[so don't call me no more]
Drabble Battle with a friend! 220 word count. Secret pairing. ;D Angst. She won't like it.
He's leading himself by the streetlights, stumbling across the pavement. It only seems to get darker, despite how the feat seemed impossible just...
How long had it been? Time wasn't something he wanted to know, let alone keep track of. Not here. Not now. The empty bottle dangled selfishly between his fingers. Almost thoughtfully he brings it to his nose, the tingle gone dull. His feet drag him farther and he decides to hell with it, really, to hell with it and the bottle ends up across a backalley's wall, the same hate unharmed.
He spots a phonebooth.
The number peels off of his fingertips so naturally, and now all he's breathing is stale air.
"Hello?" He can hear the puzzlement.
I need you.
The other end is silent, and it's like those thoughts are carefully mumbled into his ear - knowing someone so well...
Don't you know what you've done to me? It elicits a gasp.
By now he's trembling.
Soft fingers take on hardened clutches, and they threaten to crush the receiver - just to make it go away.
He knows something's being said, and that tongue is clicking and slurring and making promises that won't be kept. He doesn't need to listen anymore.
You were my inspiration.
The dial tone hums louder than it had ever been.
Rounds:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
He's leading himself by the streetlights, stumbling across the pavement. It only seems to get darker, despite how the feat seemed impossible just...
How long had it been? Time wasn't something he wanted to know, let alone keep track of. Not here. Not now. The empty bottle dangled selfishly between his fingers. Almost thoughtfully he brings it to his nose, the tingle gone dull. His feet drag him farther and he decides to hell with it, really, to hell with it and the bottle ends up across a backalley's wall, the same hate unharmed.
He spots a phonebooth.
The number peels off of his fingertips so naturally, and now all he's breathing is stale air.
"Hello?" He can hear the puzzlement.
I need you.
The other end is silent, and it's like those thoughts are carefully mumbled into his ear - knowing someone so well...
Don't you know what you've done to me? It elicits a gasp.
By now he's trembling.
Soft fingers take on hardened clutches, and they threaten to crush the receiver - just to make it go away.
He knows something's being said, and that tongue is clicking and slurring and making promises that won't be kept. He doesn't need to listen anymore.
You were my inspiration.
The dial tone hums louder than it had ever been.
Rounds:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5