[Isaac sees him off with a sharp look, thanklessly plucking the bottle from Hector's hands. Tonight, the make or the year don't matter; he uses his thumbnail to lever the cork until it comes free with a wet pop, not giving the wine the chance to breathe before his lips smother the bottle and he tips his head back. It washes over his tongue, tart and crisp, going down like water. A few drops escape him when he pauses to breathe, clouding in the bath. It looks like blood.]
Enjoying yourself, are you?
[Another joyless swig. He licks away a fat, red bead sliding down the neck of the bottle and sets it down at the foot of the tub for the moment, not looking Hector's way.]
no subject
Enjoying yourself, are you?
[Another joyless swig. He licks away a fat, red bead sliding down the neck of the bottle and sets it down at the foot of the tub for the moment, not looking Hector's way.]