Go to the Bar, they said. It will be fun, they said. || dontmess-withdamien
“Ya sayin’ I’m fat?” he said with a chuckle, trying to lighten her load by focusing most of his weight back on his uninjured foot, stepping on the sprained one again and ignoring the shock of pain that went up his leg. “It’s just a li’l scratch on my face. Douche had a pair o’ scissors with ‘im,” he reasoned, walking them further down the sidewalk. “How’s your head? Still hurtin’?” he added and snickered, though joking was probably the last thing he should do at the moment. “I’m startin’ ‘o think ya won’t make it home tonight. Your place is too far from ‘ere.”
{ ♔ } - - - - - “Maybe?” she said, managing a playful smile. “Perhaps I’m just too weak at the moment. And you call that a scratch? It’s scraped and you have, like, a broken ankle.” Kaitlyn pointed out, silently thanking him for lessening the weight he was putting on her yet feeling a little guilty since she only had a headache and he had injuries. “A little bit. Not sober yet though. And you’re right; it’s a four hour drive and I haven’t seen a cab pass us by yet. A walk would not be advisable as I might get into trouble again, I’m not risking it especially at this hour, and my feet would betray me sooner or later."
