Tired to his bones, but knows he won't be able to sleep. He's hit a dead end in his current story and still no word from Matt or Frank. Foggy is too busy to even meet him for lunch and... Caleb knows he's pretty fucked in terms of a social life outside them.
Not that vigilantes (he's made the mistake of catching feelings for) and burning the candle at both ends was ever a successful formula for any kind of "happy life". But he still checks his phone. Checks his apartment for any kind of "clue" left behind.
There's nothing there. Just an empty apartment.
He knows he should be grateful for that considering his track record in Hell's Kitchen. But he still marches towards his cabinets and pulls out his bottle of whiskey. He's been really good about moderating his intake.
He hasn't even cracked the seal on it. Until tonight.
He doesn't bother getting a glass. Caleb takes it right from the bottle and puts on some music. Fuck everything, fuck life, he doesn't want to think right now.
Caleb doesn't even know how long it's been before he looks up a place on his phone and tells himself "fuck it", he's going out tonight.
He's tipsy, but not so drunk he can't find himself on the right street to the nearest club. Though he has misjudged spacial awareness, his body halfway colliding with someone else when he's not looking in front of him for a split second. ]
Shit! I'm sorry!
[ He manages to get it out, gripping the nearest arm he can reach on the other person to keep them both upright. ]
total eclipse | for twilightzones
Tired to his bones, but knows he won't be able to sleep. He's hit a dead end in his current story and still no word from Matt or Frank. Foggy is too busy to even meet him for lunch and... Caleb knows he's pretty fucked in terms of a social life outside them.
Not that vigilantes (he's made the mistake of catching feelings for) and burning the candle at both ends was ever a successful formula for any kind of "happy life". But he still checks his phone. Checks his apartment for any kind of "clue" left behind.
There's nothing there. Just an empty apartment.
He knows he should be grateful for that considering his track record in Hell's Kitchen. But he still marches towards his cabinets and pulls out his bottle of whiskey. He's been really good about moderating his intake.
He hasn't even cracked the seal on it.
Until tonight.
He doesn't bother getting a glass. Caleb takes it right from the bottle and puts on some music. Fuck everything, fuck life, he doesn't want to think right now.
Caleb doesn't even know how long it's been before he looks up a place on his phone and tells himself "fuck it", he's going out tonight.
He's tipsy, but not so drunk he can't find himself on the right street to the nearest club. Though he has misjudged spacial awareness, his body halfway colliding with someone else when he's not looking in front of him for a split second. ]
Shit! I'm sorry!
[ He manages to get it out, gripping the nearest arm he can reach on the other person to keep them both upright. ]