#meaning “my Civan” or “my dear Civan.”

[alarakcplan]

As she took yet another sip from yet another drink, a tiny, still slightly self-aware part of Alara had to admit that Civan was far better off leaving her to her own devices tonight. She was truly on a mission to drink away the bone crushing pain she felt over being home for her first Yılbaşı in years and yet her father wouldn't be there and was therefore miserable company. The pain of a hangover would be a welcome distraction from the heartbreak she was trying to bury now and Civan didn't deserve to be stuck with her for the night.

But the already slightly tipsy Alara selfishly wanted- no, needed - the company of her best friend. The thought of truly being alone to deal with her demons was a terrifying one. And Alara was far too chicken to try to face them on her own. The comfort of Civan's presence was the only thing keeping her even somewhat grounded tonight, and she was grateful for it.

Having placed an order for another drink, she turned back to face the knight in shining armor she truly didn't deserve. "Civanım," she cooed, reaching out to affectionately pluck a piece of lint from his suit jacket. "While we can both agree the company is definitely not up to our standards," she paused to shoot a scathing look around the ballroom, before finally receiving her new glass and raising it towards him, "this, is very much right up my alley, Allah affetsin." With that, she brought the glass to her lips and took a healthy sip. Bringing her gaze up to meet his, she shrugged, "Besides, what is New Year's Eve for if not to make bad decisions you'll regret come the new year?"

@alarakcplan BR New Years Eve Bash "Ah, hadi ama!" Affectionate exasperation clung to his tone, his hand reached to steady hers and the thankfully mostly empty glass. "Think of the hangover," Civan leveled. Trying to be the reasonable contrast to her apparent need to drown her stress in alcohol. Despite her accusation of him being a 'party pooper', or a few other similar things, Civan was just genuinely concerned. He'd never drank himself, but he had learned over the years from playing DD and Drunk Babysitter that there were different kinds of drinking. A glass or two, for fun, and what his friend was currently on a mission for... seeking oblivion. His gaze was trained on her, and Civan stood like a protective brick wall towering over the woman in his six foot three stature. Shielding her from anyone else nearby, any judgmental onlookers included, but unfortunately Alara was still in place to escape towards the bar for a refill. "This isn't our scene," Civan attempted to change the way it was framed. "Room full of stuffy boring Sığır." He adjusted his collar, which though not fully buttoned up felt like it might still be suffocating him. The complaint was a genuine one, he was not a party-goer. If it wasn't for his concern for Alara he would've almost immediately dipped as soon as he could tell his mother he'd technically 'attended'.