the alcoholics and their self-love / open, drinking

malphas offered the large dog a crooked grin as he stepped over to take a sip of the disgusting drink, curious to see his reaction. "yeah, party!" the clearly underaged cannibal spoke, raising a paw in a triumphant manner- he was socializing! fuck anxiety! he was cool and popular and his anxiety could suck it.

then morgan had a bizarre reaction that involved evaporating his fun and then the glass bottle shattered once frozen. "really?" malphas sighed, glad he wasn't hurt in the shattering of glass. "fuck you. i'm not even a little buzzed." he said, rubbing his temple. "now look. it's a mess and there's glass everywhere."

then the realization set in. that was a bad reaction- not morgan's, his. now the fun little old-beer party was ruined and it was malphas' fault. the dread in his chest came back. why did he even come here? nobody would love him.

despite his self-hatred thoughts, he just stood there, looking down.