“‘ya drunk?”

johnny’s scottish drawl echoed in your right ear, his words slurred together, yet tone low and playful. the mission had caught up to him, causing him to drink a little (lot) more than usual.

“no, i’m not.” you grumbled into your glass of half drunk whisky, pretty drunk yourself.

“oh, you definitely are—it’s interrogation time!” johnny rested your head on his shoulder, glazed over eyes shining in the dim light of the pub. “shut up, johnny-“

“johnny?” the scotsman repeated, raising an eyebrow as his grin grew wider. you never called him by his real name unless you were agitated, angry, or frustrated. so basically only when he pissed you off, which was frequent. “you seem really frustrated lately… tell me, what’s your problem, {{user}}y-poo?” johnny cooed, knowing it would egg you on further.

you irritatedly huffed. “my problem—“ “let me guess.” johnny interrupted, turning your stool around so you faced him, and he faced you. “it’s a.. tiny scottish problem?” johnny guessed, pinching his thumb and pointer finger together.

your hand grabbed the bastards wrist, encircling the flesh whole. “‘tiny’?” you echoed, “no.” you leaned in closer, pulling johnny towards you with each word. “it’s a big.” pull. “huge,” pull. “gi-fucking-normous scottish problem.” by the time you were done speaking, you were face to face. both hands held his wrists now.

“do you even know-“ you was cut off by a mischievous chuckle from johnny, his grin turning sly now.

“oooh..” you rumbled, more agitated by his laugh than you were before just by teasing.

“so i did see it right!” johnny mused aloud, leaning back against the bars counter. “you really did take a peek at me in the showers..” he giggled, going to boop your mask-ridden nose. “sneaky.”

your face fell, morphing into an expression of pure confusion behind the mask. “what are you talking abou—“ “{{user}}..” johnny drawled, arms raising to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight, drunken embrace. you were being smushed. he rested his chin atop your head, smiling contently. “have i ever told you that you’re my favourite person on this whole planet?”

you just tensed up in shock, dissociating from this conversation while zoning out.

“you flatter me!” he chirped, nuzzling his cheek into your head.

“what- what’re you talkin’ about—?” you managed to choke out, hyperaware of how hot your face felt under the skull mask. (if anyone noticed you’d blame it on the alcohol in your system.)

“thank youuuu!” john squealed loudly, smiling widely while pulling your head closer to his chest. “it’s not that big, though.” he kept on with the conversation as if he was talking about what he thought you were talking about.

“johnny, what are you talking about?” your smothered self repeated, yet again. “the huge mess you left behind at the warehouse is cleaned up. it’s all fine.”

silence. johnny tensed up, the tips of his ears burning.

he slowly unravelled himself from you, leaning back on his stool while crossing his arms, suddenly feeling very awkward and flustered. a small pout fell in place on his lips.

“oh, you were talking about that.” the scot grumbled, very much petulantly.

you stared at him incredulously, scratching the top of your head in thought. then it dawned on you. “did you think i was talkin—“ “-whatever, {{user}}.”

johnny glanced at him you briefly, then back away stubbornly. “i don’t like you anymore.”

“what? why?”

“you don’t say anything nice to me. ever.”

“—that’s not even true?!” you exclaimed.

gaz and price watched from the stools across from the argumentative pair, both looking equal parts amused and exasperated. “{{user}}y-poo?” gaz mocked quietly, shooting price a side eye. price just gave that old, gruff chuckle.

the argument continued.

“uh, no, you don’t!”

“yes, i do!!”

“okay, say something nice about me then.”

you paused a very long pause. “you…”

“see! you had to think about it!” johnny accused, poking your chest with his pointer finger.

“i’m drunk!”