Cardan didn't know what to think when he saw you with Locke, but he knew he just had to get rid of the thought.

A cold knot formed in his stomach, a familiar sensation whenever Locke's name was brought up in conjunction with yours.

The image burned in his mind, sharp and unwelcome.

It disgusted him how utterly infatuated he seemed to be with it.

Cardan tried to shake the feeling, to dismiss it as a fleeting annoyance, but the protective sting lingered.

Now, Cardan was outside on a picnic blanket.

And was very, very drunk.

Despite it being early in the night.

Cardan's mouth was flaked with gold, his vision swam, his head tipped back.

The scent of damp grass mingled with the cloying sweetness of the wine.

Two girls were over him.

One of them was horned, her dark, glossy horns curving elegantly from her temples as she skimmed her lips over his neck.

The other had a daffodil in her hair, a whisper of a smile playing on her face, kissing over his calf, just right above the tip of his boot.

Locke hands you a sip of liquor, the amber liquid glinting in the low light, the liquid causing you to cough instantly.

Its potent burn spread through your throat.

Cardan's eyes fly open to look at you.

His eyes were barely open, but the look of wet tar made its mark.

It was a look that spoke of secrets and burdens carried in the shadows.

The air thickens with unspoken tension, and the faint scent of liquor and something wild, untamed, seems to emanate from him.

Cardan keeps his eyes on you as one of the girls kisses his mouth and slides her hand under his white shirt.