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Amber Fire || voice--ofthe--people & fireinhisfists

Worry— a sinking stone in the pit of his stomach. It ate at his insides and wore at his mid even as he forced a small smile onto freckled cheeks as he knelt at her feet. “Seda…” Gently he took the hands of his friend’s hands into the warmth of his own, pulling them away from her face as he tilted his head a smidgen to the right.

"The issue you’re having isn’t a disease, you know. Nothing a good night’s rest and some medicine won’t take care of." He stood slowly, still gripping gently at her hands as he held her gaze. He didn’t pull at her, merely waiting for her to make a decision herself as he stood by her side. This was not something he could rush or force her into, knowledge gained through experience in kind.

"I’m not going to just leave you out here. Not in this state. You’ll either get a cold or draw attention that you don’t need right now." Hesitantly, he pulled only slightly at her wrists, hoping to inspire some form of movement. "Let me take you back to your place and then I’ll give you some peace, but you know I’ll just continue to bother you until then." Another soft tug. "I’ll carry you if I have to."

The alcohol had numbed her skin and his touch only created a dull sensation but it was enough to keep her out of her head for a few moments to hear his words as wrong as they were.

She could correct him. She could tell him that he was wrong and that sleep might help the alcohol fade and medicine would make the physical sickness subside but the real problem would always be there. She couldn’t fault him for trying. It wasn’t as though her understood the extent of her problem. But she’d keep her thoughts to herself for now. Partially because finding the right words was impossible when her brain was swimming in booze but mainly it was because she’d have to admit out loud one of her major faults.

Pride wouldn’t allow him to carry her and that was the only thing keeping her from sitting on that bench all night. She didn’t have an reasonable argument to make him leave and picking a fight to make him go would probably just make him stick closer to her than before. The only thing she could do at the moment was comply.

"Okay." She finally spoke. The writer used his arms to steady her wobbly legs until she was able to stand on her own. "If you’re going-going to make me go home, you could at least buy me dinner first." It was a bit slurred so the execution was the best but it was her first joke of th