Closed Drowning

[Philip Maxwell]

Philip just found out that Noelle was in New Zealand. He had been there for more than a week already. Ava just gave birth. To twins. He did not know. That she had babies nor she was married. It seemed like he had definitely lost his chances. Lost her and it was entirely his fault. He had let her slip right through his fingers. Hence, his feet dragged him all the way to the Dirty Martini, and the next thing he knew, he was downing glass after glass of every single thing they have on their gin and tonic section.

 

[Deacon DeMarco]

Deacon liked to travel around. He was never exactly sure where he wanted. Well, that wasn't totally true. He knew he was going to open his own salon. Eventually. Somewhere. For now though, tonight, he was stopping at a bar. He pulled his motorcycle up outside, leaving his helmet there before sauntering inside. He looked around, and was immediately drawn to the counter and the man he spotted there. He walked over, sliding into the seat next to him. "Hey, handsome, let's slow down," Deacon gave him his most charming grin, placing his hand gently over the glass in an effort to keep the man from raising it.

 

[Philip Maxwell]

Philip did not know how much he had already drunk but he knew it was more than he could count in his fingers. He was already buzzed from it and yet, he could not bring himself to a stop. Until a hand covered his glance confusing him before glancing to his left. "Slow down? What the hell does that mean?", he slurred, yanking his glass away from him and gulping it down.

 

[Deacon DeMarco]

Deacon sighed softly as the man slammed another shot. He sent the bartender away with a look. He turned to look at the man, trying to reach out and turn the mans face to look at him. "Hey, handsome. Why don't you pay attention to me instead? I can be a better distraction than the liquor anyway," Deacon tried to give the man his most charming smile.

 

[Philip Maxwell]

With a roll of his eyes, he glanced at his left. A man he did not know had just shooed the bartender away. He tapped his glass. "Where's my drink?!", he demanded before turning to face the stranger. "How can you be a better distraction then?", he snapped. "You're not Ava. She's not here. She's not coming back!", he raised his voice on the last sentence. He was a mess, he knew that. And there was no going back from that.

 

[Deacon DeMarco]

Deacon raised a brow. The man seemed upset, unusually so. Acting on impulse, Deacon pulled the man into a hug, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. "It's okay," he murmured gently, trying to sound soothing. "I'm right here. I've got you," He murmured. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say, but it was what he had always wished he could hear when he was upset like this. "You can let go," He added gently.

 

[Philip Maxwell]

Philip turned his back to the man to ask for more alcohol. The next thing he knew, he was pulled back and into a hug by the unknown man. It was soothing, almost calmed him but he was just too upset to notice everything else. He pushed him back, ignoring the tear-streaked face that he was sporting. "What the heck, man?!", he exploded and in his hazy state of mind, pulled back his arm and just his fist landed squarely on the man's face. He was already drunk, too drunk that after he punched the man, he felt the room spin and he just dropped to the floor and passed out.

 

[Deacon DeMarco]

Deacon wasn't sure what he had expected, but getting punched in the face wasn't that far off. He tried to catch the guy as he hit the floor, cussing as he missed. He sighed and turned to the bartender, paying off the guys tab and asking about nearby hotels. The bartender shrugged and gave him the info- for a bit extra, of course. Deacon struggled a bit but managed to haul the guy up, and after a bit of work got him into a bed in a hotel down the street.

Deacon paid extra for the fanciest suite they had, one that had a bedroom with doors and a living area. He took off the guys shoes but otherwise just laid him into bed. Leaving a glass of water and some aspirin by the bed, Deacon moved to the living area. He conjured up the book he'd been reading and settled in on the couch, prepared to wait out the night until the man woke up. Deacon wasn't about to leave someone who was obviously hurting to just drown in his sorrows.

 

[Philip Maxwell]

Throbbing pain. That's what pulled Philip from his sleeping state. He could feel bedsheets under him and a shift of his body told him that he was in bed. Yet, he could not remember going home. He reached a hand to rub his face when he felt another throbbing pain on his knuckles. He squinted his eyes and realized the ceiling was unfamiliar. He groaned, struggling to open his eyes, a bit surprised at the unfamiliarity of the place. Where am I? Another flex of his fist and he recalled flashes. Damn, he should apologize to that man.

 

[Deacon DeMarco]

Deacon had been pleased to find that there was a kitchen in the room he'd booked, albeit a small one. He'd popped out for a minute to the store, and had set about making breakfast. He knew from experience a veggie omelet tended to help straighten him out. He hummed softly as he cooked, not noticing the other man had awoken.

 

[Philip Maxwell]

Philip cleared his throat, feeling the dryness from all the liquor he had drunk. God, how much alcohol did he consume? He groaned as he finally managed to sit up but ended up leaning against the headboard. He was still hungover from last night that the noise from the kitchen barely registered in his consciousness.

 

[Deacon DeMarco]

Deacon finished cooking, and put the plate onto a breakfast tray. He had a hangover potion on hand, and set it on the tray with a glass of ice water. Satisfied, he walked back to the bedroom. He knocked softly on the door. "Hey, you awake in there?" He asked gently. "I made you some food, it should help with that killer hangover you've no doubt got." He waited for permission to enter.

 

[Philip Maxwell]

Philip was still rubbing his temple trying to ease the dull throb of his head, he heard a knock making him grunt in response, his throat still dry. He squinted his eyes from the movement as well as the lights. The voice sounded familiar but from a distant memory. He cleared his throat, "Y-yeah.", he gruffed, loud enough he hoped.

 

[Deacon DeMarco]

Deacon smiled softly as the man responded, opening the door and walking in. "Hey, good morning," He greeted. "I brought you food," He explained, holding up the tray and walking closer. "Where would you like me to set it?" He asked, keeping back just a bit. His face was still sore from where he'd been decked, after all.