excellent

june! her bright outfit and big ol’ 80′s hair were impossible to miss, and mother of god, was she cute. “whoa, dude,” he said, in a terribly on-the-nose keanu voice. “you look tubular.”

the knots in june’s stomach, which had set up camp after the first day they’d worked together and she’d felt how wrong things were, started to feel loose and fluttery, more like butterflies than the anxious mess of tightness it had been. the goonies was woefully forgotten in the background, plot still just winding up, but june was lost in an eighties movie of her own. time slowed down and june sort of regretted not doing this at home, where a simple minds song could actually be playing and not just nagging her thoughts when something momentous happened. the air around them buzzed with electricity, exactly like right before a first kiss even though she’d filled that one in at the start of the new year. what had been a hail mary that she’d fully expected to blow up right in her face was turning out to be something she would remember forever, no matter how it turned out. there was still the voice in the back of her head telling her it could still blow up in her face at any time, but when she reached out and took connor’s hand in hers to lace their fingers together, that voice shut right the fuck up.

what if i don’t want to either? the words rang in her head for a long moment, looking like she was deep in thought for a moment even though she was just trying to catalog this memory for later. “then we shouldn’t go back to normal,” she concluded, a rare, shy grin slowly fighting its way through the nerves and haze of the weed already thick around them. this was so different for them, even accounting for all of the things that were the same as they’d always been. before new year’s eve, she hadn’t thought about connor romantically since high school. she’d harbored a crush on him as soon as he’d taken her under his goofy wing in theatre, but that felt like so long ago. now, though, just meeting his eyes was enough to make her giddy with anticipation. she thought back to the memories she had of right after she’d cut her hand on nye, of kissing him in the bathroom while everyone else counted down outside. without realizing, she’d started to lean in closer to him, look darting from his eyes to his lips for a moment. “can i kiss you again?” she asked, quoting him directly when all other words failed her.

connor’s baked mind was moving a thousand miles a minute. the fact that they were in a movie theater was only egging on his fantasy of him standing on a stage in front of thousands of cheering celebrities, holding up an oscar that read “june’s love and affection”. except in real life, he was holding june’s hand, which was way more awesome. no, they definitely should not go back to normal. finally everything he’d been needing to say was off his chest, and it was working in his favor. finally things seemed to be falling into place. even if they weren’t actually, the “seem” part was enough. 

june was sure her heart was thumping out of her chest like a straight up looney tune, but it didn’t stop her from taking the j back and hitting it for what ended up being a few seconds too long. smoke puffed out of her as she erupted in a fit of coughs, the tension releasing in her shoulders a little bit at the slight pause she had to take. they smoked a lot of weed together and coughed a lot together, and it was a reminder of how familiar this was, even if she was freaking out internally. after all, the last time she’d been honest with someone about her feelings for them, they had dropkicked her into a year of depression. not for nothing, it had been connor that had stuck by her side throughout the entire thing. and wasn’t that really what this was about?

“no, no, don’t be sorry,” she insisted as soon as she could breathe again. she had expected this to be like pulling teeth and had decided to talk to him in the first place with a heavy heart full of weeks-old dread that she had already ruined their friendship. the reminder of what she’d started on new year’s eve made her blush, ruddy splotches blooming across her cheeks and down her neck, but it wasn’t from embarrassment. this just wasn’t what she expected. “i had a great time on new year’s,” she admitted, voice a little bit feeble and not quite her own for a moment, but the smile that made an appearance was all classic june. she had been beyond drunk, but the memories from that night were visceral and still right under her skin. “i don’t know if i can go back to normal. i mean, i could, eventually. but what if i didn’t want to?” it had been there for five weeks, in the back of her mind when her thoughts quieted down. she had been waiting for someone for a long, long time but something good was right in front of her, whether it was actually a good idea or not. there were so many things that screamed it wasn’t. but since when did june not just say ‘fuck it’ and do what she wanted?

connor couldn’t help the laugh bubbling up in his chest at the mere relief he felt at the sound of her coughing, for it gave the whole situation a sense of normality that he’d been desperately missing. now that he thought about it, he hadn’t smoked with june since new year’s, and he’d just realized how much that had been fucking with his psyche. but, what he was more surprised about was how simple it seemed to come out and say everything that had been on his mind. maybe it was because he had over a month to marinate in the awkwardness-- maybe it was just because it was june. that didn’t stop his general fear of the future, though; pretty much every relationship he’d ever been in had started on a whim and ended because of his own insecurity, and he was just hoping his own brain could maybe cut him some slack on this one. as he listened to her words and took another hit, he was just thankful to be sitting next to her and having a real conversation again. sure, of course they’d talked since everything happened, but it wasn’t really real. just sharing jokes or small talk as if they were mere acquaintances. it was painful.

a third of the way up the aisles and right in the middle of the row, there were two seats set up with soda and a just unhealthy amount of candy, plus the jacket that june had thoroughly forgotten about not fifteen minutes earlier. a mental note went up in on the cork board of june’s brain to bring it home before the weekend when she opened the theatre door, but there was no guarantee. the previews before the goonies finished moments after june opened the door for them and the opening frames of the 1985 classic adventure comedy started without catastrophe as she led the way to the sweet spot. “it’s true, though. i’d rather it smell real loud than like a hundred feet. i think she’ll be especially happy with the atmosphere i’m providing the theatre with tonight,” she added, sparking up the cone with a long inhale and a thick cloud when she exhaled. she passed the lit joint to connor and its twin got tucked behind her ear for safe keeping. moderation, you know?

there had been a million moments that looked just like this in the past seven years, hazy and comfortable with a movie playing in the background, this was different. despite the chill zone she’d created, there was a lump in her throat that she had to swallow thickly to get over. “hey, so. not to jump right in, but i feel like something’s been… wrong since new year’s. i didn’t mean to make things weird. i just got caught up in the moment when you were being so sweet and it seemed like such a good idea. not that it wasn’t, i just… wasn’t exactly thinking about what things were going to be like now.” june could hardly bring herself to meet connor’s eyes, but she forced herself to, flitting between looking down nervously at her hands and flashing expressive eyes at him. “i don’t want things to be weird, i just- i don’t know. you’re my dude, you know? you’re my favorite.” she couldn’t help but smile at that, sheepish and a little sad after five weeks of weirdness. it was absolutely true, though. it had been for years.

with a deep inhale, the end of the joint crackled alongside her words, and connor hoped that getting high would better equip him for what june was about to say. there was no telling how long this conversation would last, but based on the look on her face, it was obvious some type of shit was about to go down. serious shit. which he was never the best at dealing with. at the start of her little speech, he braced himself for the worst, handing the joint back and wishing she just hadn’t remembered anything-- maybe everything would’ve been easier that way. not for him, of course, but for the future of their friendship.

@conye-west

after the unprecedented chaos that was new year’s eve, june was grateful for the mundane post-holiday work weeks that followed. for as much as she’d complained her entire adolescence about her suburban upbringing, it seemed she had finally overloaded herself with excitement and she had a fresh scar on her palm to prove it. in reality, it wasn’t that simple, but lying low and staying busy didn’t lend itself very well to serious conversations, and she was tired of overthinking the knots in her stomach that had started to form the moment she’d decided ‘yes, i do want to boink connor roth.’ the obvious solution was to push the worries way to the back of her mind, but that had proven difficult after more than a month without talking about the repercussions of the night they’d spent together. yikes. it still sounded so canned in her head, no matter how much she tried to ease into the subject.

pretending it was no big deal, even though it had been her fucking idea, was causing her a surprising amount of anxiety. eventually, june was going to crack and it had to be better to bite the bullet than to keep wondering if she’d permanently fucked things up for them. she waited until after the last showing let out and loitered even longer at the ticketing booth until connor walked past. “i’ve got two adult tickets to pineapple express here,” she joked, holding up two thicc prerolls and one of her favorite lighters, a lime green specimen with one of her signature aliens drawn on it in black sharpie. “come hang out with me in theatre 3? i won’t tell lisa if you won’t.” the following laughter had sworn to stay hidden deep within june, but betrayed her almost directly after the words left her mouth. “i have goonies set up,” she sang, hoping to sweeten the pot.

closing up trio had never been a particularly difficult feat; that was, until things became unspeakably awkward with one of his favorite coworkers (and favorite people in general). well, things were normal, kind of, but that was also kind of the worst thing about it all. because june hadn’t brought anything up, connor had assumed she’d either forgotten about the whole thing or had quickly realized she made a mistake and chose not to say anything, moving on completely. either way, the whole situation had been eating away at him for over a month. unfortunately, the only people he felt comfortable talking to about something like this were clark, june, and camille, all of which had their own problems to deal with and two of which he definitely had some type of feelings for. ugh. why did life have to be so hard?

for camille, the first month of 2019 had been sick—– or at least, as sick as life gets in dingle (more lovingly referred to as oregon’s asshole.) she’d rung in the new year kissing some hot surfer chick who’s van had broken down on the way to somewhere… cooler. she took a quiz to find out which adam sandler character was her soulmate (and she totally got robbie hart from the wedding singer). then, to top it all off, she found an old anti-marijuana poster from the 50s to stick to her bathroom door. 

though, as she watched her brother drag himself into the booth opposite her, she caught a vibe that his january might not have been quite so sick. it had been longer than usual since they’d last caught up, and she’d had a suspicion that maybe a fully-woke, sober activity might do him some good. once again? seems she was right on the money. now that he’d finally arrived, she nodded toward earl, who has been a trainee for four years and who camille theorised had a single cheeto for a brain, so he could start on their usual orders.

“wed-nes-day,” she drawled, resting her elbows on the vaguely sticky tabletop. “what’s up, zombie boy?”

it wasn’t as if 2019 had necessarily been bad so far or anything, but it was kinda discouraging that things hadn’t immediately started looking up since the shitstorm that was 2018 ended. work was lame, saving money was hard, and there wasn’t really anything to do ever. plus, things were just kind of weird. he entered the year making out with one of his best friends and woke up the next day wishing he’d been making out with another one of his best friends. what fucking gives? it was likely the fact that he had a hard time making any positive decisions in his life, but he wasn’t about to throw all that on camille at once.

it was rare june actually thought out an action past how much she wanted to do it, but tonight was a special masterpiece of living solely in the moment. if she were sober, she’d have so many things to be anxious about, but as things were (the jägermeister and weed combo had seemed like such a genius idea at the time) the only thing she had on her mind was how stupidly happy she felt. connor had the extraordinary ability to cheer june up no matter what, and he’d had to cheer her up from some real bullshit before. how he always managed to, she had no idea, but he never failed.

her eyes filtered through half a dozen levels of surprise, searching his until they settled on something like delight at the notion that connor wanted to kiss her again. a new year’s kiss was one thing, hell, she’d kissed two of her roommates on new year’s last year. but she hadn’t kissed them like she’d kissed connor, and even now, she was unable to escape the feeling that she was sixteen again and not almost twenty two, with her own health insurance and a managerial position. now, her fingers played with the long hair at the nape of connor’s neck, stomach feeling even tighter than before, and she nodded decisively. “definitely,” she managed, finding she was just as out of breath as connor seemed.

almost everything that had happened in the past minute or so was teetering into too-good-to-be-true territory, and yet he longed to continue. he wasn’t about to sit there and lie to himself that he hadn’t been looking forward to this happening somehow, but that wasn’t to say he expected it or anything, especially at that moment in time. there was an inevitably long list of things he’d likely be forced to worry about the next day, including but not limited to the fact that maybe june didn’t actually feel this way, or maybe they were both kidding themselves, or the fact that this had the potential to mess with a six-year-long friendship. but it wasn’t tomorrow yet.

very quickly into 2019, connor realized it would probably take some time for it to become the year he was hyping it up to be. of course, he was crossfaded a good quarter of the time he was awake pretty much the entire year so far, which definitely wasn’t a great thing. thankfully, camille’s job at has beans was surprisingly good at keeping him in check. connor had never been the biggest coffee fan, but there were lots of reasons to kick it there: one, discount. two, he was very hungover and in desperate need of caffeine. three, camille invited him there. that was probably the most important one. 

Smoking weed wasn’t something Jamie did too often - he was partial to inhaling tobacco smoke rather than cannabis. However, joining Dingle’s Local Stoner Band meant that that had to change, at least a little. In fact, he had just smoked more weed with Connor in the few hours they were hanging out than he had in the past year.

And, maybe it was the side effects of the weed that made Jamie forget to mention to his new bandmate that he hadn’t been in roller skates since he was twelve. But, hey, it must be something you remember to do, like riding a bike, right? Not that he could remember the last time he was on a bike either, but that analogy still fit in his eyes.

”Me too, man,” he replied to Connor, grabbing the blunt from him with a soft, ‘thanks’. “It feels pretty good,” Jamie answered with a light chuckle, taking a far less #nasty puff than his friend. “I didn’t get a cool initiation like this when I joined Honeytunes, so I already like being wet more.” He passed the blunt back to Connor, his gaze focusing on the Breezeblock before asking, “Just how well can you roller skate when you’re high?”

“i feel like the honeytunes initiation would look exactly like that one scene from pitch perfect,” he stated, imagining it in his mind as a laugh left his lips. just the whole band surrounding jamie as they removed a bag from his head and whispered his assigned role dramatically, dooming him to generic harmonies under the control of a lead singer that was probably crazy. in wet brain they didn’t have that problem ‘cause no one really wanted to be the lead singer.

connor wasn’t confident in a lot of things, but one thing he was absolutely sure of was that being welcomed into into anything could never be this fun. the pair were already a couple bowls deep and had already ran through conversations of piano battles, internet memes, and the definite possibility of jamie moving into the casa rosa. of course, torrance moving away was definitely a loss, but he never could’ve expected this new opportunity to befall wet brain-- which would have been reduced to a duo once again had jamie not swooped in. henceforth: the initiation. well, “initiation” made it sound a lot more dramatic than it actually was, which was smoking a lot of weed and going roller skating. sadly, unfortunately, clark was being forced to slave away at work, but the good part was that they did this all the time anyway. 

the weight of connor’s hands on hers, laying down a protective layer of psychedelic pastels, acted as june’s anchor to the world that wasn’t spinning and a little blurry like it had been for hours at this point. new year’s eve had always held a special place in her heart. the minutes counting down to midnight were always abuzz with the magic of a fresh start and all the possible new beginnings. she hadn’t really been cognizant enough to appreciate that magic yet, but it was all crashing over her now. she’d been in an incredible mood all night, and she couldn’t help but think bleeding all over the place would’ve ruined everything if it hadn’t been for connor.

seconds after his question, every voice on the entire block started to count down from ten, squashing any doubts about just how little time they had. there, in the low light of the bathroom (her palace) with the greatest dumdum she’d ever known, the imminent last moments of what had turned out to be a wonderful year warmed the nerves that had collected in her stomach. like most of the time, she had no idea what she was doing. but when the voices downstairs counted down three, two, one, june figured all she could do was follow that fuzzy feeling in her stomach and rest her arms on connor’s shoulders as she leaned into his space, shutting her eyes just before her lips connected with his. the rest of the house cheered happy new year! just as she kissed him, heart pumping quickly even as she pulled back several seconds later. “happy new year, connor roth,” she said softly, cheeks pink but still smiling.

the voices counting down the seconds left seemed to be fading even more into the background as he stared at her, his breath catching in his throat. it was hard to tell what she was thinking, but she was very close, and connor was suddenly feeling very nervous. here he was, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead as a result of extensive alcohol consumption and hours of constant movement, eyes squinted and red, kneeling in front of a toilet. sure, june was pretty much in the same boat, but she looked... well, kind of perfect. once her hands moved to rest on his shoulders, he could hear his heart beating in his ears, completely drowning out every other sound as she leaned in towards him. holy shit. holy shit.

june swayed absentmindedly from her throne while her bud searched for his surgical supplies. she was too far gone and lost in the song to fully appreciate how distracted they both were by the 1985 jam. and what a jam it was. it was funny, what connected them. june had fully immersed herself in the faded pastel aesthetic of john hughes’ rat pack collection when she met connor in high school, and their playlists still reflected those soundtracks. it’s really no wonder she was constantly saying they’d fit in seamlessly in a mid-eighties rom-com.  “i won’t let you get murdered this year, i’ve got your back too,” she promised, letting her hand relax so he could clean it off. later, much later when she was sober and hungover, she’d appreciate the fact that he stopped everything at his own party to make sure her hand didn’t get fucked up even worse.

“listen, i need you to know something, okay? i want all of the spongebob band aids,” she insisted, trying so hard to be serious and failing spectacularly, cracking up immediately. “i don’t know what you’re talking about, anyway, because you’re a great doctor, dr. roth. excellent bedside manner, you always have the best weed. all the qualities of a good doctor.” her list was a little slurred at the beginning, but the grin on her face was genuine and her eyes weren’t totally glazed over. in a moment of clarity, she could hear the party getting louder downstairs. “is it starting soon?” she asked.

the smile that crossed connor’s features was nearly impossible to get rid of, knowing him and june were in each other’s corner. it was already obvious, with the many years of good memories under their belt, but the affirmation was always nice. he was sure he wouldn’t take the time to play doctor with anyone else, especially in his current state of mind-- and, of course, fondly being referred to as “dr. roth” was such a massive mood boost (and a lowkey turn-on) that it completely made up for the entire situation, which was no longer stressful considering they were both having a chuckle over spongebob band-aids.

at some point, june was going to have to admit defeat, or at least that she wasn’t in a state to be arguing with anything connor was doing to try and get things under control, and let him take control. evidently, the time was now. she leaned against him, half humming out laughter even as her sad little socks were abandoned outside the upstairs bathroom; banished for causing a sticky-gritty feeling in her toes. add that to the list of things she was going to hate her drunk self for in the morning. “do you think that would help?” she asked, looking down at her hand to contemplate if stitches (by connor, jesus christ) were necessary. by some miracle of the gods, she shook her head. “no, no, look. the blood isn’t getting… bigger.”

and with that scientific, medical conclusion, she opened her hand to release a little bit of the pressure. sure enough, the patch of blood on her palm - wet, dried, and crusty from where it had continued to bleed for a while - wasn’t getting any worse anymore. it was pretty gruesome and she thought to herself that it was no wonder connor thought she was going to need stitches, and maybe it was just how royally fucked up she’d gotten, but it really didn’t hurt all that bad. the quiet of the bathroom was a stark contrast from the chaos of the party this late in the night downstairs. one of her favorite tears for fears songs was playing over the speakers down there, loudly enough that she could hear it near perfectly from where she’d stationed herself on the corner of the bathroom counter. “thanks for making sure i didn’t die,” she added after a hazy pause, smiling like connor was the other thing in the world that mattered. she’d been thinking of more things to say, surely, but all but that one escaped her. “that’s one of my resolutions this year, to not die. i feel very supported right now.”

“cool. ‘cause i don’t really have a license for that,” he chuckled, guiding her to sit on the toilet. the porcelain throne, if you will. (only the best for his president.) the lighting in the bathroom was not the greatest, considering one of the lightbulbs was out and everyone who lived there refused to change it due to a disease called extreme lazy bastard syndrome. however, after a few seconds of rummaging through the cabinet, he was able to find some spongebob band-aids that had probably been purchased in 2015. maybe 2014. it was hard to remember, or even focus on anything as he listened to the sounds from downstairs. and this is my four leaf clover, i’m on the line one open mind, this is my four leaf clover... 

“i mean, that was mine too so i got your back!” he grinned, setting the box on the sink before grabbing a washcloth and running it under the water. “or, your hand, i guess. ba dum tssh.” he moved to kneel down in front of her, carefully spreading out her palm and beginning to dab it with the cloth. “okay-- the good news is that i don’t think it’s stitch-worthy,” he murmured as the blood began to come off. “bad news is that i'm not a doctor and i’m... can’t really see. heh.” his line of vision was indeed more of a circle at this point in the evening, but as far as he knew, spongebob band-aids had the ability to solve most problems, so she’d probably be okay. “might need a couple of these, though,” he added as he reached for the box. “maybe even three. scandalous!”

“connor!” june answered drunkenly through the second minute of her fit of giggles, grinning up at her friend from under the locks of hair that were permanently in her face tonight and swaying from her spot near the counter. there was blood on her hand and she knew, somewhere in her brain that still had the ability to be logical, that it was hers, but there was zero memory of actually getting cut. sure, the bottle had broken, but such were the consequences of her incredible magic trick. she couldn’t remember how to do it, but trying anyway had seemed like the way to go.

drippings of her spilled beer pooled on the floor and when june took a step toward connor to tell him more about how psyched she was that he was there now, she lost her balance and slid a couple more feet forward than she meant to on her socked feet. she distinctly remembered telling someone that shoes were for posers and tossing them across the room fairly early in the night, which left her tractionless. “did you see my magic trick?” she asked, wheezing through her own laughter now and squeezing her hand shut tighter. even as drunk as she was, partly on the magic of new year’s eve but mostly on a bunch of whiskeys, beers, and shots of vodka, that tiny voice of reason still told her she should put pressure on her cut. “i’m so glad you’re here, i was just telling everyone that i’m bleeding.”

this was probably going to be harder than he thought. he was fairly certain everything-- bandages, disinfectant, all that jazz-- was in the upstairs bathroom, which was kind of terrible planning on his part but maybe it wasn’t considering all of the downstairs bathrooms were probably taken anyway. last year they hadn’t even noticed someone had camped out in the bathtub until they started cleaning at 4PM and they were still there. he wasn’t sure if 2019 would bring a repeat of that but he was sure it’d be fine it it was june.

things started getting pretty blurry at about ten, so of course the minutes leading up to midnight were as hazy as the fog surrounding the house. fuck it! it was new year’s eve, after all. he’d at least been trying to be responsible; the number of drinks he’d had was being tallied on the back of his hand, but then again, that was only until about ten-- after that, he lost the pen, and therefore lost count. oh well. seven was a lucky number anyway.

wait, scratch that-- he definitely just heard the distant sound of a glass breaking. fuck. that could’ve been anything. what if it was his favorite cup?! wait, that was plastic. what about the bong? no, that was also plastic. (too many accidents prior to this led up to that decision.) he could’ve sworn they got solo cups for this party. was someone just breaking glasses on purpose? that would definitely suck. but he didn’t think there was anyone there who’d do that. jeez, he was overthinking things-- but at least he’d been unconsciously walking towards the source of the noise the entire time, and was quickly able to discover that june was the culprit. and the victim, apparently, seeing as she was cradling her hand. “whoa,” he piped up, gritting his teeth together and attempting to see straight as he surveyed the damage: the jagged pieces of a beer bottle were scattered into a foamy mess that was draped across the counter, but that was the least of his worries at that point as he approached the other. “are you okay?”