We're so close to something...

[hellnahandbaskt]

Who: Vincent and Spike
When: Evening-ish of 6/28
Where: Suite 4
Summary: Someone's a little on the down side, what with his best friend up and gone.
Rating: PG-13 at worst?
Warnings: Possible cursing, Spike, alcohol.

Comments

[bestgaujo_ever]

Fair enough assessment. It certainly flocked together.

Not that Spike had much to be miserable about. Other than the whole drowning last week thing, he was a picture of health, naturally, what with all his leaving his room and quitting smoking, and then pigs flew through the sky and Sally let Charlie Brown kick a football.

All right, so he was a bit of a shut-in. Made it all the more surprising to hear any knocks at his door. Set him off, a bit - wasn't like he was the type to garner too many visitors. There was only one likely one and-- bingo.

Spike's clothes were wrinkled, he had no shoes on, his shirt was undone a few buttons and devoid of any kind of tie, his hair stuck up at odd angles, and a nearly-finished cigarette roach hung from his lips, just barely clamped onto.

"Well, hey. You look like crap."

[hellnahandbaskt]

"Could say the same for you," Vincent retorted dryly. Spike looked a little like he might have seen better days. A long time ago.

Not many people would honestly be bothered enough, he'd determined, to honestly take a hazard to Spike's company. Most times, he found him tolerable. Occasionally entertaining. And at least more level than most. He didn't care to deal with delivering the news, if there really was anything to deliver, just yet.

Later. He'd have energy for it later.

Cocking his head slightly, Vincent help the bottle up. "I refuse to drink alone."

What else was there to really say?

[bestgaujo_ever]

"Hm?" Spike picked at his shirt, looked down at himself and sent a sprinkle of ash flurrying down towards his feet. "These pants were just washed and everything. Don't play me like that."

He DID look rather tired, but then he was Spike. Spike always looked tired. But it wasn't too often Vincent approached him like this. And by that, he meant that he could probably count on no fingers. Kinda set his own crap to the side. He was pushing the door open wider, then, as if an invitation - either to let Vincent in or himself out, whichever the other man was going to deem fit.

"Fair enough. Drinking with someone else is a good time. Drinking by yourself's just kinda sad. And I'm not exactly gonna turn down such a nice offer."

[hellnahandbaskt]

Before, there had never been a need to. The proper lessons hadn't been learned, there had been no progress. Just a sense of stagnation, stilled, left without an outlet. This place did that. And now? Vincent wasn't, truly, surely in the know-how of what to do with himself.

"Good," was all Vincent had to say about the matter, sweeping into Spike's room with the air of someone, for the most part, who had just that little edge more of confidence. Which was to say, a lumber of sorts. It was the first time he'd been in, though not the first he'd seen it, pondering it for a moment.

He still wasn't fairly keen with expressing even this slight need for a form of understanding (if that was what it was in the first place) contact out too far into the open.