[CW: the use of alcohol as a coping mechanism]

The evening was cold and dark, and it was because of that that it was perhaps a bit surprising that Anthony was roaming around on the streets. After the initial euphoria had worn off and the reality of the new situation he had found himself in had truly set in, he found himself...anxious, scared, nervous, terrified. Though his fear was perhaps irrational—there was nothing to be afraid of, he won't be hurt or anything, this time is different and he's different—there are some things you just can't shake off and that undying fear was one of them. It was because of this that he was out here instead of at his or Elijah's place—he was afraid, didn't want to bother Elijah by breaking down in front of him, and so figured that he'll just go out and do what he does best whenever he's a nervous wreck who needs to be calmed the fuck down. That is, drink.

After having spent more time than was wise on said activity, and finding himself sufficiently drunk so that he forgets all his worries (temporarily, at least—but that's all that Anthony wanted right now), Anthony left the pub he was so very attached to by now, returning back onto the cold and perhaps dangerous streets. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, absolutely certain that he is doing an amazing job with feigning sobriety, Anthony walked—mostly unsure of his destination, but figuring that he'll probably end up at home anyways. Whatever could happen to such a reckless, defenseless, vulnerable and foolish man?