Whiskey and Late Night Talks

Today, we ended up talking about food again. He knows I’m on OMAD (one meal a day), and when I mentioned I drank Coke with my meal, he immediately said, “No Coke!” He said it’s a waste of the effort I’m putting into OMAD. Not that he totally disapproves—he drinks Coke too, sometimes mixed with rum.

I joked that I wanted to drink, and he told me, “Go.” So, I did.

I went to our mini stash and grabbed the one with a pair so it won’t be obvious that I took one. I poured myself a bit of Jack Daniels and something else—I think it was Stewart’s? Took a photo and sent it to him. He was amused, like genuinely happy I was having a drink. I teased him and said, “Drunk me will call you a hundred times and sing a sad song,” and he just laughed even more.

Honestly, I was fine. Still texting straight, still making sense. But I didn’t feel like typing anymore, so I switched to voice messages. The entire night, I just kept sending him voicemails.

He said he wouldn’t get annoyed—and true to his word, he didn’t.

Our conversation went deeper and deeper as the night went on. And we even switched to Telegram. And for the first time in a while, it felt like we were us again. Just talking. Laughing. Being real.

I hope nights like this don’t go away.