sickly sweet

It was late. How late, Rhys didn't know, and honestly? He didn't care. He was in a bar, somewhere. A nameless one, because his head was too fuzzy for him to remember the name, and really, they were all the same to him. The people he'd used as an excuse for coming here had all headed home. Except him. He was going straight to one-drink-too-many city, with a stubbornness. Maybe, like this, if he made it so he could barely see or stand, he'd trip and smash his head open on the sidewalk after he was kicked out.

Except, it happened too early. He supposed he wasn't being subtle in his intentions, or, he would've been led to that conclusion if agitation didn't take over, prickling in his shoulders and spine, making him tense up like a wild animal about to strike. No matter how much money he tried to flash at this bartender in order to stay, it was turned down. Security intervention was threatened. You had to be kidding. Surely a joke, a jest, all good fun? Shit.

Rhys pulled a gun from his clothes and fucking shot up the bastard. Touchy touchy Rhys. Who did this jackass think he was, though? Wouldn't be thinking much of anything now, Rhys noted, while he watched him fall and bleed out. No better lesson than blowing your brains out, they couldn't disrespect you if they were dead. It was a victory, for a moment, before the screaming and calling the cops started. No thanks.

He made a run for it. What he'd done catching up with him all the while, breathing shallower, tears burning at the edges of his eyes. Stupid, stupid, fuck! He hated this. He hated himself. He could throw up. Pulling garbage like that yet again, and again, and again. It was never going to stop, was it?

After that, he'd just, felt gross inside and wandered, losing track of... where the hell he was. He didn't know, he didn't care. Found his way to an empty playground in a quieter corner of town, and ended up sitting on the swings like a jackass. Watching the stars. It was really pretty, at least. It was cold, and lonely, and he was fucking miserable, but the sight would make a beautiful painting when he dragged himself home later-- if a serial killer didn't get him first, that is. Was it bad, that he had his hopes? Yeah. It was all bad.

Discomfort crept up on Rhys when his moping in solitude was interrupted. So it was company tonight, huh? He looked at the approaching presence with bleary eyes and lightly tear stained cheeks.

Ah, well then. It could be that he was painfully drunk, which he was, or that was the cutest person he'd ever seen, possibly in his entire life (aside from his kitten Cream Soda-- she had precious little whiskers). Either way, Rhys' heart was beating faster. The man's hair looked soft, eyes warm and round, some scruff and a dorky sweater, short in stature, a bit of a stutter.

Rhys quickly averted his gaze, scrubbing at his face, cheeks faintly pink. Embarrassing. Hopefully that would be attributed to the intoxication. He laughed, clearly forced, and cleared his throat. "I'm in a children's playground, it's who knows what time in the morning, and I probably reek of alcohol. I'm peachy, dear friend," he said in a huff, grinning and giving an OK sign with his fingers, then shaking his head.

"Um." He coughed. "What're you doing out here? Feel like swinging or going down the slide too? I was too big for the slide, and wouldn't recommend it, but the swings are nice enough." A significant glance at the one beside him, then to his feet. Maybe this was a concerned neighbor, worried about the strange man in their playground at night. And shit, he always rambled when he was drunk. He ducked his head down further with shame.

Rhys blinked at the words, muffling a giggle at the thieves comment, but otherwise… aw, fuck, this guy was so earnest. Yeah, no, he was nowhere near fine, but that was as ordinary and settled a fact as the sky being blue. While first flustered at his arm being touched, flinching, he soon melted and leaned into it. A small voice in his thoughts started to pine for it once he pressed closer.

"Too handsome to be sad, huh?" He laughed, less awkwardly this time, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thank you." The offer of talking popped up, and Rhys' stomach churned unpleasantly. That was the worst thing to offer someone like him, he would never stop chattering, never stop clinging, occasionally until a person grew sick of him and one of them had to die. Rhys hadn't died yet, and that was telling. He tried to shrug it off while he still had some ability for resistance and coherence lingering in his system. "Ah, well… you're a stranger. A very nice stranger, and I am a man extremely prone to oversharing, but, still… I'd rather not bother you."

He kicked a pebble while gently swinging. "I do this a lot. Never had any problems I couldn't drag my sorry ass out of before. Promise." He turned his star quality grin on the cutie again. "So, no need to be worried, right? Turn that frown upside down, and all that jazz." He put his fingers on the edges of his lips and pulled the sides up, exaggerated but charming smile on his face, still managing a flash of the infectious, silly energy he was known for, even in this state.

Rhys hummed quietly, chuckling. "You might have, though it wouldn't be because I was a movie star, or anything along those lines…" However much he felt like one when in a heist, flipping and twirling, doing stunts for the oohs and aahs, performing. He did rather count as a celebrity, despite the fame he had being more akin to infamy.

"Uh. Why'd you show up to talk to me, even?" He scratched his cheek nervously and blushed, partly with shame, partly from growing attraction. "W-wait, no, I can get home fine by myself! It's not too dangerous, I--" He sighed in frustration, biting down on his lip. He slapped his cheeks and took on a more determined expression, forcing himself to make a stronger point here, try to drive this person away before it was too late.

He looked his would-be savior in the eye. "I'm a criminal, okay? It isn't dangerous for me! You shouldn't be chatting with a scumbag, or walking him home, you're… you're a nice guy. I'm not nice. If I'm drunk, sad, and vulnerable, I deserve all that shit. You should leave me the fuck alone so I can continue to drown in it, like I'm meant to."

He flinched a little, when presented that hand and smile. He had to turn his face away again in order to resist. Christ. Not being weak when intoxicated was a hell of an undertaking, and at this rate, he was going to start forgetting why he was trying to go against his impulses in the first place. That wasn't the typical Rhys way. Being a good person was so hard. "It's not manly pride. It's just me."