuation..

[ichbin_preussen]

Gilbert took the turn too hard and overcorrected, jerking the bike when he should have leaned with it, let his knee skim the pavement and righted it coming out of the turn. A talented, sober biker could have done that. Drunk, the mistake pitched the bike sideways. Sober, Gilbert knew how to tuck himself inward, how to fight the instinct to put his hands out to break his fall. Drunk, said instinct took over but too slowly, so that when his hand hit the ground, pavement shredding his jacket and scraping from palm to elbow raw, all six hundred pounds of streetbike was already falling on him. The landing snapped his wrist; the bike slammed him into the blacktop, cracking his collarbone and three ribs in the process

[beau_bonnefoy]

Francis didn't know how long he stood in the middle of the parking lot like that. Time really didn't matter anyway. Not when it was just starting to sink in that he finally had the one person he'd been pining for, who had haunted his dreams and although he didn't realise it--the person who was the source of his inability to commit to any relationship. And in the process of this, he lost his best friend. No, best friend wasn't even the appropriate term. It was something more, Francis knew that, even if he didn't know how to define it

[ichbin_preussen]

Gilbert's jacket couldn't hold up to skidding across blacktop at 80mph, but it did a fine job saving his cellphone. The slim black Motorola stayed safe, zipped up in the inner chest pocket of his jacket, even when he was bouncing his face off the wet ground, gashing his chin open and getting a wicked case of road burn up the right side of his face