(Untitled)

[alittleofboth]

It was miraculous, the way you could live with a person, even in obnoxiously small quarters, and still barely see them. it had been one thing back home when there had been parties for Guy to disappear to for days at a time and work for Anthony to become equally lost in. In those days there had been a near-constant stream of guests through their

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[patriotqueen]

Guy didn't say anything in return, but accepted the cigarette and expected a light next.

Avoidance wasn't Guy's way of dealing with matters usually. But 'usually' was no where in sight here. Usually he would be off to parties, or getting into trouble in pubs. Usually there would be other things to concern himself with. Usually there were other ways to keep the mind busy. The only usual thing here was the bottle next to him.

[alittleofboth]

As expectation dictated, matches were produced next (stolen from the kitchen) and both cigarettes lit. Anthony smoked his in silence for a beat or two longer.

Then he nodded at the bottle. "Is this one of your terrible batches or one of your better ones?"

[patriotqueen]

“It’s not bad.” The answer could mean very little, as Guy’s taste for quality liquor varied from day to day. But he wasn’t actually that drunk at the moment, and the batch had been quite a good one.
The silence between them bothered him more than it would if nothing had been wrong, if they had simply been as they were before the eulogy, before the cool confession, the cold statement.

“Why are you here?”

[alittleofboth]

"An excellent question," said Anthony, who was already beginning to regret sitting down. What was there to say that had not been already said a thousand times? Could the things lost on that cold December morning be repaired, and how?

"It's a good place to think."