Will's whiskey is gone quicker than Rust can even consider draining all of his; only one of them is immediately having an existential crisis, clearly. Rust lifts a brow as he watches Will practically shotgun his liquor, not judgemental, but with a gentle air of surprise. With some calculation to his movements, Rust scoots the bottle closer to the other man, glass groaning soft and tiredly against the wood table.
He ran away from something, and right to Rust. It suggests at a couple of things that Will seeks in him, and he wonders which of them are truest here tonight. Is he just a neutral party in his orbit? Or is there some deeper-seeded trust that Will has planted in the garden of their relationship?
Rust is generously silent to give Will the room and air to speak; the whiskey burns on the back of his tongue like cigarette smoke, but instead of being drawn into his lungs, it's siphoned down into his gut. Will takes some time to ready his words, but Rust is patient to a T.
But what Will has on him is the element of surprise, to an almost humorous degree. It has the detective pulling a near double-take at the man, eyes widening from their sleepy droop, planted more firmly on Will's face. It drags a few scarce chuckles out of his chest. "What I think about Soul Mates?" Rust repeats, incredulous, absolutely unable to fight the wince that shimmers across his mouth, pulling his skin back into a cracked smile.
"Shit," he huffs back into his glass, breath fogging the glass as he tilts more whiskey into his mouth. Amusement still shudders through his face as he pinches his mouth shut and gulps the drink down. Rust's bare shoulders roll forward as he rests his elbows on his knees, stretching his arms out in front of him. The amusement seems to quickly dissolve from his face as he stares out past his glass, and to the floor. "I don't think you're gonna like my impression on this subject, very much."
no subject
He ran away from something, and right to Rust. It suggests at a couple of things that Will seeks in him, and he wonders which of them are truest here tonight. Is he just a neutral party in his orbit? Or is there some deeper-seeded trust that Will has planted in the garden of their relationship?
Rust is generously silent to give Will the room and air to speak; the whiskey burns on the back of his tongue like cigarette smoke, but instead of being drawn into his lungs, it's siphoned down into his gut. Will takes some time to ready his words, but Rust is patient to a T.
But what Will has on him is the element of surprise, to an almost humorous degree. It has the detective pulling a near double-take at the man, eyes widening from their sleepy droop, planted more firmly on Will's face. It drags a few scarce chuckles out of his chest. "What I think about Soul Mates?" Rust repeats, incredulous, absolutely unable to fight the wince that shimmers across his mouth, pulling his skin back into a cracked smile.
"Shit," he huffs back into his glass, breath fogging the glass as he tilts more whiskey into his mouth. Amusement still shudders through his face as he pinches his mouth shut and gulps the drink down. Rust's bare shoulders roll forward as he rests his elbows on his knees, stretching his arms out in front of him. The amusement seems to quickly dissolve from his face as he stares out past his glass, and to the floor. "I don't think you're gonna like my impression on this subject, very much."