He shouldn't, and he knows he shouldn't. But if Steve's not fighting him on it, it can't be that bad, right? Just a couple drinks. Which is more than one. But he already knows no matter what had come of it, he would have gotten up anyway. Still. Doesn't make it feel any less awful when he climbs out of Steve's lap, untangles the two of them, gets himself away from that immediate warmth to go over to the bar.
The one that all his spaces have. Even if he proclaims he doesn't have such a terrible relationship with alcohol as he used to, he still needs a bar. For entertaining, he'd said. They'll have guests over. They have no shortage of friends and coworkers and-
It's for him. The bar is always for him. Because no matter how much progress he might make, no matter how much he understands he can't be sloshed every hour of his life anymore because what if there's an incident, he still needs the safety of a good stiff drink. Like the whiskey he's currently pouring himself. The one he doesn't even enjoy because he tilts his head back and lets it slide down in one single gulp. Then he pours another. That one is to sip at.
And it doesn't make him feel better. It never does. But that's not the point of it. It's just to dull everything else around him. Or, tonight like most nights that he goes to a bottle, dull himself. The racing mind that never stops. "I'd offer to pour you one but I don't know if you like the taste of this enough to just drink it for fun." Because Steve gets no other benefits out of it. He sighs, after a slow sip, folding his other arm atop the bar so he can lean in. "Sorry I don't have another bottle of Thor's ale." Like they're celebrating. Like the two of them should get drunk for any good reason. "I'll have to ask him to bring some by so I can stock up."
He wants all of this to go away. For the two of them to go back to normal. With almost nothing in his stomach, too busy working today to really care enough to eat, the oncoming buzz should fix some of it, at least. Keep those turbulent emotions away from him so he can focus on... anything. Anything else. Just not this. Or maybe more accurately, not focus on anything at all.
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The one that all his spaces have. Even if he proclaims he doesn't have such a terrible relationship with alcohol as he used to, he still needs a bar. For entertaining, he'd said. They'll have guests over. They have no shortage of friends and coworkers and-
It's for him. The bar is always for him. Because no matter how much progress he might make, no matter how much he understands he can't be sloshed every hour of his life anymore because what if there's an incident, he still needs the safety of a good stiff drink. Like the whiskey he's currently pouring himself. The one he doesn't even enjoy because he tilts his head back and lets it slide down in one single gulp. Then he pours another. That one is to sip at.
And it doesn't make him feel better. It never does. But that's not the point of it. It's just to dull everything else around him. Or, tonight like most nights that he goes to a bottle, dull himself. The racing mind that never stops. "I'd offer to pour you one but I don't know if you like the taste of this enough to just drink it for fun." Because Steve gets no other benefits out of it. He sighs, after a slow sip, folding his other arm atop the bar so he can lean in. "Sorry I don't have another bottle of Thor's ale." Like they're celebrating. Like the two of them should get drunk for any good reason. "I'll have to ask him to bring some by so I can stock up."
He wants all of this to go away. For the two of them to go back to normal. With almost nothing in his stomach, too busy working today to really care enough to eat, the oncoming buzz should fix some of it, at least. Keep those turbulent emotions away from him so he can focus on... anything. Anything else. Just not this. Or maybe more accurately, not focus on anything at all.