Rightful Place

He walked to me and handed me a cup. "I wanted to get drunk."

I swallowed. "I'll take you to bed, then."

"Don't you want to join me instead?" he asked, raising the cup slightly upwards.

I shook my head. "I am okay."

He nodded and dropped the cup, then picked his own and the bottle and walked his way to the sitting room. I stayed back for a while before I followed, and he sat on the couch.

He drank slowly, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, and I could almost feel the way he was going back to the Austin from back then, way before he learned to allow others see his wounds so they could cater for them. His eyes were cold as he drank the first cup, and after that, he just kept it and stared off.

"You said you wanted to get drunk."

He shook his head. "I don't feel like it anymore."

He pushed himself on the couch and strightened into a lying position, then stretched his body. As if on cue, I moved forward, helping guide his head to my lap.

He gave a small satisfactory sigh as I let