With tacticalmind | Part Two
[Follows THIS]
By the time Rob and Mike made it the few blocks home, the bottle of scotch was gone. Mike threw caution to the wind and decided to share it with his friend, and when they made it to the front of the apartment block, they were both singing, arms around each other and really not making all that much sense at all. It was a miracle Rob was even still conscious, with Mike managing to hold onto his masculinity just a little bit better and not break into matching giggling fits. Luckily, he was still coordinated enough to prevent Rob tripping into a lamp post and knocking himself out, too, but it was an effort to peel him back up off the side walk when he stumbled anyway. Somewhere also in the whole process, Rob had left a drunken and lewd message on Leila's voicemail followed by a string of text messages which probably just looked like Hieroglyphics. At least he could manage to type the words 'Love', 'Dick' and 'Fuck' clearly. As far as his pissed brain was concerned, he was writing her romantic poetry.
They reached their destination, and halted in front of the entry of the block. Mike was holding Rob up and trying to simultaneously dig Rob's keys from the pocket of his jeans, not having much luck the way Rob was swaying and continuously losing his footing. He was still hugging the empty bottle too, even though the contents were long gone, and his now solo rendition of Eye of the Tiger was barely recognisable. Mike came up trumps with the keys when Rob abruptly stopped singing and lurched forward. Mike kept a hold of him back too a safe step back, watching Rob warily. "Ya' gonna puke, dude?" he asked, gesturing to the sidewalk in front of them. It was probably safer he did that out here than when they got inside. Rob made a noise that was cross between a giggle and a snort, shaking his head but then completely defunct his own answer by throwing up forcefully all over the sidewalk. Mike winced and gave Rob's back an awkward pat, wondering how the hell Rob was even managing to keep a hold of the bottle.
Rob was breathless in the wake of the throwing up but he held his free hand up. "S'cool! M'fine! S'all good!" he insisted, giggling again through some hoarse coughs. "Could'really go f'a burger."
"Maybe t'morrow, man. C'mon. S'late," Mike told Rob, pulling him back up against him to get the key into the door. At least the new home Leila had chosen for them was ground floor. Mike had no hope in hell of getting Rob up any stairs and he wasn't sure it was safe to take him into an elevator. It was a really nice place, out the back of the block and they scored a small garden space with it. It had been too cold to enjoy since they moved in, but it would be awesome in the summer. Rob just looked plain crap by this point, even if he had started the singing again. There was less passion it in this time, though, sounding more like someone did when they hit a part of a song they didn't know the words too. "Nohurlin' in the hall, alright?" Mike added wryly. "I ain't gonna clean it up. Just wanna go t'bed and die."
Rob had gotten his second wind by the time they reached the door to his home, no singing Do Wah Diddy and was still at it when they both stumbled through the apartment door. He tripped over Mike's foot and banged into the cabinet by the door. "Fuck, ow-" he said through another fit of giggles and when he stooped to rub his shin, dropped the bottle loudly onto the polished floor. He put his finger up to his mouth, missing his lips and nearly poking himself up the nose. "Shhhh! M'gonna getin th'shit. Shh-heyy... I want cookies!" He made a grab for the cabinet and knocked a lamp to the floor with a crash.
Mike grabbed Rob's arm before he could escape. He prayed Leila wasn't even home, and his own intoxicated brain couldn't tell him what he should actually do first, and they were both just stood there in a drunken mess, holding each other up. But that wasn't even destined to last. In probably a span of about twenty seconds, the light bright light came on and revealed Leila standing in the doorway in Rob's bathrobe, eyebrow raised questioningly. This was closely followed by Mike hissing in pain as the light drilled into his eyes like laser beams, and then Rob retching and throwing up all over both their feet with an encore of passing out cold and knocking Mike back into the cabinet, sending them both sprawling to the floor. "Um," Mike began scratchily and peered up at Leila through his fingers. "I promise, from th'bottom of m'heart, we didn't get'arrested, an' he's still got clean underwear an' both eyebrows."
Word Count | 846
By the time Rob and Mike made it the few blocks home, the bottle of scotch was gone. Mike threw caution to the wind and decided to share it with his friend, and when they made it to the front of the apartment block, they were both singing, arms around each other and really not making all that much sense at all. It was a miracle Rob was even still conscious, with Mike managing to hold onto his masculinity just a little bit better and not break into matching giggling fits. Luckily, he was still coordinated enough to prevent Rob tripping into a lamp post and knocking himself out, too, but it was an effort to peel him back up off the side walk when he stumbled anyway. Somewhere also in the whole process, Rob had left a drunken and lewd message on Leila's voicemail followed by a string of text messages which probably just looked like Hieroglyphics. At least he could manage to type the words 'Love', 'Dick' and 'Fuck' clearly. As far as his pissed brain was concerned, he was writing her romantic poetry.
They reached their destination, and halted in front of the entry of the block. Mike was holding Rob up and trying to simultaneously dig Rob's keys from the pocket of his jeans, not having much luck the way Rob was swaying and continuously losing his footing. He was still hugging the empty bottle too, even though the contents were long gone, and his now solo rendition of Eye of the Tiger was barely recognisable. Mike came up trumps with the keys when Rob abruptly stopped singing and lurched forward. Mike kept a hold of him back too a safe step back, watching Rob warily. "Ya' gonna puke, dude?" he asked, gesturing to the sidewalk in front of them. It was probably safer he did that out here than when they got inside. Rob made a noise that was cross between a giggle and a snort, shaking his head but then completely defunct his own answer by throwing up forcefully all over the sidewalk. Mike winced and gave Rob's back an awkward pat, wondering how the hell Rob was even managing to keep a hold of the bottle.
Rob was breathless in the wake of the throwing up but he held his free hand up. "S'cool! M'fine! S'all good!" he insisted, giggling again through some hoarse coughs. "Could'really go f'a burger."
"Maybe t'morrow, man. C'mon. S'late," Mike told Rob, pulling him back up against him to get the key into the door. At least the new home Leila had chosen for them was ground floor. Mike had no hope in hell of getting Rob up any stairs and he wasn't sure it was safe to take him into an elevator. It was a really nice place, out the back of the block and they scored a small garden space with it. It had been too cold to enjoy since they moved in, but it would be awesome in the summer. Rob just looked plain crap by this point, even if he had started the singing again. There was less passion it in this time, though, sounding more like someone did when they hit a part of a song they didn't know the words too. "Nohurlin' in the hall, alright?" Mike added wryly. "I ain't gonna clean it up. Just wanna go t'bed and die."
Rob had gotten his second wind by the time they reached the door to his home, no singing Do Wah Diddy and was still at it when they both stumbled through the apartment door. He tripped over Mike's foot and banged into the cabinet by the door. "Fuck, ow-" he said through another fit of giggles and when he stooped to rub his shin, dropped the bottle loudly onto the polished floor. He put his finger up to his mouth, missing his lips and nearly poking himself up the nose. "Shhhh! M'gonna getin th'shit. Shh-heyy... I want cookies!" He made a grab for the cabinet and knocked a lamp to the floor with a crash.
Mike grabbed Rob's arm before he could escape. He prayed Leila wasn't even home, and his own intoxicated brain couldn't tell him what he should actually do first, and they were both just stood there in a drunken mess, holding each other up. But that wasn't even destined to last. In probably a span of about twenty seconds, the light bright light came on and revealed Leila standing in the doorway in Rob's bathrobe, eyebrow raised questioningly. This was closely followed by Mike hissing in pain as the light drilled into his eyes like laser beams, and then Rob retching and throwing up all over both their feet with an encore of passing out cold and knocking Mike back into the cabinet, sending them both sprawling to the floor. "Um," Mike began scratchily and peered up at Leila through his fingers. "I promise, from th'bottom of m'heart, we didn't get'arrested, an' he's still got clean underwear an' both eyebrows."
Word Count | 846