#balian01

It was Balian’s birthday. 

At first, an assignment in Vegas seemed to be a blessing - wrecking havoc in Sin City was the perfect birthday adventure. But so far, most of their time had been spent on stakeout. And far from the strip, no less. But Teddy was never one to give up a chance to celebrate, instead reserving the Presidential Suite at the Cosmopolitan, the newest luxury hotel in Vegas. It featured three bedrooms, a private indoor pool, and a grand piano.

A grand piano that he was now sprawled out on, shirtless and posing like a statue of a Roman god, wearing Balian’s glasses that he’d swiped from his bedroom nightstand. 

He heard the bedroom door of Balian’s room open and light footsteps as the other man emerged from his shower. And then, as his eyes landed on Teddy’s half-naked, wannabe-model form, a choked sound. 

“I missed something, didn’t I?”

Teddy beamed. “It’s your birthday surprise!” He scrambled off the piano, heading towards the fridge to fetch Balian’s cake - triple chocolate, pink, with a turkey figure. Because Bal was Turkish. 

One shot of whiskey, one shot of vodka, one shot of rum, two shots of tequila. Repeat. 

The bartender at Voodoo pours Selwyn her second round with a pointed look of concern, obviously wondering how such a small woman is able to hold so much liquor. The void in my chest is big enough to hold two more rounds, she wants to tell him, then immediately decides she is well past tipsy, if the sad metaphors are coming out. In truth, it isn’t common for her to resort to alcohol, having decided at a young age that reliance on liquor shows weakness. 

But weak is exactly how she feels, after her unexpected meeting with Eymen earlier in the day. And she despises herself for it, can almost hear the sound of glass tinkling as the mask she’s spent over a decade spinning starts to crack. They are small fractures, but she knows how these things go. So she downs another shot, as if the burn of the liquid is enough to wield the breaks back together. 

It is when she calls for another pour that she notices the stare of the man next to her. “Better make that two,” Selwyn revises, speaking to the bartender, though her gaze does not leave the man’s.