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He’d thought he’d seen her drunk before.
The boisterous sounds of her and her friends giggling in the corner of Donahue’s for all to hear. Singling and making a ruckus and doing whatever it is they do. He’s also quite certain he and Becca have drowned their sorrows into oblivion together.
He knows the way her ears and neck flush red. The way her brown eyes near black as they’re consumed by her pupils. The lopsided smirk and perpetual parting of lips he knows can’t end well for him.
Ethan recalls - purely convinced - of her inebriation in Miami and his too. How else had they ended up the way they did.
He’s seen her lose herself in the music; singing at the top of her lungs. But, as he’s come to realize, he’s never once witnessed her beyond reproach.
His phone rings at such an unsociable hour.
Ethan should be asleep but restful nights are far from plenty.
Against all reason, he answers.
It’s in the heavy breaths and confidently shattered tone that Ethan knows. Understands he’s never once encountered her properly drunk before. She’s drunk enough to phone an ex... what?
Becca’s certainly seen him at his lowest point. The guilt washes over Ethan at being a part of hers.