Re: Diner: 1AM-ish
There were a few too many double-negatives for Billy to follow clearly as he drifted on the sweet-slick of crumbled Valium down the back of his throat, mingled with the antiseptic bite of cheap spirits. But his brow didn’t furrow, mouth didn’t tip down into a slanted frown. He was riding way too smooth a wave for that, sliding a little further down against the crackled, patchy vinyl and pulling his knee up towards his chest. The sole of his boot made an indent in the fake, plasticky material that still smelled like cigarettes from when they’d let people smoke in here. Which, lbr, was probably like two seconds ago. Point being, he was halfway to boneless. Unbothered, even smiling back with a knowing point to the edge of his lips on one side, where they arced towards a single dimple.
It was a smile that said I see you, or maybe just that the guy was the furthest extent that Billy’s attention could go right now. “Really? I was thinking there’s nothing they’d love more in the Deep South than a queer Jewish kid with pink hair, tattoos, and a taste for mesh.”
Ftr, he hadn’t worn mesh anywhere outside of a gay club in the Capital since he’d left New York. He wasn’t entirely certain that he didn’t have a death wish, but experiencing an attempted bashing in Repose and potentially blowing up half the town? Not super appealing. He was good with maintaining the level of blissfully numb where the razor-edged glint of dread was kept just barely below the surface. “I don’t know if everyone does,” he said, making a face and twitching one shoulder up again with minimal effort of not caring. “And maybe we’re just looking for meaning. You don’t think there was any, and I don’t want to think there was. So is it just morbid curiosity that brought you here?”