Theprodigalsoldier:

theprodigalsoldier:

while there was a large part of him that still really enjoyed fighting… he didn’t enjoy getting “caught”. but he could breathe easy, and his thoughts didn’t feel unmanageable. with all of that, it was hard to regret the decisions he made and the actions he’d carried out. despite the bleeding. jaxon scoffed at tate’s comment, licking at his split lip and screwing the cap back onto his flask.  “ some think th’ blood makes me look tough, ” he shrugged. “ and girls jus’ wanna patch me up. so. ” he chuckled dryly, sitting up a little straighter despite the ache soreness in his shoulders. “ supposed to. and yer not supposed t’ be drinkin’. yet here we are, ” he pointed at, offering up his flask to tate.  “ will it help if i tell you th’ guy was a creep? ”

Tate could understand why Jaxon fought. He probably got about the same feeling Tate did when he got into an occasional bar fight. Relief. Although Tate didn’t have nearly as much to lose as Jaxon --- his job, for one. He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Or dumb.” He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but it was too late now. He was definitely drunk already. “Maybe I should get in fights more often.” He joked, leaning back on the bench and letting out a heavy sigh at the mention of the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be drinking. “Fair enough.” He shrugged, accepting the flask from Jaxon and unscrewing it. “Sure, I guess.” Tate paused. “I’m the last person who can judge you, man. Fight whoever you want, it’s your face.”