Who ⚔ Yael & assorted nerds What ⚔ A dungeon run and other things When ⚔ After the party Where ⚔ Errywhere Content Warnings ⚔ Men with their tits out? Alcohol??? No correlation there surprisingly. nsfw i'm sorry mom
Oh yeah? Come to think of it, you've never told me what you do.
[Hector hasn't told Yael much of what he wants to know about him, but that's... well, that's no longer a point he's pushing back on. He's seen Hector's pain with his own eyes. Felt it as if it were is own. That, at least for now, is enough to keep Yael from pushing Hector as hard as he had before.
When Yael turns to face Hector, it's with a glass of something on the rocks. The smell wafting off of it is definitely that of a very potent alcohol, but will Hector drink it without knowing what exactly it is?]
"Good pal," huh. Is that what I should've described you to Kara as?
[ Hector hums at that. Maybe he'll tell him. Maybe he won't. If he tells him, then he can give him the real punch in the face he deserves.
He takes the glass without question, swirling it and giving it a little sniff. Sounds strong enough. He'll take it. ]
I don't know. [ He peers over the rim at Yael, eyes sharp. He's thankful there's a barrier between them, because otherwise he isn't sure how he'd handle this. ] Is that how you honestly think of me?
[A kiss with a fist would suit him just fine. As for Hector's drink, Yael smiles a coy little smile when he sees it pass the sniff test. The occasion calls for something strong, yeah?
He mixes himself a drink as well — also on the rocks, naturally — and takes his seat on a barstool right beside Hector. The slightest movement to the side means their shoulders press together. Oops!]
Mm. You know, I'm not feeling all that honest. Who knows? Maybe I'm nervous. A little drink should do the trick.
[Yeah, right. By the way, that drink he made Hector? It's a lovely mixture of beer, wine, and vodka. Yael takes a sip from his own glass and shudders.]
Hector sputters a bit, concentrating too much on the weird taste of the drink that he doesn't pay too much attention when Yael rounds the bar and settles beside him. He does however, obviously flinch when their shoulders brush as he moves around. ]
What the hell, Yael. [ He turns, angling himself to face Yael, but so that no part of them touch. ] You think this is going to calm you down?
[What? Yael thought it was pretty damn funny. He isn't the slightest bit offended by Hector's efforts to ensure they don't accidentally bump shoulders, minding his own business and nursing his... drink. Jesus fucking Christ. It's worse than shotgunning cough syrup.]
If I were nervous, this drink would be bad enough to take my mind off it.
[So that was a lie. He also lied about minding his personal space, lightly elbowing Hector in the ribs.]
I gave you what you asked for, didn't I? Beer, vodka, and wine... and I bet you'll ask me why.
[That's more like it. The last thing Hector is likely expecting is a dose of cold, hard honesty from Yael, but that's exactly what he gets... right after Yael knocks back what remains of the concoction in his glass. Sickening, truly.]
Let's see... What do I think of you? You embarrass me, for one thing. No one's ogled my body as shamelessly as you. It must say something about you that I don't hate your guts even after all the times you've creeped on me, right?
[Yael sits up on his barstool just far enough to lean over the bar and nab a bottle of whiskey by its neck, filling up his emptied glass.]
You hold yourself together pretty well for a man who's been through hell. Honestly, it pisses me off. You ask me for honesty, but honest is the last thing you'll be.
You're a good man, you dumb bastard. Your demons can't take that away from you.
[Swapping his glass with Hector's, Yael finishes off that nauseating mixture in Hector's stead.]
The hold Hector has on his glass is already pretty weak by the time Yael snatches it from him. His fingers lightly curl around his new glass, staring into the amber of proper whiskey.
He isn't sure if he likes this answer. It twists him up on the inside in ways he hasn't known for years, and it hurts. He feels the heat on his cheeks. He's determined not to let Yael see it. He isn't sure if he'd be able to keep himself together if he looked at him, anyhow. ]
...I could've finished that off myself, you know.
[ And he throws back that whiskey, glass hiding his face, because he can't let Yael see him like this. ]
[Ill to please as always, he'd tease, but now isn't the time. It's a cold day in hell when Yael cuts Hector some slack, and you know what? He's got his sweater on.
He doesn't need to look at Hector directly when he can see the turmoil twisting through him in the periphery of his vision. Yael's consideration stretches as far as letting the man struggle in peace without his eyes pouring all over his prone form, and that's exactly what he is. Weak, but only in this moment. Only where it's safe to be, surely, before a man whose lived experiences echo some of his own.
They're alike, aren't they? In all the ways they can't hide. In all the ways they loathe.
Foregoing glasses entirely, Yael drinks straight from the neck of that whiskey bottle, eyes trained ahead on nothing in particular.]
And let you hurt yourself on purpose? Yeah, right. Like I'd let you now.
[ The whiskey's gone too quickly. Did he drink too fast, or was Yael skimping out on him? It doesn't matter. He needs more. Once he eyes his empty glass, he holds it out tentatively, very mindful not to touch him. Very mindful not to look at him. His eyes settle on the counter. Refill, please. ]
But you know I walked into that one. I kind of deserved to drink it.
[ Plus, it was a drink Yael made for him.
No, fuck. Fuck. He's not thinking that. He's not letting himself think that.
He hates knowing this man has seen into the worst moments of his past, seen all of his ghosts. He hates knowing they're more similar than he initially thought, that they share a camaraderie of war that no one else here could share in. And he hates that he feels this way.
[Yael pulls the bottle from his lips, attempts to give Hector the top up he's looking for, but ah. A single amber droplet spills into the cup. It's hard to tell what the smile sprawling across Yael's lips even means— is he satisfied to have denied Hector his request? In the past, he surely would have been. Is he luxuriating in his vulnerability? It wasn't that long ago when Yael was pushing Hector in the hopes of clawing this rawness out of him.
But neither of those things are true now. Before Hector can deny his offer, Yael makes it all the harder to say no by rising from his stool, a touch unsteady on his feet, and stepping behind the bar. Doing his best impression of a back alley bartender, Yael drops an elbow on the counter, leaning into Hector's space.]
What'll it be, stranger? Don't ask for anything too fancy.
[Let him make you another drink, Hector. A proper one.]
[ The lack of drink, at least, catches Hector's attention. His gaze snaps to Yael, a little glare at first. What the hell, man. That little smile irritates him in a way nothing else does, and he has half a mind to start complaining when Yael gets up and rounds the bar. Ah. He gets it.
Still, not letting the drop go to waste. He downs that, and sets his glass on the counter.
He flinches when he looks up and sees Yael so close. If that hint of red on his cheeks wasn't obvious before, it is now.
Not that he's ever going to let Yael have the upper hand, though. A grin breaks across his face as he leans on the table, intruding into the other man's space in kind. Try me, asshole. ]
Hmm, how about... [ God. He wishes he could kiss him again. But the last thing he wants to do is start drama in this video game. Or break Fai's heart. He's not here to do that. ] ...sex on the beach.
The redness on Hector's cheeks is as glaring as a stoplight, a fact Yael wouldn't mind pointing out as the man leans into his space, but he's the one forced to yield. Sex on the beach. Who wouldn't enjoy that? Just take out the sand and the crabs and the omnipresent stench of seaweed baking in the sun...
With a smile — Yael is a kindly, gracious bartender — he smoothly straightens up and turns to fetch the necessary bottles off the shelves. Do his pecs jiggle when he shakes a tumbler? Time for Hector to find out.]
I'm a bigger fan of death by sex, myself, but I'll let you have it your way... this time.
[With a shake and a stir and a flourish, Yael presents Hector with sex on the beach. Penetration not included.]
Give it a taste. If I fucked it up, I'll make you something else.
[ Hector wouldn't lie and say he wasn't looking at the goods, but... Why is Yael even bothering, really? Once the drink is in progress, Hector turns to stare blankly at the wall down the counter. He's trying to mute the furious swirl of emotion in him, keep his cool.
So he's somewhat more composed when he gets handed his drink, and he flashes Yael a grin in thanks. That flush? Gone.
He hums as he peers down the rim into the drink. ] Yeah, well. Next time can be barkeep's choice.
[ One sip, and it's perfectly fine to him. Sex on the beach isn't his go-to, or a favorite in particular, but just fruity enough to match how gay he feels right now. Ugh. ]
It's fine. Good, actually. [ He glances up at Yael, brow quirked. ] Where'd you learn to mix? Your boyfriend?
[Hector doesn't miss a beat, does he? Your boyfriend, he says, shamelessly stuffing his nose into places it doesn't belong. The allure of teasing the man has yet to wear off, so in lieu of an answer, Yael turns right back around to make a drink of his own. Several minutes of silence elapse before he's returning to plunk back down beside him and savor it nice and slow.]
Mmm, not bad at all. You ask me something?
[Sorry, Hector. He's more concerned for you than he ever wanted to be, but he's still going to give you a hard time whenever the opportunity presents itself.]
Anyway, I learned how to mix while bored out of my mind on disability leave. It wasn't a total waste of time.
[ He earned that nugget of information. The 19 he rolled on Insight has served him well. Fai stood no chance.
But the silence that comes after irritates him, just as much as the little sting in his chest that came when he said it. He hates that he keeps bringing it up, just to hurt himself like this, but it makes him even more irritated that it went unacknowledged.
As much as he doesn't want Yael to get the upper hand on him, he can't help his little flash of temper. When the other man sits beside him, he elbows him. Hopefully hard enough to spill his drink.
...Which he immediately feels bad about, because— ]
Disability leave?
[ He turns to look at him, curiosity and concern all over his face. ]
[Ah. Hector's elbow connects with his side and a good portion of his drink goes sloshing out onto the counter. Nice. Kind and gracious man that he is, Yael doesn't shove Hector's face in the mess he's made and force him to lick up every last drop, but he may need to reconsider that if Hector doesn't start behaving himself.]
Tore my ACL and did some other permanent damage to my leg. I'm effectively useless.
[Congratulations, Hector. You elbowed a man with a fucked up leg. What would your mother say?]
[ It's a good thing he doesn't, because Hector would like that, deep down. Ill man.
Instead, he looks to Yael, apologetic. ]
Shit. Permanent damage? I'm...so sorry. I had no idea.
[ Life in battle would do that to you, he guesses. But if he's only ever known a life in battle, then...
After a pause, Hector leans forward in his chair to grab a napkin from behind the bar. He sets his drink aside and starts cleaning up the spill. Sorry, man. ]
[Yael affects calm better than most, but the way he flicks his straw aside to down the remainder of his drink in one pull speaks for itself. He manages to keep the frustration off his face, but only just.]
Shit happens. The longer you stay enlisted, the higher your chances of suffering a career-ending injury. It's just a fact of military life.
[Hector is kind, mopping up that mess he made. Oh so very kind... but his compassion only frustrates Yael more. Like a lit match on an oil spill, Hector sets him ablaze far too effortlessly.]
[ It's true. Hector's relatively lucky he got out mostly scot-free. Unharmed, relatively no PTSD. He's lucky he's not in jail, even. He counts his current circumstances to be the product of small things that lined up in his favor. It could have easily gone one way or the other.
But that—
Hector's head snaps up to Yael, freezing in his movements, expression unreadable. ]
[At least one of them got away from the military relatively unscathed. Considering Hector isn't the one taking the glass he just emptied and hurling it at the liquor shelf, he's doing pretty damn good for himself, isn't he?
Several of the bottles shatter at once, liquor and broken glass tumbling to the floor, the scent of it heavy in the air.]
Ah, bad rack. That should've been a strike. Second time's the charm, right?
[Yael's hand moves to snatch Hector's glass next.]
[ The sudden movement, the loud crash causes Hector to leap from his seat, knocking back the stool. He stares shocked at the sudden mess behind the bar, and his head whips to Yael, mouth hanging agape. ]
—Yael!
[ What is going on? What brought this on?
He quickly claps a hand over the wrist that reaches for his drink, yanking it away as he removes the drink from the bar with his other hand. He holds it with an outstretched arm, away from Yael. ]
[Yael puts up minimal resistance, his balled up fist tensed like a coiled up spring. In sharp contrast to the tension lacing his muscles is the laugh that leaves him, so carefree as to be concerning.]
What are you getting so upset for? It's a game. All if it's fake. You could light this world on fire and there'd be no consequence, no lasting impact. No proof that you were ever here.
[A single shudder ripples through his tensed muscle.]
So don't waste your pity on me. You could put a bullet in between my eyes and no one who ever gave a damn would know it. Wouldn't care, either. Don't waste your sympathy on a ghost.
[ Hector hates the way that laugh echoes in his ears—it's grating. He hates how Gale Yael sounds like he's given up. He hates the assumption that he'd ever go out of his way to hurt him, and it sparks the fire of his temper. He grips harder at his wrist, the frown on his face deepens. ]
You know. That's not true.
[ He pauses, turns to down the rest of his cocktail—a pity, he would've liked to savor that—then slams the glass down on the bar well away from Yael. ]
It doesn't matter that it's a game, that it's a fake. You're real. You might not be here physically, but I hear your voice. I can touch you. We may as well be in the same room.
[ His voice drops as he speaks, but his frustration does just the opposite. Why? Why think like this? ]
You know Fai would care if something happened to you.
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I just got off work. Had to shower.
[ There's that light joviality in his tone as he slips into the same barstool he sat in when he visited, grinning as he watches Yael get the bottles.
Fai was serving him last time. Aww. They're so cute. ]
Can't be stinky when I hang out with my good bud Yael, can I?
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[Hector hasn't told Yael much of what he wants to know about him, but that's... well, that's no longer a point he's pushing back on. He's seen Hector's pain with his own eyes. Felt it as if it were is own. That, at least for now, is enough to keep Yael from pushing Hector as hard as he had before.
When Yael turns to face Hector, it's with a glass of something on the rocks. The smell wafting off of it is definitely that of a very potent alcohol, but will Hector drink it without knowing what exactly it is?]
"Good pal," huh. Is that what I should've described you to Kara as?
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He takes the glass without question, swirling it and giving it a little sniff. Sounds strong enough. He'll take it. ]
I don't know. [ He peers over the rim at Yael, eyes sharp. He's thankful there's a barrier between them, because otherwise he isn't sure how he'd handle this. ] Is that how you honestly think of me?
[ Because he's pretty sure it isn't.
And he takes a sip. ]
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He mixes himself a drink as well — also on the rocks, naturally — and takes his seat on a barstool right beside Hector. The slightest movement to the side means their shoulders press together. Oops!]
Mm. You know, I'm not feeling all that honest. Who knows? Maybe I'm nervous. A little drink should do the trick.
[Yeah, right. By the way, that drink he made Hector? It's a lovely mixture of beer, wine, and vodka. Yael takes a sip from his own glass and shudders.]
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Hector sputters a bit, concentrating too much on the weird taste of the drink that he doesn't pay too much attention when Yael rounds the bar and settles beside him. He does however, obviously flinch when their shoulders brush as he moves around. ]
What the hell, Yael. [ He turns, angling himself to face Yael, but so that no part of them touch. ] You think this is going to calm you down?
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If I were nervous, this drink would be bad enough to take my mind off it.
[So that was a lie. He also lied about minding his personal space, lightly elbowing Hector in the ribs.]
I gave you what you asked for, didn't I? Beer, vodka, and wine... and I bet you'll ask me why.
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Okay, well it's not usually at the same time, but... Touché, Yael.
[ He raises his glass in a toasting motion and takes another sip. His face crumples appropriately at the mixture. God. ]
So how much of this do I have to drink before you're honest with me?
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Let's see... What do I think of you? You embarrass me, for one thing. No one's ogled my body as shamelessly as you. It must say something about you that I don't hate your guts even after all the times you've creeped on me, right?
[Yael sits up on his barstool just far enough to lean over the bar and nab a bottle of whiskey by its neck, filling up his emptied glass.]
You hold yourself together pretty well for a man who's been through hell. Honestly, it pisses me off. You ask me for honesty, but honest is the last thing you'll be.
You're a good man, you dumb bastard. Your demons can't take that away from you.
[Swapping his glass with Hector's, Yael finishes off that nauseating mixture in Hector's stead.]
Satisfied?
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The hold Hector has on his glass is already pretty weak by the time Yael snatches it from him. His fingers lightly curl around his new glass, staring into the amber of proper whiskey.
He isn't sure if he likes this answer. It twists him up on the inside in ways he hasn't known for years, and it hurts. He feels the heat on his cheeks. He's determined not to let Yael see it. He isn't sure if he'd be able to keep himself together if he looked at him, anyhow. ]
...I could've finished that off myself, you know.
[ And he throws back that whiskey, glass hiding his face, because he can't let Yael see him like this. ]
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He doesn't need to look at Hector directly when he can see the turmoil twisting through him in the periphery of his vision. Yael's consideration stretches as far as letting the man struggle in peace without his eyes pouring all over his prone form, and that's exactly what he is. Weak, but only in this moment. Only where it's safe to be, surely, before a man whose lived experiences echo some of his own.
They're alike, aren't they? In all the ways they can't hide. In all the ways they loathe.
Foregoing glasses entirely, Yael drinks straight from the neck of that whiskey bottle, eyes trained ahead on nothing in particular.]
And let you hurt yourself on purpose? Yeah, right. Like I'd let you now.
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But you know I walked into that one. I kind of deserved to drink it.
[ Plus, it was a drink Yael made for him.
No, fuck. Fuck. He's not thinking that. He's not letting himself think that.
He hates knowing this man has seen into the worst moments of his past, seen all of his ghosts. He hates knowing they're more similar than he initially thought, that they share a camaraderie of war that no one else here could share in. And he hates that he feels this way.
He just wants a refill. ]
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But neither of those things are true now. Before Hector can deny his offer, Yael makes it all the harder to say no by rising from his stool, a touch unsteady on his feet, and stepping behind the bar. Doing his best impression of a back alley bartender, Yael drops an elbow on the counter, leaning into Hector's space.]
What'll it be, stranger? Don't ask for anything too fancy.
[Let him make you another drink, Hector. A proper one.]
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Still, not letting the drop go to waste. He downs that, and sets his glass on the counter.
He flinches when he looks up and sees Yael so close. If that hint of red on his cheeks wasn't obvious before, it is now.
Not that he's ever going to let Yael have the upper hand, though. A grin breaks across his face as he leans on the table, intruding into the other man's space in kind. Try me, asshole. ]
Hmm, how about... [ God. He wishes he could kiss him again. But the last thing he wants to do is start drama in this video game. Or break Fai's heart. He's not here to do that. ] ...sex on the beach.
[ :) ]
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The redness on Hector's cheeks is as glaring as a stoplight, a fact Yael wouldn't mind pointing out as the man leans into his space, but he's the one forced to yield. Sex on the beach. Who wouldn't enjoy that? Just take out the sand and the crabs and the omnipresent stench of seaweed baking in the sun...
With a smile — Yael is a kindly, gracious bartender — he smoothly straightens up and turns to fetch the necessary bottles off the shelves. Do his pecs jiggle when he shakes a tumbler? Time for Hector to find out.]
I'm a bigger fan of death by sex, myself, but I'll let you have it your way... this time.
[With a shake and a stir and a flourish, Yael presents Hector with sex on the beach. Penetration not included.]
Give it a taste. If I fucked it up, I'll make you something else.
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So he's somewhat more composed when he gets handed his drink, and he flashes Yael a grin in thanks. That flush? Gone.
He hums as he peers down the rim into the drink. ] Yeah, well. Next time can be barkeep's choice.
[ One sip, and it's perfectly fine to him. Sex on the beach isn't his go-to, or a favorite in particular, but just fruity enough to match how gay he feels right now. Ugh. ]
It's fine. Good, actually. [ He glances up at Yael, brow quirked. ] Where'd you learn to mix? Your boyfriend?
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Mmm, not bad at all. You ask me something?
[Sorry, Hector. He's more concerned for you than he ever wanted to be, but he's still going to give you a hard time whenever the opportunity presents itself.]
Anyway, I learned how to mix while bored out of my mind on disability leave. It wasn't a total waste of time.
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But the silence that comes after irritates him, just as much as the little sting in his chest that came when he said it. He hates that he keeps bringing it up, just to hurt himself like this, but it makes him even more irritated that it went unacknowledged.
As much as he doesn't want Yael to get the upper hand on him, he can't help his little flash of temper. When the other man sits beside him, he elbows him. Hopefully hard enough to spill his drink.
...Which he immediately feels bad about, because— ]
Disability leave?
[ He turns to look at him, curiosity and concern all over his face. ]
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Tore my ACL and did some other permanent damage to my leg. I'm effectively useless.
[Congratulations, Hector. You elbowed a man with a fucked up leg. What would your mother say?]
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Instead, he looks to Yael, apologetic. ]
Shit. Permanent damage? I'm...so sorry. I had no idea.
[ Life in battle would do that to you, he guesses. But if he's only ever known a life in battle, then...
After a pause, Hector leans forward in his chair to grab a napkin from behind the bar. He sets his drink aside and starts cleaning up the spill. Sorry, man. ]
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Shit happens. The longer you stay enlisted, the higher your chances of suffering a career-ending injury. It's just a fact of military life.
[Hector is kind, mopping up that mess he made. Oh so very kind... but his compassion only frustrates Yael more. Like a lit match on an oil spill, Hector sets him ablaze far too effortlessly.]
You sorry about that mess? Lick it clean.
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But that—
Hector's head snaps up to Yael, freezing in his movements, expression unreadable. ]
—I'm sorry?
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Several of the bottles shatter at once, liquor and broken glass tumbling to the floor, the scent of it heavy in the air.]
Ah, bad rack. That should've been a strike. Second time's the charm, right?
[Yael's hand moves to snatch Hector's glass next.]
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—Yael!
[ What is going on? What brought this on?
He quickly claps a hand over the wrist that reaches for his drink, yanking it away as he removes the drink from the bar with his other hand. He holds it with an outstretched arm, away from Yael. ]
What the hell?! What are you doing?
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What are you getting so upset for? It's a game. All if it's fake. You could light this world on fire and there'd be no consequence, no lasting impact. No proof that you were ever here.
[A single shudder ripples through his tensed muscle.]
So don't waste your pity on me. You could put a bullet in between my eyes and no one who ever gave a damn would know it. Wouldn't care, either. Don't waste your sympathy on a ghost.
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[ Hector hates the way that laugh echoes in his ears—it's grating. He hates how
GaleYael sounds like he's given up. He hates the assumption that he'd ever go out of his way to hurt him, and it sparks the fire of his temper. He grips harder at his wrist, the frown on his face deepens. ]You know. That's not true.
[ He pauses, turns to down the rest of his cocktail—a pity, he would've liked to savor that—then slams the glass down on the bar well away from Yael. ]
It doesn't matter that it's a game, that it's a fake. You're real. You might not be here physically, but I hear your voice. I can touch you. We may as well be in the same room.
[ His voice drops as he speaks, but his frustration does just the opposite. Why? Why think like this? ]
You know Fai would care if something happened to you.
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