Uncharted One Shots/Imagines

A Drink Sailor? (Harry Flynn)

"Alright love"

Never wrote anything Harry so pardon the rusty writing it's been a while plus if I butcher the poor guys character

(And also hello those who still read this love you)

******

"You do realise my dad would kill me if he knew we had this" it was 11 o'clock on a Saturday and the cool summer breeze wafted through the small cracked open window in the small living room. A desk splayed an array of scattered sheets and textbooks alongside a few finding themselves falling to the fabricated carpet at the desks feet. Sheets all scribbled with a plan of essays and some displaying diagrams of endless graphs and charts. The room itself misted a smell of finished and discarded take-out containers alongside a now freshly opened bottle of whiskey. Not any ordinary bottle of whiskey mind you, but rather one of the prized bottles your father proudly possessed. Each emerald and bronze bottle aged finely, and each his beloved second set of children. Looking at the damn bottles for too long ticked the poor man and if you even dared touch the damn case set him into a fiery rage.

"Oh poor pops ain't even gonna notice love. Figure the poor bloke has his nose stuck in another bloody book" Harry huffed stretching his hand out to further examine the bottle you popped open. "Either that or he is off been busy with the missus" his eyes coyly sweeping up to you as his hand swept the particles of dust covering the aged label.

"Oh jeez! Harry they're my parents for Christs sake"

"Hey! Taking the Lords name in vain? How very shocking dear"

"Oh bugger off you twit" imitating the guys own accent you hug your knees into your chest eyeing the brit studying the whiskey bottle like some kind of connoisseur. Even between his own attempt at looking somewhat smart he handed the bottle back to you again.

"You'd make a fine English lass with that accent" his smile played alongside his words as he watched you take hold of the bottle once more. "Now why doesn't dear ol you take the first swig. A somewhat take that pops toast" he laughed throwing his arm atop the sofa. "Screw you dad I snagged your most prized bottle of sorrows" his smile emerging his pearly whites as he eggs you on to take that first gulp. "Go on love you deserve it after all the crap that prick put you through" his body shuffles closer, nodding you further.

He was true with his words. Your dad had been a pain in the ass these past few months and getting some sort of payback was a strange new feeling. You felt amazing, to say the least, and sharing it with a long time best friend was nice. It felt different and it made you feel somewhat alive. Leave it to Harry Flynn to get the goosebumps rising and insisting you experience something different almost every time you both hung out.

"Alright..." You say taking the bottle in your hand and deciding to raise it to the heavens "here's to you dad, you're a royal pain but hey at least I got something outta your annoying self"

"Hey that's the spirit mate!" Harry quips watching you almost wince at the burning liquor travelling it's way through your system, slightly coughing at the taste. He takes the bottle from your grasp and chuckles, "seriously is it that bad?"

"It isn't bad. Just burns like a bitch"
"Sounds like my ex girlfriend" Harry jokes taking a swig for himself and indeed finds himself too coughing at the taste, "woowee! Gets the body goin' alright" he finds himself sitting up straight with his fist beating his chest as if to relieve him of that delicious burning senstaion. Of course a wonderful chorus of dry chokes follow after. You find yourself laughing at the man almost losing his breath over a gulp of whiskey. "And I thought my reaction was bad" you laugh which results in Harry quickly recollecting himself and throwing you a playful glare in which you playfully apologise for.