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Scripps and Posner are on the carpet, giggling like a bunch of girls, Posner leaning in and saying something to Scripps which makes him laugh harder.
Figures the idiots would get this way after only a few beers. Lockwood shoots him an amused look and he feels an odd pang that it isn't Scripps shooting him that look, sharing in the ridiculous antics of others. It's odd seeing Scripps flushed and loose limbed, not when his friend is usually the one watching them all from an outside window, enjoying their fumbles and blunders, with God on his side.
Someone slipped Akhtar some, because he won't drink it otherwise. He seemed to have realised something was wrong midway through and stopped but its had its effect and Timms' rather obscene jokes are getting more laughs from him than they usually would. Rudge is passed out in the corner, starting sooner and ending quick, good old Rudge with his wanting to fit in and failing always, unable to recall 'gobbets' and unable to enjoy Posner's stage mimicry.
He might find Posner's adoration annoying, but he does appreciate genius when he sees it.
Who just leant forward and made Scripps laugh again and they're both looking at him, and he's not sure he likes that. Scripps smiles at him, wide and real and he relaxes because really, he'd rather not have to deal with anything tonight, not when there's that delicious it inside him and Fiona was very obliging a few hours back.
Irwin's really done wonders for his sex life. He just wishes the man (boy) liked him and stopped looking disdainful or fuck it all, patronising. He's never worked so hard in his life (his middle finger has a bump on the edge, smudged with ink). He frowns at it and only looks up when he notices that Scripps and Posner are quiet. Scripps' eyes are half shut, shoulder pressed against Posner, both leaning against the wall. Posner's humming something and he notices that Scripps' hands are moving, air piano, and he blinks. It should be funny but it's not, it's fucking poignant and Posner looks peaceful, something rare and Scripps really doesn't look like someone who's not wanked for fucking eternity. Posner's fingers are wrapped around his elbow and he doesn't seem to care, maybe he doesn't notice, but no, he's Scripps so he must. He just doesn't care.
He wonders what Posner's humming and wants to ask, but his tongue's too heavy in his mouth. He missed something, something infinite and enormous and the lines between their shirts blur. He knows he's staring and should stop or say something, call them nancies or just anything really, even if it's 'Look it's getting late' in his mother's voice.
He doesn't though, because Scripps gives a half smile and Posner's face holds a hint of sadness.