sam knew as soon as he sat down between imogen and sum, that this was a terrible situation and he ought to just run right now. it was bad enough that he seemed to be collecting people’s ire, getting plastered simply because he doesn’t like when people talk about him without telling him that they’re talking about him and now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place; the two girls who take up most, if not all, of his brain power, as well as contribute to 80% of his stress levels. he hates this—he wants to leave.

when sum leans over and asks her question, all the cells in his body go cold despite the way his heart beat stops and then speeds up and rushes through his system like a racecar. he feels a little out of breath and wonders if he can just pass on this, if that’s an option for this game. he doesn’t want to answer it—this is the worst question he could ever get—and sum knows it. damn her.

he turns and looks at her, his eyes squinting and dark, the amusement draining out of his face as he blinks repeatedly at her. he wants her to take it back but he can tell from her face that’s not going to happen. fucking—why is she being such a bitch? the two of them have been bickering and fighting this entire trip, and sure, maybe he’s said some hurtful things and maybe they’ve put each other in difficult situations before, but she doesn’t need to go this far. this is cruel. she knows he can’t answer something like this so simply, and stay honest. he’s gonna have to lie. messy, messy, messy.

his power is to see the future—why couldn’t he have avoided this? why can’t he see into the future to find out which answer will afford him the least amount of trouble?

he looks down into his shot glass, the silence around the table putting more and more pressure on his shoulders—he’s got to answer. but he’s not happy about it. he downs the glass even though he doesn’t want to and he doesn’t need to, slamming it on the table without a hint of a smile or a joke or anything. his voice is a slurry monotone. “jude. i pick jude, i love jude the most.” ah shit, he just ruined it. oh well.

“fuck this game, i’m out. ya’ll motherfuckers have a great fucking night, thank you very much.” so, so done. he stands up, shoving the chair behind him away and manages a grand total of about three steps before promptly tripping over his own feet and collapsing gracelessly to the floor in a big, drunken heap.

@sum-yama

samuel knocks his bottle against his teeth lightly on purpose, because even without his eyes closed like this, he is far too drunk for accurate hand-to-eye coordination. it’s not too jarring, thankfully, and there’s plenty left in the bottle so he’s not worried about missing his mark, as it were, even though a few dribbles do manage to roll on down his chin, but he’s not so far gone yet that he doesn’t notice. he laughs at his own silliness and wipes his mouth with his arm. the motion sets him off-balance even more than he already is, the sand beneath his feet shifting and betraying his already clumsy walk.

he ends up running into sum a little bit, nudging her as she walks along beside him, which only makes him laugh a little hard, the alcohol in his system heightening the hilarity of this situation. she probably has no idea what’s wrong with him, but he can’t help but think it’s so damn funny. he veers away from her a bit before the smile completely washes right off his face, the melancholy returning in an instant. he leans his head back, his neck protruding, and stares up at the moon hanging large overhead. “this walk is making me feel better,” he mumbles sleepily, even though his countenance doesn’t really prove that.

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