Huh. So this happened.
I really don't even have any idea what I'm doing here, but last week I stumbled on a picspam of Elijah Wood, and let's just call it nostalgia or the ghost of fandom past, but I wrote something, in the painted_whiskey-verse, no less.
Elijah hopes he left his jacket in the car and not at the church, or worse, the cemetary. He can feel the unwelcome twinge of a headache beginning as he watches Andy pour himself a large glass of Macallan. Billy uncovers the mirror behind the bar. Elijah closes his eyes, realising that the pub still smells the same as the first time he walked in the door, still a teenager, still in love with the man they’ve just buried, not yet in love with the man placing a steadying hand on his back and a steadying drink at his elbow.
Elijah hopes he left his jacket in the car and not at the church, or worse, the cemetary. He can feel the unwelcome twinge of a headache beginning as he watches Andy pour himself a large glass of Macallan. Billy uncovers the mirror behind the bar. Elijah closes his eyes, realising that the pub still smells the same as the first time he walked in the door, still a teenager, still in love with the man they’ve just buried, not yet in love with the man placing a steadying hand on his back and a steadying drink at his elbow.