Sasquatch to the Moon

16: A Little Intoxicated

I know barely any german, but enough. 

"I am scared," I grumble back, definitely trying to get him to help. 

"Alright, yeah," he clears his throat and then flips out of German, looking toward the girl for a moment and then back at me, "go get Rocket to stop sulking, I'll entertain." 

I nod and slip away, jittery and excited that Fen has enough social knowledge in him to tell that I was not doing well in that situation. 

My feet hit the floor at a steady rhythm, trying to keep my head ducked and my body out of everyone's way, trying not to let myself become the center of anyone's attention. 

Steph's gone from the booth him and Rocket were occupying. 

Rocket isn't. Rocket's sulking in the corner, perched awkwardly the bench, head set on folded hands.

He's sulking, his hair is falling into his eyes and instead of pushing it back out he just lets it sit there. 

I fall into the booth on the other side of him, sliding in so that nobody can see the top of my head nor focus on the two of us much. 

He blinks up at me, a little glassy and the red on his nose is telling me he's not quite sober. 

"Rocks, hey," I try to read his expression, leaning forward. "What's going on?" 

He shrugs, setting his head on his laid out hands, looking out at the group. I can see the crinkle between his eyebrows and the expression threatening to drown out his neutral face.  

"I hate it here." 

"I can take you h-" 

"here," he waves his hand at the general area. "Not here," this time he points at the table. "I don't expect you to get it. Steph doesn't." 

"Rocket?" I try to soften up, try to offer an ear. 

He lifts a hand and brushes it against my mouth, the tingle of his fingers touching my skin shooting straight into my spine, making me shiver. "Milo. My name is fucking Milo. Nobody fucking likes it like that, though." 

I choke, "do you want me to do anything?" 

"What is there for you to do?" 

"I can take you home. I'm sober. You're... not." 

He sits up in his seat, leaning back against the booth, his arms crossed, fists clenched, veins running down his forearms starting to pop from the tension in his body. His hair is a wreck, falling in two thick curtains around his face, the waves making his eyes go dark.

"I'm sober enough." 

"Not to drive." 

He rolls his eyes, long fingers circling his beer bottle, collecting the condensation against his skin. I watch him lift it to his lips, pressing the soft red against the opening of the bottle for a second before he tips it back. 

"Really, should I take you home?" 

He sets it down. 

"You look... miserable." 

He grimaces, not because of the flavor of the beer which has already made his adam's apple dip in his throat, not going unnoticed, but because of my implication. "Yeah, fine, get me out of here." 

He stands up, sliding out of the booth, fingers wrapped around the very top of his bottle, loose and relaxed and held down by his hip, it's too confident, it's going to drive me insane. 

I follow, tailing him like a scary dog. We pass Jorgen by the door on the way out, his arms are crossed and he's playing what appears to be only a game of amusement, with a girl about half his size. She's invested, touching his arm, batting her eyelashes. He's watching her with a casual interest and nothing more. Though I wouldn't go further if I were her, I have no doubt that Jorgen could easily injure her in a sexual situation, but I guess that's where his paramedic license would come in handy.