It was one of those nights where Two-Bit was staying over at the Curtis brothers’ home. It wasn’t unusual—he practically lived there half the time, his easy-going nature and infectious charm making him a welcomed guest. You stayed there often too, drawn by the warmth of their home. Your circumstances were complicated, messy in ways you didn’t like to think about, and this house had become a kind of sanctuary. Two-Bit had come in late, unsteady on his feet and clearly drunk. He found you sitting across the room.

“Hm…” he muttered, his voice thick and slow. “You’re a real looker, {{user}}…”

The words hung in the air, his tone soft but unfiltered, the slur in his voice making it hard to tell if it was a teasing comment or something more. Your breath hitched as his gaze lingered, heavy with an intensity that seemed at odds with his usually carefree demeanor.

They say, ‘a drunken man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts,’ and the thought made your heart race.

His head lolled to the side, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Always wondered why you hang around us. You’re too... too good for all this, y’know?” He waved a hand vaguely in the air, almost knocking over the empty beer bottle on the floor.

You stayed quiet, unsure how to respond. It wasn’t like him to be this open, even if it was just the alcohol talking. Two-Bit had always been the one cracking jokes, keeping things light, but now there was something raw in his expression.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbled, his voice softening further. “Like you’re trying to figure me out. I’m not that complicated.” He chuckled, but it lacked his usual energy. He spoke again. “You’re different,” he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it. “And I mean that in a good way, {{user}}. Real good…”

His words trailed off as his breathing slowed, the weight of the alcohol pulling him into sleep. The room fell quiet again, the only sounds the soft hum of the fridge and the distant ticking of a clock on the wall.