FicWad

Roselain's P.O.V.

I breezed through the remainder of the day, auto-pilot ruling my entire mental state. These methods of learning really aren’t my thing, nor are the groups of people. Maybe it’d be different if my first class hadn’t left such a lasting impression on the rest of the student body, but of course, word spreads like wildfire and my experiences certainly hadn’t been pleasant ones.

Whatever. Who cares. Fuck people.
Felton’s class wasn’t nearly as scary as Billie made it out to be, but then again it is the first day, maybe he needs a little time to grow on the girls before he goes into full-predatory mode. Either way, I can sense the slight creepiness in his overall vibe; fortunately, it hasn’t been directed at me. Actually, he couldn’t even say my name right and didn’t really care too. Good, let’s keep it that way.

The bell rang and I immediately scooped up my bag, filing out the door. Hadn’t made time to find my locker yet, not sure I really wanted to. Maybe I’ll feel more inclined whenever they actually start passing out books, but until that point, I’m not diverting from my route. Lingering in the halls spells bad news that I don’t wanna tango with. I’ll stick to what I know and what I know is that I’m about to hang out with a green-eyed boy and a bunch of strangers at a place I’ve never been with music I’ve never heard and it sounds pretty goddamned fantastic; unnerving to the slightest degree, but still fantastic.

Billie was in my sight as soon as I pushed through the front doors of the building, shouldn’t have surprised me that he’d beat me out here, being that he clearly doesn’t give a shit about skipping classes, but it still kind of did. Maybe because I half expected him to not show up at all, just on the premise of changing this mind about me.

My nerves started rattling in my stomach as I sifted through the crowd, realizing that he had two other guys around him. First impressions aren’t my strong suit, I’m either awkward, uncomfortably nice, or I sound like an asshole without meaning too. Let’s see how we spin this one. I immediately recognized the guy with the fluffy short brown hair as the dude who’d been sitting beside Billie this morning. The tall one with the shaggy blonde hair noticed me first, giving me a friendly nod as he patted Billie on the back to get his attention. Billie spun to face me, a cigarette lolling in the corner of his grin.

"Roz! Was worried you might not come, glad to see you decided to," he greeted, plucking the cigarette from his lips and flicking it to the ground. Really? He was worried that I was the one who wasn’t gonna show? That’s a new one for me.

"Well, you never gave me a reason not to, so I’m interested in tagging along," I mumbled with a smile. The brunette stranger stepped up to me, rubbing a hand across his five-o-clock shadow.

"You’re cool with being out late, right? ‘Cause I’m the one driving and I’m definitely not gonna retire until the night’s an old hag. Don’t want your old man getting pissed off wondering where you are," the brunette said, his blue eyes wide and buggy.

"Nah, he'll live. He's not really as uptight as people think."

"Yeah, I 'spose not. You're talking to us, after all," he grinned, planting his knuckles on his hips like some kind of smug child. I smiled, rolling my eyes.

"Well, I guess I'm technically talking to you by default. You’re kinda gathered around the person I’m here to meet." Shit, did that come off in an asshole manner? God, I hope not. My sarcasm doesn’t always translate well. "What're your names, anyway?"

"Yeah, see, Billie was supposed to do the introductions but he kind of sucks," the brunette scowled at Billie who cocked an amused eyebrow in response. "My name’s Tre and this here is Mike."

"They're the drummer and bass player for my band, the one I was telling you about," Billie piped in, dissolving Tre and Mike into a fit of cheeky grins. I couldn't help but smirk at their proud glow.

"Ah, so you guys are the ones I'll be hearing tonight?"

"I mean, I guess so. If you stick around that long," Tre said with a wink.

"Well, if you’re driving I kind of have to, right?" I teased, idly watching as people began pouring into the parking lot. I considered getting my camera from my car but promptly remembered that I hadn’t brought it today. Dad had me so worried about showing up with a camera around my neck; he knows I don’t like attention and pointed out that it’d probably attract more than I wanted. I’m deeply regretting this decision because it would definitely come in handy tonight. I glanced back at Billie, biting my lip in contemplation. "Hey, if you guys don't mind can we swing by my house? I wanna grab something before we go."

"Uh, sure, I mean, is your dad gonna care?" Billie stammered, fretfully mulling over the idea.

"I'm gonna need you guys to stop worrying about my dad, alright?" I said with a laugh. "Really, it'll be fine. Two minutes tops and we'll be out."

"Alright, my dudes," Tre chanted, pressing his hands together under his chin. "If we're gonna do that we should probably go ahead and leave. Gotta make a beer run on the way out."

"Yeah man let's goooo," Mike chimed, draping an arm around his shorter friend’s shoulder and dragging him toward the parking lot. They stumbled ahead as Billie hung behind, grinning as I walked toward him.

"Are any of you actually old enough to get beer?" I asked, falling into place next to Billie as we walked. I already knew the answer to that, but I guess I was more curious about how they were planning to get it, exactly.

"Not even close, but that's nothing a fake ID hasn't been able to handle," he chuckled with a wink. "You drink?"

"A little more than I probably should," I laughed, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. He raised an eyebrow, bumping shoulders with me playfully.

"Really? Would’ve coined you as a semi-good girl. Surprised your dad lets that fly."

"What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, he doesn’t rule my whole life, y’know," I mumbled with a shrug. Christ, what kind of vision did people have of my dad? Being a judge doesn’t make him any stricter than anyone else. In my honest, and probably biased, opinion, it makes him a bit more lenient. He’s seen all kinds of shit so his mind is a little more open than you’d expect, but that’s also why he’s so protective of me; he’s ruled by a lot of fear. Fuck, I had to literally beg to go to public school this year. It’s not that I wasn’t content with homeschooling, but once again, I’m a photographer. It gets miserable not knowing people. I’d probably say that I regretted my decision, had it not been for this still undefined trio.

We edged our way toward a banged up 1981 Nissan Maxima, and god, what a work of art it was. I guarantee there’s a story for every divet and dent in that thing, not to mention the bouts of shittily covered white spray paint splashed across the sides, perhaps the remnants of a dickhead from school? The awful brown paint job was peeling, a crack stretched across the rear window. Somehow it was charming and totally expected.

"So, I'm gonna go ahead and apologize. I really wasn't expecting to have another person along for the ride, so it's pretty fuckin’ messy in here. I only had a spot cleaned out for Billie," Tre muttered, unlocking his doors.

"It's cool, man. I don't mind. My car's only clean because it has to be. Dad would have a fuckin' conniption otherwise," I said with a reassuring nod.

"Okay then, don’t say I didn’t warn you," he sings, opening the car door for me. As soon as he does, greasy fast food bags fall from the back; questionable heaps of clothing piled in the seat, a sea of trash crammed into the floorboard. Again, totally expected.

"Your throne awaits, miss," he says, bowing as he motioned toward the backseat.

"Man, fuck you, Tre. I'll sit on that side. Jesus Christ," Billie half-laugh, half-grumbled as he stepped in front of me. "You can sit on the semi-clean side, Roz."

I laughed, going around to the other side and climbing inside. It certainly was a stark contrast, a mostly cleared seat with a few bud burns, cigarette ash, and a minimal amount of trash in the floorboard. It looked like something had exploded on the ceiling, maybe coke? I didn't ask questions. I giggled as Billie struggled to climb atop the mound of clothing and trash.

"You sure you don't want me to sit on that side? I'm a little smaller than you, won't be as much of a crunch." Billie groaned in response, grimacing as he dropped a pair of dirty socks on the floor.

"Of course I'm sure. There's no telling what's on these clothes."

Tre adjusted his mirror to see the two of us. "Oh yeah, Bill. Saved you a nice little treat in there," he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. I laughed as Billie kicked the back of his seat, finally closing the door and settling in. We eased out of the parking lot and down the hectic streets of Crockett, California.

"So, like. Where exactly are we taking you...uh... Rose? Roza? Fuck, I'm sorry, I don't know your name, I'm a dick," Tre admitted, scrunching his nose up apologetically; as if I would really expect him to remember a name that I never even told him.

"Roselain!" I said with a grin. "It's okay, my name is kind of weird. Uhh, I live on Kains Avenue, just off Harrison. You know where that is?"

"Uhhhh…" Tre’s eyes flickered between Billie and Mike, craning for help.

"Shit, dude, I know where that is!" Mike chimed, turning around in his seat to face me, wrapping his arms around the headrest. "She's like a road over from Gilman Street," he noted to Tre, who's eyes lit up like it was fucking Christmas.

"You ever been to a show there?" Mike asked, propping his cheek against the headrest. "The venue, I mean. It’s on Gilman street but it’s also the name of the place."

"The one with all the couches and spray paint? The floor’s always kind of sticky and you’re not sure if it’s beer or worse?"

"Sounds like the right place," Billie snickered from beside me.

"Yeah, man, I used to sneak out my window to go see shows there. They left a flyer on a light post by my house, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have known about that place. I mean you can hear a lot of the music from our house, but I still didn’t know where it was at first. Usually had a pretty good time. I haven't gone in about a year, though. Got barred from entering," I frowned, looking out the window as we slipped onto I-80.

"Barred? Why? How?" Mike implored, a skeptical crease forming between his brows.

"Well, after going a few times, I got appointed as the photographer for a few gigs. It was cool until one of the singers tried to get handsy with me in between sets."

"And you got barred for that?" Billie asked incredulously, sharing a what-the-fuck look with Mike.

"No, I got barred because I knocked out a couple of his teeth."

"Oh shiiiit!" Tre screeched, banging his hands on the steering wheel. "The judge's daughter has a bit of badass in her!" All three of them were cackling, Billie clapped a hand to my back in approval. My chest swelled, enjoying the momentary praise. God knows my dad certainly wasn’t happy when I came home with busted knuckles and threats of a lawsuit. Dad always taught me to lay low and avoid conflict at all costs. Mom taught me to take no shit. Maybe I’m more like her than I’m ready to admit.

"Y’know, we play shows there quite a bit. We can get you off that barred list sometime, yeah?" Billie grinned, seeing the spark in my eyes at his suggestion. Being a photographer obsessed with vivid, dynamic art forms is a hard thing to be when you don’t have many chances to express it.

"Count me in for that. I haven’t been to another show since that one. Fuck, I miss it."

"There’s one catch, though: you gotta be our photographer instead," Billie added coyly, a smirk playing on his pretty lips. I raised an eyebrow, realizing that I hadn’t mentioned the whole purpose of this house-visit.

"Not much of a catch considering we’re literally going to my house so I can grab my camera."

"No shit?" Billie piped, seemingly taken aback, an unmistakable excitement buzzing in his eyes. That’s something I’m looking forward to photographing… his eyes. They’re so big, pretty, and oddly readable. Or, rather, I’d like the chance to sit and read them. Feel like I could find some pretty interesting stories in all those folds of color.

"Aw, man. If I knew this was gonna be a photo-op I would have sharpened up a bit," Mike joked, licking his palm before slicking it back through his hair. I grinned, drumming my nails against the back of his seat.

"You all look wonderful, no need for sharpening up. Tidy perfection’s not my kinda art," I sang, clicking my tongue, glancing at Billie who was watching me silently, wide eyes peering, drilling, digging into my head.

"What is your kinda art?" he asked quietly and for some reason, it felt like a deeper question than it was meant to be. The idea of answering it made me feel vulnerable… can’t reveal all my secrets that quickly, right? My thought process was interrupted by Tre’s uneasy speculating.

"Okay, so you told me the road, but not the house number. And as good as I am at making guesses… which fuckin' one is it," Tre mumbled, only then did I notice we were easing through my neighborhood at a creepy, better-take-your-kids-inside speed. I leaned between the front seats, pointing toward my house.

"Three houses down on your right. Just park on the side of the road, I'll run in and grab the camera." Tre eased in front of the house, timidly turning to Mike and Billie who mirrored his look of concern.

"What if your dad comes outside and-"

"I said to stop worrying about my dad!" I cried as leaped from the car, slamming the door behind me.

My dad wasn’t even home yet, he usually isn’t here until around five or six and that involves him slinking into his recliner and napping until I fix him dinner. Tonight he’d have to pop-in a microwave meal, though, because I highly doubt he’ll be awake when I get back.

I fumbled with my keys, throwing a glance over my shoulder as I pushed through the door. The guys appeared to be sinking in their seats, trying to make themselves as small as possible as they apprehensively eyeballed my house. I rolled my eyes, grinning to myself as I quickly jogged down the hall and up the stairs to my room.

As messy as my room could get, it was never hard to find my film camera. Sitting on my nightstand, shrouded in negatives and doting a woven strap from the 1970’s, my AE-1 Program sat faithfully: the most important thing I owned. My mother gave it to me when I was 13, hoping I’d find the same fascination in capturing the world as she did. Bitterness didn’t consume me as it normally does when it comes to her; I took her hobby and made it my life.

I quickly snatched up a few rolls of black and white film, slinging my camera around my neck and turning to leave. Wait. Bourbon. I could bring my bourbon. Then I don’t have to worry about other people wasting money on me. I yanked a shoebox out from under my bed, grabbing my bottle of Maker's Mark and cigarettes before darting back down the stairs. Part of me was half nervous that they wouldn’t even be sitting outside waiting for me anymore. Hanging out with people certainly hasn’t ever been my niche, trusting that people actually want to hang around me is odd.

I locked up the house, slipping my bourbon in my shoulder-bag as I made my way back toward the car; the door already pushed open awaiting my return.

"Hurry up, Blondie. You said it’d only take two minutes, but it’s definitely been about three," Billie sang, smirking cheekily as I slid across the seat and shut the door. I eyed him for a moment, taking in what probably would be an adorable expression if I hadn’t already grown tired of this new nickname. Made me think of my punk-ass, rock-throwing neighbor from when I was a kid. I reached out, grabbing Billie’s jaw, smushing his cheeks together slightly.

"Blondie isn’t a name you wanna call me, got it?" I murmured, a challenging smirk playing on my lips as I gripped his jaw. His eyes grew wide, completely thrown off by my advance.
Keep ‘em on their toes.

"Yeah, Bill, don’t get your teeth knocked out," Tre chuckled, pulling back onto the road. I released Billie’s face, sinking back into my seat and removing my camera from my neck. Billie eyed me nervously for a moment, trying to put his thoughts back together.

"So, you. Uh. What do you normally take photos of? Y’know, now that you don’t go to shows," he stammered, watching as I popped open a film canister.

"I photograph everything: nature, animals, abstract shit. You can usually find me at parks or around town pulling stalker-level shit. I like getting photos of people I don’t know when they don’t think anybody can see them," I explained, flipping the back of my camera open and loading the film onto the spool.

"Why?" Billie pressed. I flipped the back of the camera closed, looking up to meet his gaze.

"Why what?"

"Why people you don’t know? And why when they don’t know you’re looking? Aren’t you worried they’ll see you and get pissed?" The questions came tumbling off his tongue fervently, almost with a hungry interest. I’m not sure what was fueling it, but it felt nice. No one really knows or cares about what I do. I advanced the film, quickly opening the aperture and setting the shutter-speed.

"Ah, those are questions for another time. Ask me again later," I teased, swiftly lifting my camera and snapping a photo of the flabbergasted green-eyed boy.

"Fuck, I bet that wasn’t in focus. I think I moved. I probably look fucking stupid. Damn it," he muttered under his breath, shoving an uneasy hand back through his dark hair. I know it’s stupid, but it made me sad how self-conscious he seemed to be in that moment afterwards. It was different from the confidence I’d quickly come to know.

"My photos are always in focus. I adjust for people’s nerves. Don’t worry, you’ll look like art," I smiled reassuringly, advancing the film again before placing the camera back in my lap. He’s a pretty guy, if he doesn’t see it yet, he will soon enough. Tre cut his eyes toward Mike then flashed a grin in the rear-view mirror.

"Damn, Bill, she’s putting smoother moves on you than you’ve even tried on her," he cackled, instantly met with Billie’s scowl and tinged pink cheeks.

"Shut up, Tre, jesus christ. You’re all awful," he spat, looking out the window, attempting to hide his blush, "I regret this decision."

"Do you?" I pried, resting my chin on my hand, gazing at him cooly.

He whipped his head back toward me, sternly studying my expression for a moment. It was clear he wanted to give some element of suspense, to keep me reeling somehow, but his disguise quickly faltered. Wouldn’t have worked anyway. Being a fly on the wall really gives you the ability to read people better than most.

"No. I don’t," he said, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk.

"Good. Me either," I whispered with a smile, mentally tracing mary-go-rounds in his pupils. His eyes burned on mine, creasing lightly around the edges like he was refocusing… trying to see further into my head? God, why does getting caught in his gaze make me feel so vulnerable? Human interaction is weird. Guess I’m honestly not used to soul-peering. Though I think I could get used to it… Is that weird? I barely know him. What are social boundaries? I don’t even know. Fucking aesthetically pleasing green-eyed boy. Let’s blame it on my inner-photographer… but what’s his excuse? Mike cleared his throat. We both snapped out of it, turning our attention back to the two nerds up front.

"…Anyway, what do you guys want from the beer store? We’ve got $50 to work with for the four of us."

"You know I’m cool with anything, man. Mix it up. Liquor and beer. The more it spreads the longer it’ll last," Billie chimes in, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles over the front arm-rest.

"What about you, Roselain?" Mike asks, turning back to face me again. I slipped my bourbon out of my shoulder bag, wiggling it playfully in front of his face.

"I’m covered and I’ll share. Spoil yourselves,"I said with a smirk, watching as Mike nodded in approval.

"Alright, then. Got any more tricks up your sleeve?"

"You guys really gotta stop giving my dad so much credit. It’s more shocking to be a sober teenager in this fuckin’ town," I laughed half-heartedly, stumped yet again by their perceived idea of me. Really, what did they even think of me before they approached me today? Kinda sucks living in the shadow of your father, wonder what it’s like living life without a pre-determined good-girl tag. Whatever that even is. The things they find so shocking wouldn’t be shit if I were anyone else. What’s so impressive about being normal? Mike nodded yet again before he and Tre climbed out of the car and set off in different directions. I turned toward Billie in confusion and he seemed to read my mind.

"There’s a liquor store on either side of the block, if you’re gonna have a fake ID, it’s better not to present two in the same place at the same time and the less you appear to be buying, the better," he explained, makes a bit of sense actually. Smart kids.

"So, how do you go about getting your alcohol? You gotta know the right people to get convincing fake ID’s, so what’s your method?" Billie asked, angling so that his head was resting against the window. I shook my head, a huge grin playing on my cheeks.

"Oh god, that’s a long fucking story. You sure you wanna hear it?"

"Actually, I think I wanna hear it even more now that you’ve said that. Wrangle me in," he whispered comically, flaring his eyes and wiggling his eyebrows.

"Alright, well, when I was 14 I started spending the early morning hours sitting on the roof, writing and waiting hours for the sun to come up. Our mail route always ran really early, like 6 a.m. or something like that. Our mailman was this really nice elderly black man named Tye , he got used to seeing me on the roof every morning. Used to try and see if he could chunk the papers up to me. Got pretty good at it," I breathed with a laugh, remembering all the failed attempts where Tye would send the papers flying across the yard like fucking confetti.

"Anyway, we ended up bonding on those morning runs. He’d leave early sometimes just to spend time hanging out in my yard, talking to me. Swear he could tell you stories like nobody else, inspired a lot of my writing actually. It was like therapy sessions every morning, for the both of us, I think. One day, being the ballsy kid that I was, I asked if he’d be cool with getting me some beer from time to time. I mean, who else was I gonna ask, y’know? Man, he chewed my ass out about how alcohol isn’t good for the mind or the body, how I’m way too young and how my brain’s still developing. He was worried I was gonna go off the rails and lose my shit, become some kind of after-school special. It was kinda cute, really, like the worried grandfather I never had. Said I had too much talent to throw away. I ended up convincing him, aiming to prove that I would continue to explore my talents. So anytime he brings me alcohol, I’ll have a short story typed up and ready for him as well as five of my favorite photo-prints. Guess it was kind of like some weird creative school where you get paid in alcohol." I paused, looking up to see Billie’s wide eyes and creased brow. Okay, so I guess this sounds abnormal as fuck.

"I’ve actually never told anyone about this before so I never realized how bizarre it sounds. But it’s really not, Tye is a great man. Tells everybody I’m his adopted granddaughter. Even Dad loves him. He literally comes to every Christmas dinner. I mean, of course, Dad doesn’t know about the alcohol, but still," I laughed. Billie sat with an arm folded across his stomach, his chin propped in his other hand.

"That’s… probably the weirdest ‘hey mister’ story I’ve ever heard, definitely not what I expected, but I like it. I like it a lot," he laughed, stretching to rest with his arms behind his head.

"What’d you expect?"

"I’m not sure, actually, but that story sounds right in line with how somebody like you would go about obtaining alcohol."

"What do you mean?" I eyed him suspiciously, is this going to be one of those weird underhanded insult sorts of things or a compliment. I can’t tell.

"I don’t know, you just had all these lines drawn in the sand around you, boundaries and obstacles that most kids don’t have. You were bound to find some wild, magical way to get what you wanted," he murmured with a grin and wave of his hand. Magical? I wasn't a forest nymph, I was the child of a paranoid judge. Not that grandiose.

"You should definitely immortalize him, though," he added.

"How so?"

"Keep writing about him and put it out into the world some day. I can tell he’s a good man from how you speak of him, feel like he probably deserves that much," he smiled gingerly, crossing his arms across his chest. It made me smile, realizing that someone other than me was finally getting a small glimpse into the world Tye and I created. It made me even happier to know that someone who doesn’t know him could sense what a good man he is.

"Definitely, I intend to one day," I nodded, cracking open my bourbon. I’d been working on this bottle for a couple of months now. It was a celebration gift from Tye when my father actually agreed to let me attend public school. Wait ‘til he hears about how that’s going. Regardless, cheers to Tye.

"Is he still your provider?"

I spewed the sip I’d taken across the car, bursting into a fit of coughs and laughter.
"Jesus, Billie, you make him sound like a fucking drug dealer," I giggled, wiping the wasted bourbon from my face. "Is he still my grandpa who occasionally brings me alcohol, you mean? Well, he is, but he’s not a mailman anymore. He’s actually in a wheelchair now. I mean, he’s gotta be in his 80’s at least. He still tries his best to visit me, though, takes a bus when he can. Sometimes he brings alcohol, sometimes he doesn’t, but I always have a story and photographs for him regardless."

Billie grinned, eyes sweeping the back of the passenger seat, which was now spattered in little specks of alcohol, but he spared me the humiliation of directly pointing it out. "Maybe I can meet him one day."

I cocked an eyebrow at the thought, taking a moment to overlook Billie, his white, faded Husker Du shirt, black skinny jeans clinging to his legs, busted up converse tied to his feet. I’m pretty fucking sure Tye would eyeball the fuck out of Billie if he ever met him. But then again, he’d probably do it to just about anybody who came into my life. Billie would have to really prove himself as somebody before that could ever happen. He’s the real father-figure you’ve got to make sure you don’t disappoint.

"Maybe. Once you work your way to that place, of course," I mused, sweeping the bangs away from my face as I went for another swig on my drink. Billie peered at me in confusion. "He’s just really protective of me. I’ve never really had friends around before, pretty sure he’d learn to walk again just to give to a warning ass-kicking," I giggled, watching as Billie’s face went from one of concern to ardent joy.

"It’d be an honor to take that ass-kicking," he chimed, the grin spreading across his face among the most genuine and pretty I’d seen from him so far. Is this what normal people are talking about their first day of knowing one another? Probably not, but most normal people don’t bond with their mailman over writing, photography, and alcohol either. At least Billie seems amused.

He sat with his head leaned against the window, dark brown hair curling around his cheekbones. It’d been hacked off, clearly, to a pretty decent not too-short, not too-long length, but it left me wondering if he’d sported a mop of curly locks previously. Regardless, the current look complimented him well, drawing attention to the sharp angles of his jaw as they sloped toward his soft, pink lips. It was occurring to me that I hadn’t taken the time to really, truly look at Billie this afternoon. I mean, yeah I’d seen him, got caught in his stare, briefly glanced over his whole, but I hadn’t really looked at him. Too much attention and new people make me too nervous to focus; it’s like trying to view the world through foggy drunk-goggles. Being around the other two dulled my senses a bit, but those senses were definitely coming back to me now.

Yeah, I know, I know. Billie is a new person too, but he’s a slightly less new person than the other two, so naturally they call for more disorientation on my part. I liked them and all, I really do, but looking at Billie now, legs stretched across the arm rest in front of me, eyes lazily floating around my face as thought bubbles kept bursting in his mind, well that was something I kinda wanted to get used to first. Tye might find issues in Billie's rugged appearance, but I certainly didn't.

"So, you ever gonna answer my questions about your photography?" Billie asked, tugging me slightly out of my dream-like hyper-focus. But only slightly. His eyes felt smoothly intense again, like they had earlier, only this time I was far more aware and unsure I could handle it. My gaze quickly drifted to the bourbon in my hands.

"Like I said, ask me later," I reiterated, gently tracing my fingertips along the mouth of the bottle. A small sound of protest slipped from his lips, bringing my attention back to his face. For a moment, disappointment seemed to paint his eyes, it kind of made me feel like a jerk, but I knew he was just misreading me.

"Why?" he asked dejectedly.

"It just feels like this entire afternoon has been you guys pummeling me with questions about my life. I live in my head all the time; it’d be more fun to hear about something else for a change," I murmured, nudging my bourbon in his direction.

"Like what?" He asked, gently slipping the bottle from my cold hands and bringing it to his lips.

"Like you."

He froze, slowly lowering the bottle as we locked eyes again. Shit, was that too forward? I hadn’t meant it in a weird way, but honestly, yes, I did fucking want to know more about this green-eyed boy. My life was so boring, these three were the kind of change I needed and I was so mentally ravenous about taking them in. Something in his eyes changed, a confidence swelling through them. Billie opened his mouth to speak, but-

"Okay, lovebirds, you ready to get this show on the road?!" Mike boomed, slamming his face through the rolled-down passenger window, scaring the hell out of both of us. Billie nearly fucking threw the bourbon in the air, spilling a bit on Tre’s clothing. Count on us to waste the alcohol and make a mess. Count on them to continually butt-into the wrong moments.

"Jesus Christ, guys, glad I bought as much as I did," Mike snickered; climbing through the window with his loot as Tre came running.

"Bill, open up!" he shouted, leaving Billie with barely any time to roll down the window before he slung bags of beer and liquor into his lap. "I pocketed a couple of high end shots without anybody noticing, let’s get the fuck out of here!"

"Tre, you greedy fuck!" Billie howled with laughter as Tre spun us back into the street like goddamned speed racer.

Tonight was sure to be one hell of a night.