"You sure like to write characters getting drunk," someone says, and I just kind of shrug.
If Zero had really been upset, he would have gotten up and left. Clearly, his scowl was a front. "Harlock," he said, his tone flat and cold as a frozen pond. "You really kidnapped me… just to bring me to a wine tasting."
"I didn't kidnap you," I said, snagging one of the bottles from the rack to pour him a shot in his glass. "Anyway, try this. Hints of…" I scanned the label. "Blackberry, high tannin, something."
He glared at the bruise-colored drink, his nose wrinkling. "Do you even know anything about wine? And don't change the subject! You blindfolded me!"
I waved him off as I poured myself a drink as well. "Well, I did invite you, but you refused my invitation."
"You mean that bar napkin you scribbled on?"
"It served its purpose. Now try this wine."
He heaved a sigh but relented, taking a sip from the glass. His face scrunched before he spat the drink back in the glass. "Awful," he decided, "like the rest of them."
He had no sense of taste – probably ruined it with all that fiery bourbon, but I still couldn't believe he didn't like wine. In fact, I refused to believe it. There were enough varieties that he had to like one, and I had enough of a collection to test that theory.
"Don't waste it," I said before knocking back my own sample. I liked this one. It was kind of fruity. I usually didn't care enough to focus that much on taste, but if I was going to get drunk, I was going to get drunk off something refined that didn't burn my throat.
Zero said he liked the taste of bourbon, but I wasn't stupid. He drank it way too fast to taste anything.
"Aren't you supposed to spit the wine out at tastings?" he asked.
"I don't know. I've never been to one. But if you don't finish that off, I have to get you a new glass, and then I'll have to wash so many glasses."
He made a sound that suggested he didn't feel any sympathy but took the wine like a shot, sticking his tongue out after. "You might as well give up on this, Harlock. You're just going to waste your wine regardless."
"I'll find one you like if it kills me."
His brows shot up. "I could arrange that."
Ignoring him, I nabbed one of the rare white wines from my cabinet. "This one is, uh, floral and dry."
He dropped his chin into his palm. "Astounding," he said, drier than the wine could ever be. "You should be a salesman. How could anyone resist such a poetic description?"
"I know. I'm a regular Shakespeare."
He nodded. "Creating all sorts of tragedies in your wake."
"Comedies too."
"Oh, absolutely. How could I forget?"
He hated the white one too and the sparkling one after it. By the fourth test, we'd developed a rating system.
"Three," he decided.
"Out of ten? That's not bad."
"Out of thirty at least, maybe a hundred."
"I feel like you're exaggerating."
He particularly hated the sweet ones. One received a rating of zero, another negative two when he realized he'd already given one the lowest possible score. The highest award went to one of the savory reds flavored with tobacco. "Ten," he decided. "Now can we be done?" Unfortunately for him, I had quite a collection, and we were far from done.
By the end of it, we were both sick of wine and maybe a little drunk. We wound up in the galley, sitting on the cool floor and eating slices of bread straight from the bag. "I can't taste anything," he said around a mouthful.
"Maybe we should eat some cheese," I said. "You're supposed to eat cheese with wine, right?"
"Hm, well, I do like cheese." He squinted down at the bread in his hands until I could almost see the light flick on over his head. "We could make cheese sandwiches."
"Shit, that sounds fantastic," I muttered, knocking my head against his shoulder. "I'm starving. I never want to see another glass of wine for like at least the next week."
He let his temple drop to rest against the top of my head. "I could go for some bourbon."
I snorted. After all that, he hadn't budged an inch. "Honestly," I grumbled, "I could go for some too."
Bless their hearts.