Twenty Seven

You know that feeling? When you were out with friends, having a good time, eating good food, messing around with a hot jock in his car, and you come back home in a great mood... only to find your mom or whoever's at home all grumpy and upset, and suddenly you feel bad for having had fun?

Well, that's exactly how I felt when I walked through the front door with a wide smile, only to lay my eyes on a deflated Vincent in a dimly-lit living room, slumped over the bar with a half-empty bottle of whiskey. It wasn't my first time catching him drinking late on a weekend, but on that particular day, he looked a little worse for wear.

Nonetheless, he didn't hesitate to flash me a smile the moment I walked in through the door, the bright freaking marshmallow that he was.

"Hey there. How was your day?"

"Um, it was alright," I replied nonchalantly, doing my best to pretend my day was very whatever as I locked the door and walked in. "How was yours?"