[ it was getting late! that was the only reason shōyō was possibly the first to be preparing to leave the party mansion in gaze so soon. not because it was getting too rowdy— despite the alcohol and spice, the athlete keeps to his straight edge and drinks juice while the others drink tequila, says no to whatever psychedelic powders the cool kids are trying, and instead runs high on his own natural energy (that might possibly be more energetic than the before and after teenagers, put together). he’s set on taking better care of himself after the tense month of march, he doesn’t want to spend another set of weeks trying to fight off the ache in his bones nor does he want to get as absurdly hyper as he did when he fell asleep in ear worm (whatever happened there, because he didn’t exactly know, other than it was bad for him, when he had a pretty straight mindset that it was good at the time! how strange).
he’s only broken his streak after one more game before calling it a night, winning himself a glass of something that sparkles (tequila?) that he finally says okay to as a final parting gift. he almost choked. it tasted horrible. and, that was his first ever drink in his life. at twenty-four? these hooligans would be shaking him like a madlad. way over the age limit and this is what he does with his power! yes. all for monster calves and an obsession with balls.
his throat and chest burn hot even after he’s swallowed alcohol, feeling— well, not fluttery, but he think he’s alright and should be alright as long as he doesn’t have any more and gets to bed soon. he gives his good byes, he congratulates the birthday boy one last time and makes a long way toward the door, during this process looking around him and saying good night to it. it had been a good night.
his heart drops and jumps when he spots something though, someone— shōyō knew right then and there that he wasn’t leaving anymore. at least not yet. the abrupt change of plans comes with a grin that lights up the room, trekking his way to a mess of black hair and a terrible slouch. ]
Lazarus!
[ lazarus may need to hold his drink and the rest of him when hurricane shōyō hits and hits hard— with a merciless embrace that packs the punch expected. at least this way, he wouldn’t leave. he wouldn’t disappear on him either, tight against his chest and squeezing the air right out of his lungs. ]
b!! 🥳
he’s only broken his streak after one more game before calling it a night, winning himself a glass of something that sparkles (tequila?) that he finally says okay to as a final parting gift. he almost choked. it tasted horrible. and, that was his first ever drink in his life. at twenty-four? these hooligans would be shaking him like a madlad. way over the age limit and this is what he does with his power! yes. all for monster calves and an obsession with balls.
his throat and chest burn hot even after he’s swallowed alcohol, feeling— well, not fluttery, but he think he’s alright and should be alright as long as he doesn’t have any more and gets to bed soon. he gives his good byes, he congratulates the birthday boy one last time and makes a long way toward the door, during this process looking around him and saying good night to it. it had been a good night.
his heart drops and jumps when he spots something though, someone— shōyō knew right then and there that he wasn’t leaving anymore. at least not yet. the abrupt change of plans comes with a grin that lights up the room, trekking his way to a mess of black hair and a terrible slouch. ]
Lazarus!
[ lazarus may need to hold his drink and the rest of him when hurricane shōyō hits and hits hard— with a merciless embrace that packs the punch expected. at least this way, he wouldn’t leave. he wouldn’t disappear on him either, tight against his chest and squeezing the air right out of his lungs. ]