Sven poured the amber liquid into the ridiculously small glass on the low table. The bottle was dusty from the years he had stashed it above the refrigerator, and at the moment he wanted to down the entire thing. He despirately wanted the blissfulness of not knowing, not feeling. He knew he could not have that, not really, but the next best thing was in his hand. He craved the giddy numbness the burning warmth in his belly promised, even as the world was beginning to swim.
His friend had died. It’s been a few days, and his friend died right in his arms. Here he was, sitting on a great big flowery couch, alive and comfortable, and his friend was out in the cold freezer in the city morge for all he knew. He was dead. Janoos was gone.
With that thought pecking at his mostly empty mind, he knew he was far too sober. He had the solution to that right in his grip. He raised the bottle from the dangerously overfull tiny glass on the table, intending to down the entire thing right there.
Another glass that small joined up, and soon he filled it to the brim. A third appeared and was followed by a fourth. Sven dully filled them all, and frowned at the brown puddle he created from his efforts. It was such a waste. He unsteadily plunked the bottle into its place, and only glanced to the hands that steadied it for him.
He wasn’t alone on the couch, and it would be rude not to share the amber wonderment with his guests.
He gripped his glass and tipped it back into his mouth. He grimaced at both the awful taste and the burn in his throat as he swallowed the bitterness down.
“No chaser..yeah?”
Sven made a non committal noise, and flared his nostrils. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t quite sure just when he had closed them.
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