when youāre young, so much of the world is new and wild and bright. just like the love dante and miles first shared. nothing quite overcomes that feeling of fresh experience, but it almost always ends. fizzles out, is forgotten in lieu of the next new thing, overtaken by another. in cases like this - for oldest hollis and evers - things fall apart because a small voice convinces you itās the right thing. and yet, the same fresh, all consuming newness of fifteen year old love burns bright. even still. with all that could collapse them, with all that threatened them in between then and now⦠their paths converge once again. and it feels just like it used to. scarred and battered, their souls heal as they walk side by side. and that makes the in between worth it. no matter how hard it was. āyouāre kidding,ā miles winks at his bartender. ( yes, his. ) āi had no clue you could like, make drinks. wild,ā he gently calls after him as he walks away to begin making the most ridiculous request of a drink. thereās been a set of dark hues boring holes into him ever since he arrived to the bar. digging deeper as though to gain some sense of who the tattooed boy is. most people at this bar are regulars, are people from lake wisteria, but wanderers find themselves here, too. hoping for a brief escape from the atrocities and tragedy in their lives. a much different scenario than the one that finds the brunetteās affinity for the old place. a getaway for most, an oasis for miles hollis. when he is inevitably pulled to look the direction of the patron, a smile is flashed his way. one thatās somewhere on the attractive spectrum but doesnāt quite settle well. a drink is set in front of him, grin on his lips.Ā āmy hero,ā he coos, chuckling softly as his not boyfriend walks away. itās but two beats before the intently staring patron sidles up beside miles, complimentary words, charming jokes, and a little too much proximity at the ready. not much of miles has the energy to push back too much, laughing every so often, attempting to put some distance between himself and the other.Ā
āi had to get certified when i first got home. i learned how to make a lot of drinks,ā dante informs, happy to share these details, he hadnāt told much of anyone else, and a tinge of pride tugs at cherry lips.Ā āmightāve been the only class iāve ever liked taking.ā in a wave, the brunette is reminded of affectionately distractible notes passed between young lovers, pencils balanced on noses, and disappointed glances from teachers. heās grown so much.Ā āhope itās a good one,ā dante parts with miles and his elderflowers. across the bar, he nearly overflows a flight of tequila shots, distractedly eyeing the man who then closes the distance between him and a certain perfectly curled brunette. heād barely waited for dante to walk away. lips part, pulse enlivens, blazing in his neck. he tidies the shots and hurriedly delivers them, before he scurries back to the scene, catching the end of things.Ā āso, iām not here for long, but long enough to make some memories...āĀ the strangerās voice teases, and dante watches a hand outstretch whose path seems to be headed to milesā forearm, the same skin dante had become mesmerized by, addicted to, that of which the bad student was so flawlessly relearning. he sets his jaw, the playfulness devoid, and he clears his throat, loudly, knuckles cracking against palms. this catches the attention of the man who looks to dante annoyedly. āitās time for you to go,ā dante suggests of the man whose proximity runs against danteās skin like a scalding shower.Ā āyeah, get lost.ā his eyes are intently focused on the dark hues of their infiltrator who considers danteās stature before lifting hands up in a surrender.Ā āalright, man, whatever,ā he mumbles before menacingly, he turns and smirks at miles, winking.Ā āOKAY,ā dante exclaims, affronted.Ā "out.ā he yells out to the back of the man who he can see is snickering. after a frozen moment, replaying the events in loop, dante cringes, feeling the blush rise to already roused cheeks as he keeps his eyes anywhere but on milesā, busying himself in some fake task behind the bar, flustered.Ā