atília
if he's being honest, he hates the taste of beer.
yet he sits at a club near campus now, letting the acidic taste of it slide down his throat with a burning sensation. he's had one too many, and he's past the tipsy-but-not-completely-trashed stage.
someone taps on his shoulder, and for a second he allows himself to believe that it's yuli, coming to see how he's holding up. he lied to her, told her a vague story about aidan, and she consoled him over a half-truth...
"hi," a girl smiles, chestnut-colored hair pulled into a ponytail. his eyes glance at the cleavage, which is unmistakably noticeable with the black dress that molds her body. "is this seat taken?"
"actu—"
she plops down, offers him a sultry look, and swallows the rest of her drink. he feels the hair on the skin of his arm raise, but does nothing.
