electricksâ:
Her apartment is sluggishly warm. She doesnât bother to turn on the AC and its incessant metallic death-rattle, opening a window instead to let in the night air. âFuck, did you? Whatâs the Grand Canyon like? Seems overrated if you ask me. Just a bunch of dirt thatâs a different height to some other dirt.â Jacksonâs silent question is responded to with a nod accompanied by a shrug, indifferent to wear he decided to rest his head. Hana takes off her shoes and pads in still-damp socks to the kitchen, floor tiles cool underfoot. She yanks the fridge door open and plucks the two remaining bottles of water from the shelf, turning only to pause, taking in the sight of bare chest and tattoos. âSounds like the start of a porno,â she muses with a smirk, tossing him a cold bottle, condensation dampening the plastic. âIf you want to, sure. Doesnât bother me but if youâve got nothing better to do than live out your best repairman fantasies, go for it.âÂ
Disappearing again for a moment, she ventures into her room and picks up an assortment of items: an old blanket from the wardrobe that smells like chemical-sweet teenage body spray; a pair of baby pink Gucci sweatpants that would likely end at the top of his shin; a makeup wipe and a half-empty packet of aspirin. âHere.â She passes him the former two and sets the medicine down on the coffee table for him to take in the morning ( sheâd be more than surprised if he got out of this hangover-free ). Dutifully taking off her makeup, liquid liner turning to black streaks, Hana hesitates before asking, âDid you really kill your dad?â He certainly wouldnât be the first murderer she let into her home, nor, she doubted, would he be the last.Â
The things he misses about Arizona are far and few between. Jackson wasnât the sort of person that got hung up on a place, environments were ever-changing and nostalgia associated with them didnât sit well in his stomach. It would only bore him, remaining fixated on one place and a particular moment in his life. Arizona makes him think of his childhood, a lot of confusion and miscommunications that issued him to run away as fast as he could the second he got his first car. âYup,â he nods, sitting back up and stretching his arms, âItâs grand, I guess? Last time I went I fell into a fucking huge cactus and had to go to the hospital to the spines removed from my arm. Iâve always had two left feet.â Scowling at Hana, he grabs the nearest cushion in his reach and launches it at her face, âget your head out the gutter, I only talk about pornos with girls after the... like, the fifth date maybe.â The hunk of broken machinery hanging from her wall may not have bothered her, but for Jackson, itâs redundancy certainly troubled him. âOk, well if itâs not bothering you then it wonât be good repayment to fix it,â by he was definitely still going to fix it, âI owe you a favour, just please nothing that involves dead bodies, Iâm still a little traumatised from the last time.â
âThanks, pinkâs my colour,â he taunts, though heâs sure to test by carefully stretching at the waistband of the sweatpants to make sure theyâd at very least go over his knees. Once satisfied with the admittedly impressive elasticity of the garment, Jackson gets up to stroll the bathroom, head coming close to colliding with her light fixture but avoided last minute with an unprecedented limbo move. When he returns to the living room, with the Gucci sweatpants on, Jackson does a spin. The sort of spin you do for your mum in the changing room whilst shopping for new school trousers. âI was going to tell you to brace yourself, but I look fucking fantastic,â he shrugs, hands resting on his hips with what could only be described as an overly confident grin for the guy in baby pink. They were absolutely ill-fitted but comfier than damp seawater jeans. He motions down to them, questionable tattooed shins on display, âwhat do you think, who wore them best?â












