ripped jeans | hes

thirty four

tacenda (noun) - things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence

"I don't know about that." I caught my bottom lip in my mouth. "We can say a lot of things we don't mean when we're drunk-"

"That's the point."

"How drunk are we trying to get?" I skipped to follow Harry to the kitchen, who was already beginning to open random cabinets to find our alcohol. "Unlike you, I have to get to school in the morning."

"Drunk enough where we tell each other things we would never comfortably tell sober yet, but not so drunk that we're telling absolute rubbish. I think we need some honest time, especially after that." Harry stuck his head into the fridge.

"You can't just barge into my fridge like that, Harry-"

"You know, you should really have some greens in your fridge. Maybe kale, preferably-"

"Kale?" I sat down at the breakfast bar.

"Sorry. I'm just really into health." I could see a preciously subtle pink tint glowing on his tan face. "All the guys make fun of me for it."

I couldn't help but laugh halfheartedly at his cute yet nerdy desire for a healthy fridge. "For now, you can find beer in the bottom shelf of the fridge and liquor in that cabinet."

Harry hastily flung open the alcohol cabinet, pulling out a half empty bottle of Fireball, his artisan hand tightly grasped around the neck.

"So...Fireball or Fireball?"

I drummed my nails rhythmically on the counter, shaking my head. "Nice try. Reminder, I have school tomorrow. And I still think this is a bad idea, especially considering that we just-"

"You booze you lose."

"Huh?"

Harry lifted up his left arm and gestured towards a tattoo permanently inked on the crease of his arm. The words 'YOU BOOZE YOU LOSE' were written uppercase in scratchy letters, the words harshly encasing a drawing of a sideways alcohol bottle.

"What gave you the idea of getting that respectable tattoo?" I asked sarcastically after studying it for a moment.

"You can probably guess. We'll have the whole tattoo conversation another time." Harry rose back to his full height before pushing the bottle of Fireball back into the cabinet. "What do you want? Beer?"

"No, get wine."

"Wine?" He asked in a teasing tone.

"Wine makes me honest."

"I can agree with that statement." Harry laughed with me. "So, wine it is."

"I think there's some wine up top," I pointed with my finger. "I can never reach it."

"Nice." Harry whistled, easily grasping two bottles of wine, one frosty white and one deep red, at the top shelf. "Red or white?"

"Tough choice," I tapped my finger top against my lip, pouting slightly as I thought carefully.

"Mhmm."

"Red." Harry and I both decided at the same time before trickling into mischievously knowing laughter.

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