Chapter Text
SHIVERS — In Central Jamrock a child hurries her way up the staircase of a ratty, old tenement, soaked to the bone with rainwater and the shame of being late. In an apartment on the top floor her mother waits impatiently with dinner plated on the small kitchen table. As the girl speeds up, she passes the door to an apartment that belongs to two neighbours she has rarely spoken with since they moved into the building approximately half a year ago. The shorter one always wears an orange jacket, the taller one ugly trousers.
SHIVERS — She sees the shorter one unlocking their door as she rushes past, a plastic Frittte bag clutched in his hand with a small bottle of amber liquid and an odd-looking pack of teabags just visible through the translucent plastic. The girl shouts a brief greeting toward the man but she's halfway up the stairs before he can reply.
. . .
You’ve been living together for six months now, you’ve been sober for over a year but Kim still won’t keep alcohol in the apartment. He buys those overpriced, miniature bottles (the ones that you’d previously only encountered in hotel minibars) from the Frittte down the road on the rare occasions he wants a drink of whiskey or vodka but not a trip to the bar two streets over. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He’s as aware as you are that if you wanted to fall off the wagon all you would need to do is walk down to that self-same Frittte and in five minutes you could clear it out of enough wine and spirits to finally push your liver into full blown cirrhosis. It’s just that Kim doesn’t see the point in keeping an entire bottle of whiskey in the house when it’s not needed.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — That and if he’s only buying a small bottle he allows himself to splurge on the really good stuff.
You hear the crack of the seal breaking as he twists the adorably tiny bottle cap and the whistle of the kettle but you wait, knowing that if you don’t let the water come down from the boil it will scald the tea. You learned that lesson the hard way.
You watch as Kim pours half the bottle into a small glass over ice he’d already retrieved from the freezer, as his hand rotates the glass, as the ice clinks against itself cooling the liquid. Sometimes he adds a dash of bitters to the mix, but not today. He watches you as you remove a teabag from the fresh pack of jasmine tea he’d just bought, as you pour hot water from the kettle over it, as you idly chase the bag around the cup with a spoon as though that might speed up the process. Sometimes you take a sip from it too soon and burn your tongue, but not today.
Today the two of you stand by the kitchen window, watching the setting sun disappear behind the Jamrock skyline as you nurse your respective drinks and when he kisses you, he tastes of oak and you taste of jasmine…
VOLITION — …and there is a warmth that surmounts any alcohol.