— high dive.

he did think that everyone needed a decent suit. as far as he knew, parker's only suit was his wedding suit which had the stink of divorce on it. "lottie has taste, at least. we all know you'd wear the same outfit every day if you thought you could get away with it. and not in a steve jobs way. in a basement boy kind of way."

parker glanced down at what he currently wore and wrinkled his nose. "uh, i'm pretty sure i do wear the same outfit every day. and i do get away with it." of course, saying that meant that theo was about to prove him wrong—but parker's uniform had become, embarrassingly enough, ninety percent lululemon. it was either a plain black t-shirt and lululemon pants or some uniqlo collection designer graphic tee and black jeans. nothing else. largely his now-ex-wife's influence—he could be comfortable as long as he made it look smart, or whatever. "in an 'effortlessly sleek, man of today' way," he added, with no conviction whatsoever.

"oh, thank god. was worried i was about to get charged with a hit-and-nug." he reached down to clasp a hand around winter's forearm and help pull him up to his feet. now, parker carson may not have been the world's most observant man, but he was in his post-thirty era and had a questionable knee from winters spent recreational snowboarding. and that meant he recognized all too well the awkward gait of a man trying to act like stepping down didn't send shooting pains through his leg. "dude. be real with me right now, can you put weight on it? because if you can't put weight on it we're going to have to go get that thing x-ray'd or mri'd or whatever it is they do to make sure all the innards of your leg are in working order. legs have very complicated guts, you know? all those tendons and ligaments coexist in a very complicated ecosystem." parker's free hand steadied the bike, gave it a once-over. nothing too dramatic that a bike shop couldn't handle, right? that was fine—he'd offer to foot the bill once they had the more pressing injury scenario worked out. "nuggets are all squared away. not a stray chick in sight." a beat. "do you want one?"

"hey, wait a minute," lottie grinned a little, attempting cool, mischievous, and aloof all in one toothy smile. "you've got some seriously cool shit here. i mean, it's a total waste to keep your flash collection in a storage unit. i didn't come all the way down here to just look at boxes. come on," she flexed her biceps, "i'll even do the heavy lifting."

speaking of—mistake number two. because alongside his binders of pokemon cards were left behind photo albums of nell's earlier modelling shoots, the ones she didn't care enough to keep because she didn't approve of the final photos or because they made her too depressed about aging out of her career or the fact that she never made it much bigger than print. parker pulled out a macy's catalogue where he'd dog-eared the pages she appeared in. "here's another riddle for you, batman, you ever think about how—" he stopped himself. how fucking insane it is that i was ever in a relationship with someone whose whole job was being conventionally beautiful was a step too deep into self-defeating for the current environment. "like, who even buys clothes from a print catalogue anymore?"

"my preening?" that was an especially polite way to describe what parker would call his chronic adhd inability to start getting ready earlier than... ten minutes after he should have left. fortunately for kai, he was also anxious, which meant kai's impatience put the fear of god in him and improved his hustle. "i'm ready, i'm ready," he said, opening the door, only to immediately turn on his heel. "ah, fuck, i forgot my wallet—one sec." a mad dash to retrieve the offending leather and he reemerged, heaved a sigh, and gave kai two quick pats on the cheek. "not all of us can be as naturally handsome as you are, you bastard, have some sympathy for those of us who have to work for our middling good looks."

normally, when these kinds of incidents occurred, people asked what the idiot pedestrian opening the door was up to. texting was the greatest culprit if the "don't text and walk" PSAs were anything to go by. another, maybe reading a book—not everyone had the grace to avoid disaster and pitfall mid-reading stroll like belle did in that scene in beauty and the beast. but parker? no, no—parker was just way too invested in his chicken nuggets, the kind of behavior that normally could wait until someone had arrived safely home. ah, yes, parker carson—the sort of animal who would go full nuggets-and-dipping-sauce while opening the door. and that was when calamity struck, a cacophony of clamoring metal and jingling doorway as the bike crashed to the ground, skidding a little across the sidewalk with leftover momentum. "oh, holy shit, did i almost just bean you with the door?" his mouth dropped into a surprised 'o' to match his widened eyes, delicately reaching for the bike to lift it upright once more. "are you okay? i'm sorry, my man, hope your ride's still sailing smoothly——"

“when i offered to pay for an outfit so you didn’t look terrible at the next gala in town, i didn’t think it meant i’d have to be here for all of it.”

he assumed the gala bit was a joke. parker carson was not interested in going to any gala. but if he'd learned anything from ted lasso, it was that every man needed a decent suit. even evil ones like nathan shelley.

"one day, my young padawan, you'll learn to embrace the cocaine culture of your rockstar brethren like i have for this incredible burst of energy." just kidding. parker was a recent divorcee; in what world would he be able to fund a cocaine habit now? he snorted in amusement, stretched his too-long-and-too-stiff—thanks, thirties—body, and grabbed his wallet. "just kidding, my particular brand of the shakes are the jitters i get when i haven't slept in a full twenty-four hours. does that happen to you? and i get cold. yeah, let's go get coffee."

"i know i don't have a lot of room to talk, but this is just...sad." she couldn't decide what to look at first in the crowded storage unit. it was an eclectic hodgepodge of a nerdy 12-year-old boy's fantasy and a crumbling marriage that was clearly organized by someone with parker's level of attention to detail. lottie barely resisted the urge to start sorting things into a system that made some semblance of sense ( really anything would be better than shoving boxes and boxes of comics underneath strings of broken christmas lights and a particularly hideous lamp; was there any sort of rhyme or reason behind the piles? seriously, not even seasonal? or by room? color even? ). she blew the dust off of box before opening it, snorting at the tins of pokémon cards inside. "this could be a very specific kind of art instillation, y'know, like: the gentrification of reddit, or the life-cycle of a dweeb."

"reddit was created by and for sad white nerd boys like me, what do you mean gentrification?" he scoffed, hauling one of the longboxes aside and setting it atop a desk that hadn't survived the downsizing from his marital home. it was funny—for someone who couldn't get his life together and struggled to put away his laundry, parker still managed to meticulously organize his collections: comics bagged and boarded, arranged by company, title, and run. but as a whole? ... haphazard. "this was a bad idea," he mumbled, twirling the keyring of his storage unit keys around his finger. "we should just go. you want a beer?"

"come on, don't look so sour, it's a fair. why the long face?"

“long face, me? nah, man. it’s brain freeze.” he shook the frozen lemonade to prove his point. “you want some? it’s sour as fuck but, like, in that delicious way.”

every now and then parker got swept up enough in his work that he had to remind himself that it had been a couple days since he spoke to another real-life human in person, and when that happened, he hauled himself out of the cave of his home recording studio to one of the comfortable local king’s haven haunts and sat among the people. not unlike a stray cat, sometimes this landed him with free food. case in point: the basket of tater tots that suddenly appeared at his side. “for me?” just to be certain, he glanced around the bar. “raina sanghvi, you’re my hero,” he declared in his best cameron frye impression, immediately popping one of the offered tots into his mouth. “drunk fish has the best bar food. have you noticed that? it’s fucked up. you’re not allowed to be good at tots and mozz sticks and tendies. pick one, drunk fish.” at her little pro-tip, he sat up a little straighter, glanced over at the bartender. would he be drinking tonight? apparently so. “yo, mezcal margarita?” he turned back to his companion of the night. “i’m in a mezcal phase of my life,” he explained, answering a question she absolutely had not asked. “i went through the rum phase and the vodka phase and now we’re in the mezcal phase. i’m pretty sure that makes me sound like an alcoholic, but here we are.”  

lottie's brows pinched together as she studied the hunk of meat in it's red and white checkered bed and frowned at the way it completely fit inside the paper tray. "i'm just saying if they're going to advertise their product as the 'world's best turkey leg', i shouldn't be able to fit the whole thing in my mouth. my lipstick should be entirely replaced with grease by now, but here i am, perfectly intact."

“they said best turkey leg. not biggest. those disney ones are fucking gigantor but they don’t taste as good as they smell.” not that it mattered to parker; he’d eat one in its entirety anyway. however, the superiority of a turkey leg was up for debate here, and so he did what any concerned, food-loving citizen would do and took the turkey leg in question out of its paper prison and sank his teeth into it. pretty juicy, he thought. not bad. he hummed in deep, concentrated thought as he chewed, returning the rest of the turkey leg to its rightful resting place. “the skin crisp to juicy meet transition is pretty solid. i’m impressed. i’ll give them that one.” folding one of the napkins in his hand, he dabbed at the corner of lottie’s mouth—it had brought on some lipstick smudging, it seemed—and then his own. “yeah, i’d still eat, like, five or six of those and then ride the tilt-a-whirl ‘til i yartzed.” a king’s haven fair classic. “by the way, i won you this.” he reached inside of his coat, where he’d been hiding his plush-of-choice until such time as it could make its grand entrance. “if you can believe it, i think that’s supposed to be a pink yoshi.” in practice, it looked closer to a blobfish. it was horribly ugly, a sad, off-brand version that would never pass brand guidelines. parker loved it. 

the fair was far too cold for his liking, wearing a warm hat on a street decorated in big pink and yellow flowers seemed like a natural oxymoron. but he was more than happy to play carnival games for prizes he didn't want or need. "watch it go." he tossed the ring, watching it spin around the neck of a bottle with a 'clink'.

“you gonna give that to somebody special?”