nothing left to lose. [m]

[ANTHONY REYNOLDS GARRISON]

He wears the bitterness like a symbol on his skin, like a tattoo permanently inked in the thrones of his blood, the inadequacy is there for everyone to see and every single second he is in here—he feels the need to drown himself in his failures even more. The dimming light in the pub is scorching holes through his baleful eyes, yet—even that doesn’t get him to move. He is a sloppy mess against the stool, his head barely raised, his nimble eyes screwed shut as he drowned drink after drink—letting the vile tasting liquid burn through esophagus, without a care for nothing in the world. Anthony was a dismal freak—a man who screwed up in the walls of nature that there was barely a thing for him to turn back to—he was alone in the world—as if he hadn’t had all the fucking burden in his shoulders and more, he was now falling into a larger pit—something so languidly disgusting and horrifying that he wouldn’t blame anyone for looking down on him anymore. By now, he deserved it, he had earned the right of being a freak—not only was he a squib, he was nothing more than a fag as well.

The too thin overtly shifting eyes of the bartender caught Anthony’s and all he could do was incline his head to the side—and tilt it back a tiny bit, indicating that he wanted another fill. People were starting to notice how—how easily this chap was drowning his alcohol, but no one really gave a rat’s arse about him. No one really cared these days— the corruption that gripped the wizarding world now was expandable now. Each and every day more people were shifting themselves into the pureblood supremacy and as each day passed, Anthony was cast down further and further beneath the lines of the pureblood monarchy. It was getting late now—perhaps a quarter to midnight perhaps and though it wasn’t as nearly late as it could have been; no one would put it past him to stay out all night drinking—it wasn’t the first time he did it and surely it wouldn’t be the last. If he was lucky—maybe he’ll get dragged back home—maybe that blasted wanker-of-a-best-friend would come get him.

Maybe a small part of him wanted that—just to see the look of over-heated expression on his face—to see the mingled look of exasperation and pity scorch throughout the ridged muscles overlaying of that face he had grown to dream about. Another sip—just thinking about him now was nothing short of a plague—Anthony wanted to just hurl himself at Nikos sometimes—but he restrained himself; somehow—he managed to fight his demons and pull himself back from completely obliterating the last scorching bit of friendship they had left. When it had some to this sick web of lust and fixation, Anthony didn’t know—but the any time he saw Nikos with her, it blazed a wildfire of turmoil through the depths of his heart.

Those muscular hands should have been on him—those lips should have been claimed by him, even the tranquil gaze of his fluorescent eyes should have been his. Nikos was supposed to fall in love with him—but fuck—fuck that fucker for falling for her—falling for the vast web of lies that she continuously spawned to keep him right where she wanted. Anthony finished his next round—his head pounding near the brink of insanity—his eyes were slowly jutting shut and he knew, sooner or later he was going to pass out on the dwellings of the Hog’s Head and maybe if he was lucky enough, Nikos would come get him like he always did. Cursing, spitting and promising to hex Anthony to oblivion, maybe the problem was that his best friend never did hex him in the end. Anthony never knew if he was grateful or not.

[NIKOS LANDON SULLIVAN]

Practice had tainted a foul odor about his skin, as Nikos walked home, a black shirt plastered against his chest muscles. Every inch of his body ached fervently, all he wanted to do was go home and pass out, not think about the events that had unfolded today. Something inside of him ticked off, as he memory rewound and he thought about Fiske, pure anger boiled deep within him. Gritting his teeth, he walked faster into an almost light jog, trying to leave the past behind him yet it wasn’t going anywhere. She has crossed the line, when she stated the simple fact he gave too much time to Quidditch and his best friend, Anthony. Those were two things that were defiantly important in his life, he couldn’t survive without them in his life. He knew deep down that his best friend was going through a lot of issues so why not be his support system when everyone else just gave him looks of judgment and everything else. Feeling a light misting rain cast upon his face as he broke into a light jog, wondering if his best friend would be home when he got there or if would have to pull him out of another pub and drag his drunk ass home once again. Rage boiled lightly, as he just let all the thoughts of the day roam into the night air, glancing down at the ticking time bomb of a watch, he noticed the time was inching closer to midnight. Fuck what had happened, he didn’t mean to be out this late—something him inside of him needed to be released, pushing himself deeper into a ran.

Rain came down harder as he forced himself through the puddles lining the streets, as passing head lights casted a glow across his figure while his thigh muscles grew tense. At this point he had been running for at least an hour or more, before he arrived at his house, a yearning sensation to take a hot shower and escape everything but when his blue eyes flew across the empty looking house—the line in between his brow furrowed deeply. Anthony wasn’t home again, there was no lights casting a shadow upon their lawn, no signs of anything inside like a luke warm light casting a light from a television screen. Grunting lowly, Nikos just glared at the house knowing full well where his best friend was, especially at this time of night. Muttering a few curse words underneath his breath, Nikos just turned around, wondering what the quickest way was to get to Hogsmeade. Feeling the rain trickle down his face, he just wanted to get out of the rain and into some dry establishment. Save his best friend once again—a low growl left his lips as he closed his eyes and thought of the alleyway outside of the pub. Within seconds his frame disappeared from outside of their house and appeared next to the pub. Thankfully no one was around when this event occurred.

Not really caring how he looked, Nikos headed towards the front of the bar and once he came across the door, he slammed it open. A scowl was lined across his face, as he scanned the bar for Anthony—as the smoke filled interior filled up his senses. Finally within milliseconds his eyes came across the familiar body of his best friend who was slacked against the bar, as another glass of alcohol touched his lips—at this point he looked way past drunk. Fucking idiot did not know how to stop when he needed too. Storming his way across from his current location near the front door and headed towards Anthony, anger filled every inch of his body. He probably smelled like sweat as his soaked shirt was plastered against his chest from the rain and sweat combination. Finally reaching the stool where his best friend sat, he grabbed the drink from his hand and slammed it against the counter. Snarling at the bartender, “Can’t you fucking see, this guy has more than his fair share of fucking drinks? Or are you just that fucking clueless.” Returning his attention back to Anthony, he placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder and squeezed. “What the fuck has gotten into you?” the words came bellowing out in anger but was just low enough for his friend to hear, he wasn’t here to cause a scene, just here to swoop him out of the bar and head home. His body craved a hot shower and a warm bed—not to deal with the pity bullshit or his girlfriend at this moment.

[ANTHONY REYNOLDS GARRISON]

He could faintly feel the buzzing in the back of his head—the valiant shifting of the engorged blood pounding mercilessly against the weight of his skull as he tried drowned down yet another shot. Anthony had never gone this far—but something about tonight pushed him that much further to the edge. Even with the vast array of drinks already simmering inside his stomach—he still felt that ache on his chest—the ache that confirmed why he was drinking in the first place. No matter how hard he tried to get away from him—images of him kept flashing back. What the fuck was this? Anthony must have drowned over ten shots of fire-whiskey, on an empty stomach no less, but still—that ache is there. The picture of his best mate was embedded to the veins of his heart and no matter how hard Anthony tried ripping that sole picture out—it haunted him. It was becoming too much of a bother now and frankly, Anthony was tired of this crap—maybe it was time that he finally moved out. The two of them living together wasn’t at all helping his growing feelings for his bestfriend. Fuck, it wasn’t as if he was a faggot or anything like that—he had never as much looked at another bloke—just the thought of it alone was disgusting. Anthony had been a hard pressed womanizer his entire life and now, all of the sudden, these feelings—these spasms of jealously—this need to bend Nikos over and fuck the living shit out of him was pounding so deeply inside his skull—Anthony could taste it in his mouth.

Anthony slopped nosily against the long band of the table—his vision blurring and unfurling in front of him, he could barely make out the frame of the bartender from a mile away—and the pounding in his head continuously unraveled his vision from correcting themselves. The bar around him seemed to be spinning and really—at the moment he couldn’t even stand up properly anymore—Cyrus was much too stoned to properly comprehend anything, much less make a move to another drink. Only a few coherent thoughts were visible to him, that was his own name, his surname and the sole picture of Nikos. The fucker never left—the fucker was always present so daftly in his heart. He wondered just how much alcohol he would have to consume before the feelings finally went away, but Anthony had a feeling that his emotions for Nikos were there to stay. Nikos was probably the only person that Anthony had ever had feelings for. All the countless girls that he had fucked left and right meant nothing to him, in fact, he was sure that some of them he bedded only to feel a warm body curling against him, none of it meant anything to him. Yet, one look at Nikos and Anthony feels every single fucking feeling he has hit him like a tumult of ever-crushing waves. There just had to be something about his friend that drove him insane—but really, Anthony could never skim it down to just one thing. There were too many things that made him want to press up his body against him and kiss him until his lungs explode from negligence.

Sometimes, it was hard to be in the same room with him—his presence was much too intoxicating and every single second Anthony was in his presence, he found it hard to breathe. Nikos would be reading and the only thought that would process through his mind was the way his eyes moved with each word they took in—or the sweet patch of skin that laid itself bare every single time that he moved. Nikos could be doing something as simple as eating—and all Anthony could see were those plump lips wrapped tightly around his cock—those fierce blue eyes digging into his down as he gently glided himself in and out of his mouth. Anthony couldn’t be in the same proximity of Nikos anymore—not unless he was too fucking sloshed to come up with a mental fantasy—and as each day passed by it was getting harder and harder to not think about his best friend. Feeling the hazy drowsiness dwell up within the corner of his eyes, Anthony slid back on the stool—burying his head against the flat board of the table—smelling the aftermath of old alcohol against the frame of the old wood. It was disgusting—but at the moment, he was a bit too fucking sloshed to think about anything else—he just wanted to sleep—his arms wound tightly around the frame of his bestfriend, his face buried in the crook of his neck as he breathed in that sweet scent that made up Nikos.

It was sometime before he woke—or maybe he had always been awake—Anthony was far too stoned to know tell the difference between awake and sleeping beyond his wits. All he knew was that he heard a gruff voice—a voice that seemed vaguely familiar—and the warm smell of sweat and grime attached to another scent that he knew all too well. Before his mind had the chance to figure out who it was that was suddenly holding him up—Anthony’s heart rate sped up—he could literally feel the waves of his blood passing through each artery--- rushing for something, someone—only Anthony had no clue what that someone was. Blindly, he opened his eyes, taking in nothing but bleak darkness everywhere. Hell, he was practically numb from his head to toes—but still, the feeling of the body next to him, was—stirring something inside of him. Anthony leaned up against his—moving his hand blindly against the other body—feeling an array of smooth hard lean muscles press against the touch of his palm. Anthony leaned further into the figure, his nose nuzzling the frame’s neck—feeling that wonderful scent pass through his nostrils and right to his cock. Anthony was in trouble and this stranger was probably better off away from him, he didn’t want to do something he would regret later.

[NIKOS LANDON SULLIVAN]

Bleakness filled the bar, as Nikos stood next to his best friend who was beyond drunk at this point for he didn’t even register the simple fact he was standing there saving his ass once again. Glancing up at the bartender, he asked a simple question. “How much does he owe you guys tonight?” His tone was hovering between irritated and just outright pissed off. Wondering what ticked off, Anthony this time around, for surely it has to be something, there always was. Even if he never spoke of it, Nikos just sensed it. Grabbing his friend around the waist, and ensuring the other arm was draped around his neck for more stability. Pulling out some gallions from his pocket, Nikos just tossed it on the countertop and adjusted his frame once more to accommodate for Anthony.

The putrid smell of alcohol came rolling off of the body next to him. Really Nikos didn’t understand the reasoning of being wasted off your ass to the point where you needed someone else to drag you out of the pub you were at and drag you home. Of course, he didn’t mind throwing back a beer or two with Anthony whenever they had their guys’ nights but really getting drunk was out of the question for him. Well at least with the rate his best friend had been going, it was out of the question for it would interfere with his performance on the field. Besides Fiske would be more then pissed off at him, gritting his teeth at the thought of his girlfriend. Yes they had been serious together for years but something felt off about the whole situation. “Come on big guy, let’s get you home and sobered up.”

Pulling their two bodies through the pub, as he pushed his way through the crowd of people, at this point he was throwing elbows into people who were not budging to get out of his way. Off in the corner was a couple almost having sex right there in public view, as something stirred deep inside of him. Defiantly had been way to long since he had any sort of sex, really even a kiss from Fiske was rare now a days. Growling lowly, as he felt Anthony place his head into the crook of his neck and take a deep whiff, which just managed to send a chill running down his spine.

Closing his eyes for a brief second, Nikos continued moving forward; finally they came to the entrance of the bar. Leaning his shoulder into the door, he pushed it open and dragged his best friend drunk ass along with him. His plan was to get him to the alley way and head home just to get Anthony into bed to sleep a way the alcohol that was pouring through his blood stream at that moment. Feeling the rain pelt against his skin, as he walked through the midnight air with the solid frame of his roommate by his side, which made everything seem a little better, even if he was drunk, and finally they made it too the alleyway. “Are you ready---you may get queasy asshole, but this is what you get---but I need to get your ass home and in bed before you are dead weight.” His voice still held traces of anger and irritation as he thought of their living room, and within seconds they were finally in the dry familiar living room.