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Arlo doesn't invite guests over to his apartment often. In honesty, he's only following Remi's short advice about "socializing outside of work".
So here he is at three AM, sitting down with a bottle of liquor with its cork screwed off in his hand at his kitchen island with another, how sweet.
He lifts the bottle up, taking another sip before setting it back.
Arlo looks down at the bottle, grumbling about how it was only halfway filled with its alcohol now. He doesn't remember what brand of liquor he was drinking, nor could he tell now as his vision is blurred.
Next to him, warm grey smoke and dry huffs polluted the air from the man he decided to invite into his damn home.
How low had Arlo stooped down? John Doe, of all his closer friends or acquaintances, was the one he decided to call up at exactly one in the morning just to come over.
Arlo turned to John, but he didn't have anything to say. So instead, Arlo started trying to make out the latter's now slightly blurry features. His lips looked chapped, but still had this soft peach colour to them, his eyes glowed above the embers sparkling off the lit cigarette before dimming once John put out the flame just to light up all over again against the lighter's singular flame.
John's dark black hair was a mess. Arlo jokingly notes to himself that this was the first time in a while has he seen John without his inseparable hair gel— he swears that John was just addicted to greasing his hair... Though he must admit it's better than the way it was back in high school.
High school... Wellston sure was a treat for them, Arlo remarks. Sarcasm unclear in his ever scrambling mind, he was getting tipsy.
A flick from the metallic lighter, a gulp from the glass bottle, the two men each drowned themselves further into the depths of their bad addictions.
John would admit that he hasn't chain smoked this many cigars in months. Maybe a year if he was being generous, but that doesn't matter anymore given how many tip-end charred brown cigarette butts filled Arlo's now dirt, dust and paper-filthy glass ashtray— not like the guy was ever gonna use it though.
Marlboro was his go to brand, sure, he preferred the taste of the smoke from the blue ones rather than the red ones. Was there really even a difference between the two packets though? John questioned himself, he can confuse himself all he wants.
John can say that Arlo's stare was blatantly noticeable, but it wasn't unnerving enough to comment about. It felt nice to be vulnerable and not worry about shit every once in a while.
He drags another round, exhaling a puff of more of that sickingly addictive dark smoke. What would his dad say to him if he was still here right now?
Oh. He's grieving again.
How frustrating. Once he thinks he's finally over it— he just goes ahead and thinks about it all over the fuck again! It's been years for crying out loud.
Inhaling another round, John glances at Arlo. The blue eyed ass just seemed to be in a daze or so he assumed, John could tell Arlo wasn't focused on him anymore.
Taking in a closer look, Arlo was glaring at the long since discarded cylinder glass that he had used for his first bottle pouring an hour or so earlier. Maybe he should feel sorry for the glass that took the attention off himself, John could laugh at that fact.
John pulls his attention away and puts out his cigarette while releasing the smoke from his mouth, it pollutes his surroundings again.
He flinches when Arlo lightly slams his now empty bottle of alcoholic wine down onto the marble, sliding another towards his way. What an ass, could've been a little more gentle with the damn thing.
The shuffling of individual cigarettes in a newly opened packet before one gets pulled out, the grinding of the cork against the screw before getting popped off. Another round of petty leisure for each of the two men.
Arlo drops the corkscrew onto the counter, adjusting his seat and straightening his posture before swirling the wine, twisting his wrists before shoving the tip of the bottleneck onto his lips. The wine poured down deep into his throat, slightly choking Arlo but his passive covered up the pain.
He hitched, hunching over the counter then let out a few wet coughs before simply setting the bottle back down on the marble.
Arlo shook his head, he was likely getting drunk.
Arlo rested his elbows on the counter. His free hand brushed his scruffy blonde hair before running down his forehead and rested on his eyelids. He gave them a harsh rub before pinching his nose bridge.
He felt a hand on his back, John was patting him. This random act of affection confused Arlo for a moment, he froze up. After recollecting the tiniest of sober thoughts, he looked up, deciding that he should just take a look at John.
John has this funny smile on. Crooked on the edges, making it out to seem more plastic and forced than what Arlo assumed John wanted to come off as.
And— for once since opening the front door and inviting the English Majoring dumbass inside— they started talking. John started off with a simple, “You good there?”
Arlo straightened up his posture before nodding slowly, an awfully vague answer, the sober fraction of Arlo can admit.
John chuckles, his breath was disgustingly smokey with flakes of the embers flying off his cigarette as he moved his hand. From internally cursing the blonde to checking up on him, how ironic, John thought.
Arlo scoffed, lifting the bottle up and took another few dozen sips. John simply watched him do so, maybe he just didn't want Arlo to choke again. Maybe he was concerned.
When Arlo set the bottle back down, John immediately shot him a question. Patience must've not been in his vocabulary, Arlo kid himself.
“When did you start drinking?” John asked, twirling the unlit cigarette in his hand, lightly crushing its ennards.
Arlo didn't look up from his bottle but he atleast had the decency to pause and think about it before shrugging, “Can't recall, probably several months after I graduated.”
Arlo glanced at John who was lighting the cigarette with his lighter now. He squinted, noticing choppy engravings on the lighter but he couldn't make the etchings out.
It wouldn't hurt to ask, huh.
“What's that on your lighter?” Arlo questioned, taking another sip from the bottle.
John huffed, taking a moment to look at his own lighter, in dark bronze etching was a simple, W+J
John grinned, “Hah, it says... "W plus J".” He responded, bringing the lighter closer to himself for any further inspection before clicking it shut after he spotted nothing else.
Arlo nodded, “So it's William's.” Arlo commented, a harmless comment that his drunken mouth just spouted out.
A moment passed, Arlo took more sips still expecting more conversation from John. When the ebony haired man didn't speak, he turned his head and glanced at him.
John was solemnly looking at the lighter, his thumb rubbed the engravement softly, maybe even tenderly if Arlo watched the movement just close enough.
He spun back to his bottle, once again half empty. Maybe he should just finish it already, it was nearing four AM if he had to guess.
Arlo held the bottleneck, and gulped. When he felt like he was out of air, he momentarily placed the bottle back down.
Arlo rubbed his eyes, unsure about what he was seeing as everything was just a blur now. Once he gained a semblance of stability in his right eye, he focused on the bottle, which was disappointingly still a fraction of the way full.
But instead of just resuming his small side quest of finishing his second bottle of wine, he looked up at the smoke that lingered all around him and John. Maybe inviting him over wasn't all that bad of an idea after all.
Though, he swore that this stuff better not have reached his living room. All Arlo had as hope was the ventilation in the kitchen, aka the one right above the stove.
Arlo, for the first time in almost an hour, let go of the bottle in his hand and turned to John, spinning his chair along with him to directly face the younger.
To say John was dense was a lie as he turned to Arlo, cocking his head to the side wordlessly asking Arlo what was he doing.
“John, when did you start smoking?” Arlo asked, seeming to return the favour of when John asked him a few minutes earlier.
John tensed, “Er, probably before I moved to Wellston... But I stopped for a few years up til my own graduation– like you, I guess.” John quietly admitted. Arlo nodded in acknowledgement.
That led Arlo to ask another question, “Do you take smoke breaks?”
“No.”
Arlo smirked, “Huh, yet here you are nearly finishing half of that second pack.” He joked. John scoffed and replied with a “Fuck off, that's coming from you, Alcoholic.”, reciprocating the playful bickering.
Arlo lightly shook his head, flashing a grin despite the aching that came from the top of his skull. His head was splitting now, huh.
He grabbed his bottle off the counter and took his final sips, sloppily sticking the end to his lips and drunk it. Wine spilled out and dripped onto his white collar shirt; effectively staining the poor article of clothing. Arlo stood up and look down at his shirt as a hand covered his chin, in a hopeless attempt of getting rid of the sticky liquid running down from the corners of his mouth to his chin.
John coughed out a laugh, “Hah, take that you dumbass!” He swore, putting out the cigar in between his very fingers with a hard push down on the ash tray flooring.
Arlo surprisely just laughed along with John, retorting with snide remarks about how John's smoke has probably polluted the entire house by this point. He even humbly wiped away the liquor with his bare hands! John couldn't let Arlo live this down now.
While John is in his own bubble laughing at Arlo, he didn't realize how Arlo inched closer towards him. When John did, Arlo had already placed his hands on the armrests of John's stool plastic seat, technically trapping him in place.
Arlo was red, yeah, he was clearly drunk. But so was John now that they were so close.
Arlo's mouth opened slightly, before contorting into a smile, “John,” He called, “May I... kiss you?”
Was it the alcohol talking?
“Huh?”
Does Arlo actually want to do this?
“May I kiss you?” He repeated.
Would Arlo regret this?
“Hm, do I?” John aimlessly retorts.
They're intoxicated, this won't mean anything once they sober up anyways.
John grabs Arlo's still wet and wine stained collar, pulling him in for a kiss.
Was it passionate? Definitely not. It was gross even, the scent of alcohol reeked from Arlo's mouth, mixed with the smoke and tabacco from John's, the kiss tasted terrible. The texture wasn't nice either, it was wet and sloppy from the lingering alcohol in Arlo's mouth along with the paper dryness of John's blackened tongue, nothing about the kiss could ever classify it as a good kiss.
But taste, texture, and passion aside, it still felt sweet. A short blissful moment of leisure, just what the two men were trying to achieve all night long anyways. The kiss lasted as long as it deserved to be.
Arlo thankfully pulled away; yet a string of saliva held onto each of their lips, reminding them of the shortly lived kiss. It shined under the dim fluorescent light that hung above the kitchen island.
John licked his lips, cutting off the string. It fell into this pearl shaped bead, falling down on either John or Arlo's pants. If any of them noticed it, they probably would've started cursing eachother out again.
For some reason, this just felt natural to the two of them as it felt as if no tension was left behind by the bad kiss. Doing something they know isn't going to last yet they still do it for their own benefits; in this case, a moment of ignorance.
Ignorance is bliss, they say, maybe that's why they don't mind how bad it was, how awful it felt to taste one another's mouth. They're in as deep as they are, they might as well.
John chuckles, “You're a bad kisser.” He nudges Arlo, pushing the older back, and hopefully into his own seat.
Arlo stood between his seat behind him and John who was in front of him, responding with a light-hearted scoff, “Oh please, the texture of your dry mouth simply caught me off guard.”
John took offense to that, “Excuses, excuses!” He countered.
Arlo laughed, “Oh yeah? Kiss me again then, you coward.”
John took a second to think about the dare but ultimately took it as a challenge, “You're on!”