Nezumi had a few drinks.
He probably shouldn't have, but he did anyway.
Drinking loosens his lips more than he likes. It weakens his reflexes, dulls his edges, allows a curious sort of lenience to settle into his bones—a lenience he can not afford to have under any circumstance—
Except—except maybe this one. Because after three cities and too many sleepless nights Nezumi's careful web of cautionary tactics is just this side of nonessential, and the haze of alcohol is pretty damn appealing.
He takes his first-ever shot and tries not to think of Rikiga.
It leaves him sputtering, holding his throat in surprise at the burning sensation. The man across from him at the bar laughs, and Nezumi can't have that so he orders another and downs it smoothly, only cringing mentally. The man claps. Nezumi smiles.
"First time?" the stranger asks, leaning on the old wood of the bar.
Nezumi only shrugs, waiting for the shots to kick in.
A moment passes before the bartender sets another shot in front of him alongside some sort of bubbling brown substance Nezumi's never seen before.
"I'm done," Nezumi says. "I didn't pay for this."
"It's already paid for," the bartender replies.
Nezumi feels eyes on him. The same man from before points enthusiastically at the brown liquid.
"It's the city's specialty. You're a traveller, right? I can tell these things," the man grins. "The soda's to chase it. Lessens the burn. I thought you'd want it, since you're clearly new to this."
Nezumi scowls, pushing it aside. "No thanks."
"Suit yourself."
Yet... Nezumi's mind feels as sharp as ever, a strange sort of disappointment surges in his gut as his gaze keeps shifting to the small, pretty shot glass. There's no way he could have slipped anything in it. Nezumi witnessed the liquid move from bottle to cup. It's just a free drink. It begs release.
He tells himself he's simply sampling the wares of the city. It's no different than being offered shellfish when travelling in the shattered remnants of a coastal town.
Of course, Nezumi at the time had refused the shellfish. But who's keeping track?
He hurriedly takes the shot and writes it off as a difference in personal preference.
It's good. Less painful, as chaser the man handed him really did douse the burn. Nezumi feels himself nod approvingly. He allows the man to buy him a couple more of whatever these are until his head feels lighter and he's not thinking so much about what he prefers.
He's not drunk. Nezumi's not stupid enough to get drunk in a city like this—but he is pleasantly buzzed, and when the man across from him offers him a place to stay for the night, it doesn't read as potentially problematic and Nezumi accepts.
The second Nezumi walks through the door to the man's home, fingers are in his hair and a mouth is on his, and somehow that doesn't read too poorly either. Nezumi hears himself moan, far away.
Why the fuck not, Nezumi thinks, mindlessly kissing the stranger back. It's not as though I haven't done this before.
Of course, that was a different time and in different, less-pleasant circumstances and Nezumi regretted it a hell of a lot more than he lets on but—
But the man has nice eyes. Brown. Almost purple.
And Nezumi thinks he can afford to tell himself a few more lies tonight.