#esthread

Essie doesn’t stop to try and flag a taxi down or try to get an uber, not with the way the current traffic situation is set up (gridlock is the actual bane of her existence). She’s moving so quickly that she’s halfway between an excessively brisk walking speed and breaking out in a full out run. She’s going straight from work. She looks even more prim and proper than he’s probably used to seeing her - impossibly high heels, fitted sheath dress and all -but she doesn’t even give it any thought. She simply doesn’t get how Roscoe could possibly be disconnected enough from the reality of his situation to allow himself to get into this sort of trouble without even considering the possible ramifications but he is and the potent combination of genuine concern and flat-out exasperation that she’s been feeling since she’d found out about his jail visit propels her to W12th street in just about half the time it should really have taken. She smacks him on the arm - not hard enough to leave a bruise but with just enough power to make a point - as she brushes off the space beside him and sits. “You actual idiot. In which alternative universe could you possibly think it was a bloody good idea to end yourself up in a jail cell. I swear to god, half the time you act like you really, genuinely don’t give a damn what happens to you at all. Like you couldn’t care less if things turn out well for you or your entire life just falls apart. It’s all just the same to you. And for the life of me I do not understand how that is. I just don’t.”

Essie knows that she’s being unnecessarily reckless. She knows that she shouldn’t even be at this stupid party surrounded by people that she barely even knows but there’s something about the combination of the thumping baseline and the liquor coursing through her veins that helps drown out the sound of her own thoughts. She’s sprawled across a strange bed in a room she has no chance of recognising in lighting as dim as this and she can’t tell whose hands are running all over her body, stripping layers of clothing off as they go. She doesn’t even care though because at least she’s feeling something other than the all pervasive numbness that she hasn’t quite been able to get rid of recently. There’s the barest hint of a smile pulling on the corners of her mouth as she nods in response to a seemingly distant inquiry about getting more drinks. Then there’s a loud sound breaking the hazy mellowness of the moment and the force with which the door opens startles her. She’s barely pulled the covers up around herself before the light from the hallway comes pouring in. Between the silhouette and the easily recognisable tone of his voice she knows exactly who he is. “Before you say anything, I’m really not in the mood for one of your lectures...and I probably won’t remember anything you say when I wake up tomorrow anyway so there’s really no point.” She exhales loudly, bracing herself for the verbal onslaught that she’s sure he’ll continue with anyway.

There are only two things Essie is sure of at the moment. She’s just been dumped by the boyfriend she’s had for the last four years of her life and she is absolutely, unmistakably drunk. She’s at least three martinis past her tolerance limit and she knows it. It took her five tries to get the front door open and now she’s stumbling through her kitchen, fixing herself yet another drink (because at this point, one more really can’t hurt) and an accompanying snack to go with it if she can manage that. There’s a sound to her left that she pivots toward and when she notices her housemate in the doorway, she can barely manage a smile and a wave before she has to steady herself on the fridge door. “You. You’re here...and shirtless...and hot. So hot. It’s really not fair just how hot you are...and I’m very drunk...and apparently very single...and not exactly terrible to look at. We should really fuck. It’s fate. The stars have aligned.”