how do teenagers drink so much, c

He's never had a very good memory – or at least, he does have a very twisted perception of things. A loosening grip on reality. But he's just gotten some sleep, and he's groggy but lucid as he nervously toys with a strand of his hair, setting it back from his face as if it has a place. As if he isn't always a disheveled mess of a boy.

Jamie nods slowly, Harper's words hitting him like a punch in the gut, followed by a strangely warm tingling in the pit of his stomach. He reaches for his stomach, fisting his hands in his shirt – stained – before realizing how stupid he must look and dropping them to swing at his side.

He's having trouble believing that this conversation is really happening. "W-what did I say?"

@nan02

He might just throw up – he clenches his jaw, tangles a hand in his hair and tugs nervously, trying to ground himself, trying to pull himself from what's happening, from this surreal dream. Though everything looks too real, too still and simple for a dream.

Jamie bites his lip, feeling a sting but remembering a kiss. "Sorry." He mumbles, averting his eyes – it happens. Even when he isn't drunk. If he hasn't slept long enough he shuts down eventually. He supposes he's lucky that Harper was there, that he'd bothered to carry him all the way back. "Thanks."

Harper is rambling, but Jamie's responses are clipped, his tone miraculously even, if not a little husky from his dry throat.

@nan02

Jamie has a way of floating through the world, like an observer in his own life. This feeling, his churning gut and clammy hands, was the feeling of hitting the ground, of shocks of pain up his legs and an unsteady footing when he lands. This feeling was realizing this was happening, this feeling was… feeling. Butterflies and worries, all in a strangely stunning clarity. Panic.

His brow furrows. He's trying to remember how to breathe. His lungs seem half empty, he's a fish out of water and he can't remember how to fill them. He coughs, trying to pass it off as a clearing of his throat before he speaks, a sentence in one too-small breath. "What-about-the-date?"

@nan02

Jamie feels tangled in his own thoughts, in Harper's words, winding around each other but never quite making contact in some twist of vines that fills the room, makes the air feel thick and making Jamie feel flimsy.

"Yeah." He chokes out. He manages to say it. "I want to. Date." He drifts into a whisper, he feels ready to pass out again, like he has to make a concerted effort to stay standing and solid.

@nan02

Jamie can't even bring himself to look at Harper anymore. He clears his throat again, he runs his fingers through his hair and smooths down his shirt as if trying to make himself presentable, though he feels like a lost cause once the words have slipped out and settled in the air between them.

"Maybe I…" His voice nearly cracks, he cuts himself off. Maybe he should go home. Tell Harper he's going home but really go lay down on a park bench until he figures out exactly what he's just done. Maybe he should have never said anything. "Sorry." He spits out, not sure why.

@nan02

He nods, licking his lips, cracked and thirsty. He's not sure of anything anymore. That they're going on a date now. Not right now, he wants a shower and he wants a minute to set his thoughts straight. He can't do that with Harper around, Harper who makes his mind race and wipes it clear of anything coherent all at once.

"I guess I should… get home." He hasn't been home since before last night. Not that anyone will worry – Jamie just wants a change of clothes. He nods to reaffirm it, to himself.

@nan02