LOST CRUSADE

she watched him like she already had him figured out — not in that dismissive way most people did, but in the way that made you feel seen even if you didn’t know what she was seeing. there was heat in her stare, but something cooler just beneath it. curiosity, sure. maybe something else. a flicker of recognition she didn’t want to name. her drink hit the bar with a quiet thunk as she turned toward him fully, shoulder brushing his now, casual but deliberate. she didn’t bother pretending she hadn’t noticed the way his gaze had trailed over her — it was part of the game, and bex always played to win. “don’t need your name to clock your type,” she said, low and certain, like the bass was vibrating the words out of her lungs. her gaze flicked down, then back up, steady and unflinching. “you walk in like you’re allergic to being looked at too long, but your whole vibe begs for attention. the jacket. the jaw. the whole i might write a novel if i get my heart broken one more time energy. it’s not subtle.” there was something amused behind her words, but not cruel. if anything, it was teasing, affectionate in its own jagged way — bex didn’t throw her interest around casually. if she was poking, it meant she was intrigued. “lemme guess,” she continued, fingers now trailing the condensation of her fishbowl glass like she was tracing constellations, “you drink whiskey when you wanna remember, gin when you wanna forget. keep some beat-up notebook in your jacket with half the pages filled with shit you’d never admit to writing. tell people you’re fine, but your playlists say otherwise.” she let that sit for a second, then met his eyes again, a little smirk curling her lips. “or maybe i’m way off and you’re just here ‘cause someone told you the bartender from shooters wears less clothing when she’s off the clock.” her eyes sparkled with mischief. “spoiler alert — they weren’t wrong.” bex leaned in slightly, scent of tequila and something citrusy clinging to her skin, voice pitched just for him beneath the pulse of the music. “you’re here. that counts for something. so—” she picked up her glass again, tapped it lightly against the rim of his beer with a faint clink — “cheers to bad decisions and whatever this is turning into.” and then, without warning, her tone shifted — still playful, still edged with that wicked humor, but something deeper threaded underneath. like she was inviting him in while daring him to try. “but let me warn you,” she murmured, voice brushing his ear like smoke, “this place doesn’t do half-hearted. you either get in the pit or get outta the way.” she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, eyebrow arched in challenge, lips glistening from her drink. “so, what’s it gonna be? you gonna dance, or just stand here looking like the poster boy for brooding regret?”

Here he was. Again. Letting himself get grated by the waitress at Shooter's. He liked it, though. It made him smirk, amused to say the least, and as she turned to face him, he doubled down, scooting just ever so slightly closer. He wasn't sure why he enjoyed being around someone mean to him — he didn't usually swarm to that kind of treatment, but maybe he stayed because he knew she couldn't deny some sort of lone spark that had ignited between them. Was it just lust? Either way, he was grateful. His head had bowed listening to her, concealing his smile, as if the words rolling off her tongue were some sort of dirty joke. He shook his head, lifting his gaze to meet hers, "I drink whiskey when I want to drink whiskey, I don't touch gin, and," He flashed the inside of his coat, "My pockets are empty." He countered, and though she thought she knew him, he knew whatever figment of the imagination that shrouded her gaze of him was all just skin deep. A dream. If he could keep it up, maybe she wouldn't be bored with him.

"yeah, that's for sure," leon starts walking with the stranger. he feels rather comfortable with him. making acquaintances and friends from scratch is hard, and weird. but sometimes, there are people like adrian who leon thinks could get along just fine. "nice to meet you, too," he nods his head and tilts his head to one side as he considers the term washed up in town. you could definitely say that about leon. "listen, i got a long story and a short story," the blond chuckles. the long story would let the other know about the tours, the heartbreaks, the writing sessions in chile. the short story, well it's more of the superficial version of the whole thing. "i think you should choose carefully," leon jokes. the town they walk through isn't crammed by all means. only a few people walking on the sidewalk across. the blond isn't someone who's very private. he usually overshares -a lot- and it doesn't really bug him. but it does make him feel bad if the others aren't interested, so it's best to keep to himself. he wonders what it'll be today.

"Well," Adrian began, "It looks like my non-existent schedule just cleared up, so dare I say I have time for the long story?" He jested lightly, although he commended the way the other was ultimately so open. They had just met after all. Adrian couldn't ever envision himself telling anyone much about anything, never mind someone he'd met on the street. Although, wouldn't that be the perfect person to unload all onto at the end of the day? Just someone who happened to be standing there — someone you may not see again. Either way, it was at the very least admirable. He wished he could be more that way, he really did, but something paralyzed him. Nevertheless, he was a better listener anyway. Adrian put his hands in his pockets and began to stroll. The sun was still high up in the sky, but falling over the overcast day, "Hit me, man. I'm all ears."

A flash of flirtatiousness — a turn he couldn't have said he'd expected. Most of his customers were nice, but not that kind of nice, though he made no attempt or had no intent of thwarting off the attention. He wasn't usually certain if someone was interested in that way; he never assumed, mostly to avoid the great sense of disappointment when that answer was 'no', but he felt he had a grasp on this particular instance. She was digging him. Ivelisse. And he couldn't help but feel pulled in by the melody she was playing, one that was fun, a bit bold, and most importantly, keen on him. He laughed lightly, "Chat you up? And here I thought I was just helping a loyal customer," Adrian teased, turning around briefly to retrieve his phone. "We close at eight, so in uh- fifteen minutes," He told her, turning back around to face her. "Listen, if you want, just text me what you're in the mood for and I'll pick it up." The male insisted, pulling up his messages, and setting the device down in front of her for her to use, "I'll send you my address and you can meet me over in, I don't know... Forty-five minutes?" An offer that seemed fair, or so to him. It gave him enough time at least, to get the food, get home, and pick up the clothes that had certainly been left on his floor. This whole thing was nuts, but in a good way — a spontaneity he didn't know he needed.

"Maybe I'll save it for sometime in the future when I'm feeling spontaneous." She loved the idea behind the blind date with a record, but her music taste was far too mainstream and she knew the wrapped up records were most likely from artists she had never heard of before. "Well, if you picked this one, maybe I'll reconsider." She reached out for the vinyl and tucked it under her arm, making the decision to buy it and see what this man's music taste was all about. It was hard not to notice the man's cheeks flushing with a light blush. Phoebe couldn't help but bite at her bottom lip as she tried to contain her growing smile.

Flattered, he was at the very least that she'd been more than willing to accept the wrapped mystery record that he had chosen. He was iffy on the premise — it was a commitment, and the price of the vinyl was no less the same as if you'd picked it off the shelf. So at the very least, he was flattered that she was willing to take his pick. No one else's. Just his. That had to mean something, didn't it? Or was it just out of pity? He handed it to her regardless, his eyes scanning her face, watching her smile grow into something absolutely contagious. He matched it, dimpled, "Yeah, I think you'll like it." He told her, more seriously this time, as he hoped she would believe that he would only steer her in a good direction. He could help but match her expression, the male dragging his tongue over his bottom lip before biting down. Playful. He mirrored her movements subtly, "And if you don't, come back and find me." Adrian looked down at her mouth, pausing, his honeyed eyes interested, "I'll make sure you leave satisfied."

So, there he was. Supernova. The boredom had finally set in, or was it just burning intrigue in disguise? He figured he might see her, he figured he might not, but either way, the night was young and he was out to see what he could get from it. After walking to the club from his flat and waiting in line, he made his way in. It was busier than he expected it; the place must've drawn in the youth from surrounding smaller towns and boroughs, comprising a large part of the Windsor nightlife. A vein of neon lines, loud music, and busy excitement. The club wasn't that large, but perhaps it was just the mass of moving bodies that made it seem so tightly packed. Adrian was more of a wallflower than a spotlight monger, but that didn't mean he didn't go out. He enjoyed getting lost in a large crowd from time to time, wandering from light to light, like a moth to the flame. A migratory creature — an easy thing to be in New York, where he lived previously, and bars filtered the streets like end of a cigarette butt: there was no escape from the noise.

At the mention of fashion design, Adrian smiled. He went to school for Music Theory—well, briefly went to school for Music Theory— and knew the type. In the realm of college majors, Fashion Design was only a skip, hop, and a throw away from Music. Not apples to oranges, but rather apples to other kinds of apples. Liberal arts were all the same. They all were sneered at by the others, and maybe they deserved it in a way. Were most of them going to end up as baristas and waitresses, trying their very best to strike gold and sell their art? Absolutely. But Adrian wouldn't have it any other way. It was what he was good at: music, and if you enjoyed what you did, then you didn't work a day in your life. Right? He had since enjoyed his time working at the record shop, helping people just like here. It made sense, he supposed, that the stranger before him took to fashion. She was dressed nicely in a unique fit, but nicely, as if some thought had been put into it.

leon stands still, trying not to laugh, the stupid grin on his face is enough to hold for barely a few seconds. he even holds his breath, not sure why. when the other man tells him his eyes aren't that bad, the blond sighs and laughs. maybe he doesn't look that high, but he still is. good thing he's been a functioning stoner for years, even though that's probably something he shouldn't brag about. "are you insane? nuts are... like... what the fuck. the best," leon laughs. "oh, are you allergic?" at the mention of the bus, he looks one way and then the other. never ever has he had luck with public transit. except back in chile. that country really knows how to make buses and subways work. "eh, the beach is overrated anyway," leon shrugs his shoulders. "i mean. i love it, but if you have to wait for more than ten minutes for a ride, i don't think it's very much worth it. do you even have a towel?" he wonders. "listen, you could keep waiting or we could go to sprinklestown and just hang out. it would probably be more fun than standing around?" his sentence ends in a question and the blond realizes he's talking too fast again. he takes a mental note to take a breath. "i'm leon, by the way."

Adrian laughed and shook his head, "Nah, I'm not allergic to anything," He told him, "I just happen to hold the vastly superior opinion on desserts. Y'know, I'm the brownie prophet, just spreading my word." He capered, his tone less than honed, blunt, but unserious. He was already really quite chummy with the stranger, and he decided that he liked him, whoever he was. Adrian really didn't have a type of company when it came to friends; he found that he got along with all sorts of personalities, but it was nice when something just seemed to click. After all, being new in town, it was quite a bit lonely not having anyone to really talk to, not in person, at least. Perhaps this could be the end of that. Adrian looked down at his feet briefly. The other had a point. He'd been waiting awhile, and he wasn't a beach person anyhow, and the whole idea of going was merely on a whim. Adrian looked up and over at the other, "You have a point, man." He sighed, "At least 'Sprinklestown' won't leave me on the hook. Or leave me wind-burnt." He agreed, "I'm Adrian, it's nice to meet you." The male extended a hand then, and smiling, he began to walk down the street, leading the way, "So I take it you just washed up in town too?" He ran a hand quickly through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. "What brings you here?"

"ah, man," leon chuckles and drops his head, shaking it slightly. "are my eyes that red?" he grins. probably, he just went through a whole gram of the stuff and the munchies are definitely what he's feeling right now. he can't help he struggles to be alone, and being new to the town, loneliness can hit like a truck in only a few hours. so yes, he turns to weed. it's not as bad that he needs to drink a six-pack of beers too. that's so very two years ago. "well, no point in denying it," the blond laughs and shrugs his shoulders. "sprinkles," he echoes the other man's words. "sounds like what i'm looking for, even though i hate them. but they usually come with pastries and i like those," he chuckles. "what about you? leon asks the other. he doesn't mean to pry, but the stranger seems bored out of his mind. the blond notices the bus stop sign next to them and nods his head, "i thought bus rides in towns like these were a myth. i would hitchhike," he jokes. "where are you headed, anyway?"

Adrian squinted, "Man, I don't know, hold still..." He told him, looking into the other's eyes, an almost comedic moment between the two men, and he recognized that. A grin found his features, amused by the situation, "Eh, they're not too bad." He told him honestly, and having lived in numerous cities where the substance was regarded as casually as booze, he was less than phased. It wasn't something he usually partook in, but he'd been around it plenty enough to know when someone had. The honesty made Adrian laugh, and he figured if there was anyone who had a care in Windsor, it certainly wasn't whoever was next to him. He favored the energy — it reminded him of the friends he had back home. Adrian smiled, almost snorting at the way the other repeated his word. 'Sprinkles'. The guy was zooted. The brunette shook his head, rubbing his eyes, "Oh come on, there are worse things than sprinkles. Like nuts. Nuts in desserts are the worst." He lightly protested, although he wasn't much one for sprinkles either. Such pointless, tasteless things. Adrian shrugged, "You're more adventurous than I. I'm just dumb, evidently," He told him, "I thought the bus would be a fun way to get to the beach. But here I am, no further than I was fifteen minutes ago."

he's been here for only two weeks but leon hasn't really been out that much. he found a studio space next to the radio station and has been working there pretty much all day every day, and if he's not, he's at home sleeping and probably getting stoned. but today the sun's shining bright and he's really in the mood for something other than his typical americano coffee that he pours himself in the morning. as he walks out into the downtown streets, he wonders where the fuck he should go. the blond sees someone standing by, and he's never been shy or introverted, so he approaches them with a smile. "hey," he says. "sorry to interrupt, but you're from around here, aren't you? i'm looking for a place to get a donut or something. or maybe one of those creamy cheesecakes? i guess you can tell i got a sweet tooth, and i'm craving sugar like crazy. anyway, do you know a place nearby?"

Adrian was waiting for the bus. And waiting. And continually waiting, so it seemed. The American public transport had never been keen anywhere he'd lived. He thought for a moment about getting a bike, but then thought about how ridiculous he'd look on a bike, not to mention where he would store it? His studio apartment, nestled a few blocks from where he stood, was full of his instruments and a bed that altogether took up half the vicinity already. Never mind it all. He was simply destined to wait, in doom, for the bus then. He wondered if the trip to the beach was worth it. He wasn't much of a beach guy, but something about taking a long walk on the pebbly shore called to him on his day off. He was approached then by someone he'd never seen before, and his head turned to look at the guy, his shoulders following after a few moments. Adrian initially let out a light laugh. The stranger smelled vaguely of weed — of New York City and downtown Denver, and it brought back a strange wave of nostalgia for Adrian, "Ah, I don't know," He began, putting his hands in his pockets, "I think there's a place a few blocks from here called Sprinkle's, or something like that." Adrian gestured down the street with his shoulder toward the direction he'd come from. He passed a cake shop on his daily commute, though the name of the shop had slipped from him. He smiled and looked at the other, now curious, "... So, what, man? You got the munchies or something?"

'You're not nobody' — the sentiment that cascaded from the stranger surprised him, only because he wasn't expecting it. Not after the harmless, but cutting-edge banter she'd shamlessly dished his way, a jab here, a jab there, but now it was a trickle of tweeness. The feeling made it a little harder to swallow, even though he'd, for the most part, been joking about being 'nobody'. Although what if she had said it on a day when he meant what he said? And there were days when he could mean it in a literal sense when he said it, sure — everyone had those days. But what does a person do when someone tells them something so defiant to their inner monologue that you just had to believe it? He wasn't sure, and maybe it was dumb, but he felt like wrapping up what she said as gently as he could and saving it in his pocket for later. Because he wasn't sure he'd ever been told something that thoughtful. It was then, when he realized she was being earnest, he tried his best to revert, "Oh yeah? How do you know I have a heartbeat?" He capered, "It is a full moon tonight, and you never know. I might just be an apparition stuck in time."