ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍs

She always turns it around on him. The comment makes him forget it's his turn for too long, remembering to discard at the last minute. "I need a refill. You?" He picks up his glass and stands up, feeling that familiar crawl over his skin that means he won't be able to sit still a second longer. He needs like so much more alcohol to endure her poking fun at him. If that's even what she's doing. But she can't be serious... can she? He forgoes the champagne this time, vodka and juice is good enough for him.