Auslly One Shots

Remember All We Fight For

I'm sorry for this in advance

NOT MINE

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By Miss-Rainy-Skies

It starts off with a beer at a bar one night.

The drink serves as kind of a formality. Can't walk into a bar and not order a drink.

So he stands a little off to the side, slowly sipping his obligatory drink while taking time to appreciate the violin in the oddly tasteful track this particular bar is playing.

He doesn't even swallow his third sip before he sees her familiar locks. Dark brown hair, curls all askew. Who else can it be?

The bar stool swings around all dramatic, like the way lounge chairs do for villains in movies (but maybe that's just him and his silly taste in movies). And of course she looks perfect. Dark black dress, red lipstick, a shade redder than he would have preferred—of course if it were up to him he'd take his pickle eating, cloud observing dork any day, but she doesn't really come around all that often anymore.

There's this slight tinge of pain he feels upon seeing her face, a sadness he can't shake. It's a sensation comparable to the illusion of pins and needles jabbing into him when his leg falls asleep, and he can't figure out why. But she's walking towards him and her presence still manages to shrink away all negativity clouding his mind.

"Hey." She greets him with a breathtaking smile. Without giving him enough time to reply she wraps her arms tightly around his neck and is soon kissing him senseless. She tastes like hard liquor, not the innocent types of champagne and margarita they used to dine on before dinner once upon a time. No. She tastes like something straight out of a bar fight; thick, sweaty and bad for him on so many levels.

His head is still swimming when she pulls away laughing loudly.

"I ordered one for you."

He hesitates, but sees her observing him from the corner of his eye and obediently swallows the drink, praying that the bridges he burns tonight will light the way for a future together with her.

Her lips curve into a thin smile.

He buys the next round. He argues that it's only fair, but really he just wants to see her smile again.

They clink glasses and chug the warm substance. Dark drinks. Sad eyes.

The liquor scorches down his throat almost painfully. When he sets his glass down, hers is already empty and she's beaming.

She smiles excitedly, tugging on his cuff link. "Let's get out of here."

Her eyes are crazy, and his steps are getting heavy, but he follow her blindly anyway. Together they make a mad dash for the exit. Just like that, the once decent sized bar table seems to stretch and stretch. It's unwinding, too long. The doors seem barely out of reach each time.

His ears are ringing, and the room is too warm. He catches a glimpse of her. She's giggling like she's having the time of her life. It astounds him how the blurrier the world around him, the more vivid and enticing she appears to him.

He is stumbling slightly now. He never was a lightweight, but he's having trouble keeping up with her. She downs two more shots off the counter with a twinkling laugh, and he can only wonder how someone so self-destructive can be so beautiful.

Then her heels are off, her hair is flying, and she's starts beckoning at him. She reaches the previously impossible exit, opens the door and disappears into the darkness. She feels light-years ahead of him and he actually starts to pant because believe it or not, heavy drinking does not do wonders for one's physical health.