IN THE NIGHT

roman usually tries to avoid coming here when he can - it’s uncomfortable, the way he’d left things with kendrick, and the couple times that he had come back, he’d made sure that the other man wasn’t working. each time they’d run into each other before it had been unbearable levels of awkward, and roman being one that had never really properly learned how to navigate those kinds of situations, avoided it like the plague. today, however, he had a meeting with one of his professors about a possible ta position next semester, and she’d requested coffee. from here, specifically. he’d seen ken from outside the window, and before he enters, he takes a deep breath. it’s just coffee, just make it quick. he enters and saunters up to the counter, waiting to be noticed and trying not to make of a show of himself.

“ the fuck?” he grumbles sleepily, woken up by the racket outside his door. he sighs and rubs the sleep from his eyes - it takes him only seconds to figure out what’s going on, and he sighs, throwing on a tshirt, knowing that betania is unlikely to care if he’d just showed up to the door in his boxers, but the heat in his apartment sucked and he didn’t know how long this was going to take. he makes his way to the door, and as he’s unlocking it he hears her voice. “i’m here, bee, relax,” he tells her just before he goes to open the door. he doesn’t expect her to be on the ground, however, and he instantly crouches down to support her back, not wanting her to slump over and possibly hit her head. “shit, hey, come on, let’s get you on your feet.

roman is a man of straight lines and schedules -- he likes his routines, likes being on time and being prepared. today, however, he feels anything but prepared. he’d woken up to chaos -- his alarm had failed to do its job of merely going off, and he had 15 minutes to make a 20 minute walk across campus to make it to class. the coffee in his hand was the only thing keeping him going, since there was no time for a cigarette. he adjusts his backpack that’s slung over one shoulder, and slips his phone out of his pocket, and not watching where he’s going, he slams into a smaller body, coffee flying out of his hand and onto the sidewalk. “fuck,” he grumbles, swallowing hard before realizing a few moments had passed & that he had yet to apologize. “i’m so sorry,” he adds, bending down to pick up the now-empty coffee cup. it only really registers who he’s talking to when he’s straightened up, and it gives him pause. “oh, uh...hey.”

wine: what kind of drunk are you (happy/affectionate, angry, sad, fun/wild)? if you don't drink, what kind do you think you WOULD be?