4~

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Just a fair warning that there might be some dub-con elements in this and the oncoming chapter, due to both parties being drunk – one more so than the other. I personally don't see it as dub-con but I know that people have different views on where that limit lies. Anyhow, you've been notified! ^_^

In which Mark kind of decides to take the fate into his own hands.
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Mark is already several shots in when a tanned hand catches his wrist, stopping him as he tries to down another glass. The cool alcohol barely touches his lips before it's ripped away, splashing across the sleeve of his arm. Mark blinks and stares uncomprehendingly for a couple of seconds as the light-colored fabric goes faintly see-through where it gets wet, sticking unpleasantly to his overheated skin. He frowns however when his hazy mind finally catches up and rips his arm out of the unwelcome grasp, before rigidly craning his neck to glare at the person that has sided up next to him at the bar, daring to disturb his pathetic pity-party.

It's Vee. Of course it's Vee, Mark thinks with an obnoxious eye-roll. The news surely travel fast. Is he here to rub more salt into his wounds and remind Mark about the last, hellish hour of his life?

"Tch," Mark huffs in irritation and looks away to the side as he grabs another shot already waiting for him on the counter, making a new attempt to drown his sanity at the bottom of yet another glass.

Vee doesn't stop him this time though and Mark knocks back the shot in one go, slamming the stocky glass hard onto the polished surface as he grimaces at the sharp taste that claws punishingly at his raw, scratched up throat. Some of the alcohol spills past his puffy lips, tickling down his chin and grimacing, Mark wipes brashly at his mouth with the back of his hand. The chunky edge of his wristwatch clanks against his teeth, hitting painfully against his lower lip. He hopes it'll bleed because physical wounds are so much easier to handle than emotional ones.

Mark signals with an unsteady wave of his hand for the bartender to get him another shot of the same drink. The guy behind the counter fires off a sharp smile and nods his head while curling his long fingers into an okay-sign, swiftly turning around to pull a bottle from the glitzy, mirrored shelves that are backlit with colorful LED-lights.

"Don't you think that's enough?" Vee asks surprisingly reproachfully considering the amount of hard liquor Mark has seen him practically inhale earlier during their drinking games with the swimming team. He's definitely not the one to be lecturing about this right now.

Mark breathes through his mouth in frustration and then readjusts his jaw, feeling something snap right below his ear at the brash movement. Only then does he finally turn to face Vee's somewhat fuzzy shape that looms persistently at his side, casting a flimsy shadow across his face.

Mark raises his eyebrows challengingly as he glares up at Vee.

"Why are you here, Phi? Is this some sort of dare?" He asks in lieu of a reply, trying not to slur but it's kind of hard to control his loose jaw at this rate when he speaks. It wouldn't be the first time that guys hit on him as a dare just to see how far they could go. And as such, Vee's sudden interest is hard to categorize as anything else than that. "Can't you see that I'm busy? Leave me alone, I'm not in the mood for any of your silly games." He wiggles a hand into the air dismissively, shooing the senior away.

Vee stares pensively at him for a couple of strained seconds, letting the bartender's bustling in the background fill the strangled silence between them with clanking noises as he mixes drinks for the other guests. Mark's shoulders are hunched up tensely under his shirt and his neck is a crooked line where he half-sits, half-lays atop the polished, wooden counter in one of the high chairs at the swanky bar. It's probably the only area of the pub that isn't as run down as the rest of the old establishment.

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