teen jesus and the jean teasers (flip + rhys)
Jan 31, 2024 17:09:30 GMT -5
Post by clover ❁ on Jan 31, 2024 17:09:30 GMT -5
flip jones.
i’m not a romantic, i swear i’m not. but a good measure of vodka does things to a person, and one of those things is a stillness inside. i notice the lights of the district; they slide out in every direction, beaming. they move and jump, avoiding me when i look directly at them. wiggling out of my reach, dancing. and the ground feels so far away. above it we are suspended, perched at the hull of a rocking boat, looking out over calm seas. i do not feel drunk, but i know a completely sober flip wouldn’t ever feel so quiet inside, so peaceful. i soak it in, revel in the feeling. it’s not cheap but it’s honest work.
“nah, keepers have to learn where everyone hides, just in case,” says my company, and momentarily my tranquility is shattered. i forgot i was cavorting with the enemy. i bite my tongue, imagining this tipsy boy(really, just a kid)out here chasing down some runaway or rascal. i stop myself before i imagine the beating that would follow, because i can’t look at rhys and reconcile that. “what ‘bout you? first time up in the skies with a cadet?” the way he says it sounds like some fun little club for rich boys, not an institution that single-handedly holds the district pinned down by its throat. i wince a little, but the darkness provides adequate cover.
i laugh. it’s a little fake. i take a long swallow, let it filter all the way through to my fingertips. i shake my head. “to be completely honest, usually i do my best to avoid boys like you.” my gaze is fixed on the view, the undulation of the buildings. i can feel the warmth of rhys perched next to me. his presence does not feel foreboding, and yet he is dangerous, and i must not let myself relax. just a little challenge. just a bit of fun. just a few drinks on a roof. but don’t forget that our lives are a thousand universes away from each other. he might laugh at my jokes and bum my cigarettes but he is not like me.
i say it, though, despite myself. blame the drink. “i feel like you’re different to them, though.” there is a question unspoken: are you?
he says he never really wanted to find someone up here. guess i’m glad it’s you and not some kind of criminal. some kind of criminal. he doesn’t see the irony in his words: we two, out late, another sip of liquor, underage consumption of black-market drink, sneaking out of a below-board party. some kind of criminal, hey? “i mean, you’re here aren’t you?” i want to say: on the roof with some kind of criminal. i want to say: on the roof, like you’re some kind of criminal. i want to say, i want to say - i swallow the rest of my words with another generous gulp.