// she call me daddy

“oh my god!” is all she replies with, in a tone that suggests she agrees - hands clapping together in the sort of enthusiasm only fit for a girl drunk in a bathroom. her phone’s somewhere in there - but she’s lost it, in the small space - though the room isn’t really terribly too small, no mansion bathrooms were - she had direct experience with expensive restrooms. “is that, like, a reference?” saige cocks her head to the side, fingers twirling a strand of her hair as she squints at him - trying to figure it out - before forgetting it all together within the next few moments - instead trotting over to the bathroom door and pounding back. “we! are! peeing!” she announces - hopefully loud enough, an added kick to the door. “oh my god, people like - have no appreciation for art - right?”

the enthusiasm she offers encourages him to click another picture --- this time capturing the door handle that’s covered in greasy-looking fingerprints. “yuck,” he mutters, considering all of the reasons that someone’s fingers would be greasy. “hmm? maybe, what did i say?” and when she kicks the door, he captures a quick video of the impact and pipes in, “find a different bathroom!” he groans, leaning against the edge of the tub, suddenly nauseous. the action causes saige’s phone to go skidding into the tub. “your phone wants a bath. and yeah, people are just so unappreciative of us.” 

After splitting off from the people he’d arrived with, Teddy had wandered on his own to explore the luxurious surroundings of the garden party. It’d been a while since he found someone he recognized again, popping into their face seemingly out of nowhere to blow a party horn in their face, the unfurling paper attached to it bonking the other on their nose, “Oops - surprise, found you!” he shouted, shaking a porcelain tea cup in front of their face next, “How. Fucking. Cute, right? And look what they say inside -,” Tipping the cup forward, Teddy gasped when liquid sloshed out and landed on their feet, completely forgetting that he’d filled the tea cup with whatever he could find, “Fuck, sorry - oh, see? It says drink me!”

Greg was standing staring at his paint-covered hands when Teddy seemingly appeared out of thin air. A shriek escaped his lips and a hand moved to swat at the party horn, missing entirely and instead smearing the wet paint across his face. Blinking for a few seconds, he stared dumbly as the other waved a teacup in his face and oh --- that was quite cold. “I lost my shoes, it’s alright.” Leaning in closer, he squinted to make out the words on the inside of the cup. “Oh, that is quite cute. Does the stuff inside make you grow taller or does it shrink you down?”

“Wouldn’t it? Wait… Yeah… Shit… Sorry, I’m high. I’m already high. Do you want some? I have a pipe,” he offered, hand rubbing at his eyes in an effort to sober up. “Wh — Minute… Fuck. I knew something was off,” Eli said with a frown, moving to drink more despite this new discovery.

“I smoked a bowl, I feel on top of the world,” Elias stated, shaking his juice box he’d likely been given in an effort to sober him up. “A woman even gave me one of her fancy box wine coolers. It’s almost like weed makes me more powerful.”

and as greg stumbles into the party, having gone too hard at the pre-game he spotted the familiar furry face of the bouncer. "yo bugs," he shouts in greeting as he walks past, shaking his head in disappointment when the other doesn't reply. soon enough he sees another familiar face, a smile stretches across his face as he fails to consider just who it is that he’s seeing. “viktor, my man!” he yells, throwing his arms back as strolls up to the other causing his white t-shirt and heart-print boxer shorts to be on clear display. somehow the sting of shame sneaks past the lack of inhibitions, causing his arms to drop back down to his sides. “how are you? you look,” he pauses to actually look at the other for perhaps a moment too long, “good, you look good!”

Automatically, Gunner’s nose scrunched up at the nickname. He’d heard a handful of terrible nicknames in his life, but this one might have taken the cake, “Yeah, that’s, uh. That’s okay, Greg,” he insisted, taking a step back once the other had released his grip on Gunner. It wasn’t anything personal in the slightest, Gunner sometimes still shied away from his own brother, “This is Katy Perry level,” Gunner pointed out, glancing between the picture and Greg, “because the couch feels like a plastic bag, I guess. Garbage bag, same thing. But, um. That’s really cool, actually. The concept, I mean. Still… a bit confused about it, though. About what it has to do with… the, um. Heart? But, y’know. Still really good. You’re really good at this. Sorry - if I had my glasses on I’d appreciate it more. I’m blind.”

“Feel free to just shove me off if I’m crossing boundaries, unny,” he suggested, not wanting to overwhelm his friend. “Thank you so much,” he choked, voice watery as tears began to well up in his eyes as he gazed at Gunner. “You know, we just don’t appreciate what we have enough in life and this couch, it’s a perfectly good couch. It’ll be on Saige and I’s instagram if you want --- do you follow us? It’s honeynmilk - that’s honey n milk, like h-o-n-e-y-n-m-i-l-k on instagram. That way you can get a better look at it.”

Standing in the corner of the party and fiddling awkwardly with his own phone, Gunner gasped when Greg seemed to run up to him out of nowhere. He’d always startled easily, especially when unexpected touch was in play, blinking wildly as if a flash grenade had just momentarily blinded him and not a simple arm slung around his shoulders by his friend, “Jesus,” he whispered to himself automatically, eyes narrowing at the picture, “I don’t - I can’t see it, I don’t have my glasses. Is that, um. Did you just take a picture of a garbage bag, Greg?” he asked slowly, confused as to what he was looking at - he looked a bit like a grandpa, taking Greg’s phone and holding it as far away from him as he could and narrowing his eyes until they were nothing more than two slats on his face, “Why’re you taking pictures of random lonely garbage bags?”

“Oh, sorry Guns!” Even drunk, Greg manages to sense the brief moment of panic. He backs off slightly,his arm coming to rest near his own side as he waited for what he was sure was going to be praise. “It’s a couch, but I guess metaphorically it’s a garbage bag. Just like the rest of us,” he sighed, suddenly wistful as if considering the fate of the universe. “It’s representative of the ever-changing human heart, of the damaging nature of materialism and how it leads to abandonment. Also, it looks dope!”

“YOU, bones, you’re my new favorite,” jack shouts, clapping him on the back. “long time, no see. you look great! god, people here look great,” and he’s grinning, and he stumbles just a bit when he pulls his arm back. it’s obvious he’s been celebrating his own return to normalcy. “i’m back. i’m so back,” he turns to the party, “i’m back!” there isn’t any response from the crowd, except for a girl who turns to him with a look that reads ‘ shut the hell up. ’ it makes him feel washed up, but he can drink to forget that, the fact that he’s yesterdays paper here in california. old news. dare he say, boring. he lets greg lead him, smiling at the thought of downing another beer, maybe two. “football, man. they needed me!” he hasn’t been this cocky in a long time, and maybe he’s compensating for the life he lived when he was home, or for the fact that he hasn’t had a drink with someone under the age of forty in months, or to forget all of the fears he still has about really being back. “it feels right to be back, you know?” it doesn’t. it feels wrong. “i know i’m not like .. back. i’m not in new york,” he left his heart in new york, “but this is pretty close. it’s just like old times. look, sarah’s puking in the sink! love when she does that.”

Vera clicked her tongue, what a weird conversation to start her day. “I mean, I had the flu once and it kinda felt like that,” She continued to eye him carefully, “Maybe you’re sick? Unless you took some weird drugs, or maybe had like, a fucking ungodly, inhuman amount of coffee.” She shrugged, “The good thing is, at least 2 of those things are fixable. Unless you enjoy feeling like you discovered a new dimension? In which case, have fun?”

“The flu sucks,” he added, head bobbing as if to affirm his belief but mostly because standing still was beginning to feel a little painful. “I think it’s the coffee one, do you know if there’s a way to like sober up but for coffee? You know like bread but not?” He asked, hoping that his line of questioning made sense. “Not really, no the whole new dimension thing is making me a little dizzy.”

Lola raised an eyebrow at Greg as she sat down beside him, slightly concerned that he was having some sort of crisis - or at least she would be, if this wasn’t pretty regular sort of behavior around here. “Are you trying to tell me that you joined the drama club? Is this your audition for that play about the salesman who has a breakdown? Because if so, you’re nailing it, my guy.” 

That caught his attention, if only because it could almost be taken as a compliment. “You think I’m good enough for the drama club?” The thought was nice, if only this was all an act --- then he’d have a future. “No, no, no. My life is falling apart and my STEM major is going to mean nothing and my parents are going to disown me. And then I won’t even have money for beer to cope with my heartbreak.”

“Well, that’s… I mean, whatever. Fuck it. Greg’s fine,” Bradley shrugged off, fingers moving to her cheek before they dropped entirely – it had the sluggish pace of a bird that had just hit a window, sliding down the glass before it fell into the bushes. “I don’t know. Feels like a Tuesday. Is it a Tuesday?” Glancing around like that would provide some form of clarification, Bradley came up empty. “I won’t lie, I never keep track. Sometimes I wake up and a week’s gone by. Just how life is. Time isn’t real,” she announced, moving on. “What’re you losing your shit over, anyway? Feral hog you bought at the market gone missing?”

“better than chadworth,” he jokes, feeling slightly guilty about snapping at her but not enough to apologize. “i thought that it was thursday,” he mumbles, raking a hand through his hair as he tries to remember the last time he checked the date. “time isn’t real, but it is a social construct we’re expected to live our lives by. and my phone’s dead so i can’t check,” he blows out a huff of air, bottom lip rolling out as he does so. “a feral hog? you can buy those --- can you eat them?” wait, hadn’t she asked a question? “just stuff for class, i don’t really remember. and god that’s why everything is falling apart.”