how happy he could be.

the one day he opts for short sleeves, holland is bruised to absolute shit. it’s barely visible  ---  mostly spread across his shoulder  ---  but he’s been tugging obsessively at his shirt cuff in an attempt to keep all purpling skin out of sight.

         ‘ is it... it’s not too conspicuous. ’ right? he only asks after he assumes he’s been noticed. ‘ i don’t have any concealer on me. ’

“don’t tell me what to do,” he says, deadpan but joking. “sorry. didn’t mean to. you good?”

holland shakes his foot dry and makes a mental note to grab himself an extra toothbrush on the way home, scrub the stain out. maybe lavender suede wasn’t the wisest choice.

    he’s used to being one of the biggest people in the room, so balfour isn’t exactly fond of tall guy over here, either. he does want a drink, though. so, you know, he’ll play nice for at least the next five minutes.

        ‘ just a couple of beers, mate. –what makes them so renowned, anyway? ’ 

holland is riding out what remains of his break just a few feet from the bar entrance; he’s got one roller skate stopper planted, heel up, and the other rocking back and forth across the pavement. he’d skated to grab fast food dinner, hasn’t yet freed his feet.

         ‘ i wouldn’t, ’ he says, and jerks his chin at the bar. ‘ shitty service. ’

❛     HUH ??   …   oh.   yeah, that definitely sounds like me after a few drinks.     did i end up kicking their asses or did they kick mine ??   it’s all a blur but my nose still bleeds a little.     ❜          he speaks as if it’s a common occurrence.      more so than he should probably admit to a stranger.          ❛     that’s probably bad, huh ??     ❜

         ‘ it’s clean. ’ the thumbprint he’s neglected to wipe from eddie’s glass could be used to unlock an iphone, it’s so well-preserved. ‘ i did it myself. ’

         ‘ these aren’t cheap! ’ it’s on him for wearing skates at the bar, but that drink-swinging aim really couldn’t have been worse. ‘ watch it, buddy. ’

holland’s crouched behind the counter to get a half-empty drink down ( on the clock! ), so at least one couldn’t accuse him of being uncommitted.

         ‘ --- don’t look at me like that. they didn’t finish it. ’

this guy is ( almost ) as tall as he is. he doesn’t trust this guy. he doesn’t like him. he doesn’t like this guy.

         ‘ can i get you something to drink or are you here for the pretzels? world-renowned, so i’d... ’ he closes his eyes and pulls a fake, toothy smile. ‘ i’d get it, man. ’

         ‘ you’re the guy who tried to fight all of my customers. ’ he’s too chipper about it to be anything but impressed. ‘ like, at once. am i right? that was you? ’

         ‘ i’m gonna hazard a guess --- ’ he gestures at her with his empty-save-for-ice plastic cup, a lazy semi-circle where she’s stained with blood ( ? ). ‘ and say that this wasn’t an aesthetic choice. ’