Anon X Andrew

"You really should stop smoking, Anon."

>Not this shit again.

>You agreed to this date with one condition.

>That Andrew wouldn't bother you about your 'habits'.

"You agreed not to talk about it." You mutter, sternly, cancer stick clenched between your teeth.

>He stops walking, toes curling in the sand as he stares you down. Less angry. More disappointed.

"And you agreed not to indulge in it."

>He's speaking in that voice again.

>Ever since he did that stupid fucking girls show he's resorted to going into character when he wanted to seem stern.

>Said it helped with his confidence.

"Right well, less you start getting the jitters when you go without talking about it for too long , I think I've still got the upper ground here."

>He gives an exasperated sigh, and you continue your walk.

>This was supposed to be a romantic stroll.

>He's too god damn stubborn.

>He can't change you.

>Your walk has you come across a humble little shack near the beach.

>It's near closing time for the place.

>It's just you and Andrew sitting across from each other. Silently staring down your food

>He snears in something resembling disgust as you shovel down your food.

>You chuckle, mouth full, as he daintily dips his fries, one at a time.

>Your first date was so much different than this.

>You can't remember much of it, but Andrew insists that you were absolutely adorable.

>Must be why he put out.

>You can certainly remember that.

>His toned form writhing under you.

>Him screaming your name throughout the night.

>His big-

"Let's get out of here."

>He stands rather abruptly, bringing you out of your trance.

"Yeah."

>Your walk back to Andrew's motorcycle is silent.

>He lazily tosses you your helmet as he straddles the impressive machine, donning his own.

>You take your spot behind him.

>He won't let you get too personal anymore.

>Not since his coworkers asked about the guy in the bitch seat, holding onto his waist.

>Cunts.

>He takes you to an all too familiar night club.

>This is where the two of you met.

>You were just trying to wet your whistle after a long week's work.

>He and his co-workers were celebrating the success of something or another.

>You weren't all that interested in his personality at the time.

>Tonight's crowd is of a similar makeup. Lot of lonely looking guys, crowding around slutty drunkards.

>You like this place.

>Wallflower mode activated.

>The previously mentioned sluts pull themselves from their respective crowds in order to crowd around Andrew.

>He's all smiles as he leads his new friends to the dance floor.

>He's a great dancer.

>You always end up stumbling over yourself.

>And he laughs at you.

>You used to make him laugh alot.

"What yah havin, big guy?" The lithe young woman behind the bar asks as you approach.

>You're pelted with apples.

"Reds' apple ale." You respond dryly. Inglorious doesn't drink, so you get the shit I saw on TV.

"Sure thing."

>By the time he makes his way to you you're on your third bottle.

>He's draped his jacket across his arm and the t-shirt he wore beneath is soaked in sweat.

>His hairs matted to his forehead.

>He looks pretty cute.

"Hey." You say simply, "Gonna join me?" You ask nodding to the stool next to your own.

>He shakes his head and puts his jacket over your shoulder.

"Hold onto this for me, Anon." And with that he's left again.

>You sigh and drain down the last of your drink.

>You'll get shit faced at this point.

>And he doesn't like to take you home drunk.

>You shake your bottle expectantly, in the bar keep's general direction.

>Hopefully you've got enough for a cab

>Okay.

>Okay Anon.

>You're drunk.

>You're drunk and you're going to make an ass of yourself.

>You catch Andrew on the way out.

>He's surrounded by scantily dressed women and a few frat looking fuckers who'll be preying on the drunker of the bunch later tonight.

>He looks away as you approach.

"Hey."

>He's ignoring you.

"Hey!"

>See if he can ignore you when you're in his face like this.

"Fuck do you think you're doing?!" You shout/slur.

>Your breath causes him to real back in disgust.

>Fucker's totally sober.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir." There's venom in his voice as he shoves you away from him.

"You think you can leave me just like that? With your fucking jacket?" You hold up the offending garmet. The only thing linking him to you.

>The area around you is quieter than it was before you started this.

>The girls who are sober enough to give a fuck look skeptically between you and Andrew.

>You're hurting his reputation again.

>You don't care.

"How'd you get my jacket?" He asks without missing a beat. Stupid fucking actor.

"Whah?"

>He looks furious now.

"You fucking stole it didn't you, ass hole?"

>Wait.

>Wait no this isn't how this goes.

"Andrew what're you-"

"Fuck off of me!"

>He tears his jacket from your grasp and shoves you to the ground.

"Come on, guys. Don't let this dude ruin our night." He commands leading their group out of the night club, a few of the more aware member snickering at you as they file out of the place.

>Oh god you're crying now.

>He just blew you off completely.

>Not only that, he pretended not to know you.

>You scramble to your feat and out the door just in time to see his motorcycle leading a convoy of vehicles towards his house.

>There's a bitch in the bitch seat.

>Holding onto him dearly.

>Wearing your helmet.

>Fuck.