HE’D DONE DYLAN THE FAVOUR OF COVERING UP THE SCENT OF UNWASHED SOCKS, now shoved into the furthest corner of his room, with a heavy layer of Febreeze. lavender, since that’s what girls always said they liked. buster is convinced that lavender isn’t actually a real scent, something perfume companies made up and slapped a pretty purple colour on to. there was no way flowers actually smelled like that, no supermarket bouquet he had picked up had even been that light and airy. granted, he had never bought flowers that weren’t on sale and one day away from wilting. like they always said, it was the thought that counted, right ? but he had no flowers to present to his roommate, something far more romantic was brewing in the back of his head. ❝ i think i’ve solved a mystery and before you walk out, hear me out, yea’ ? ❞
despite his seemingly confident statement, he paused a minute to give her the chance to leave. when it seemed like he had successfully trapped her into his scheme, he grinned. a smile that stretched from ear to ear and never meant any good. ❝ so i lied. ❞ great start. ❝ i didn’t solve a cold case yet. but we, you and me, deli meat, ❞ he frantically pointed from himself to dylan, and then to the makeshift board of ideas behind him that he had thrown together in minutes. the display looked like a high school project gone wrong. ❝ we’re about to crack the code. ❞ his index finger jabbed into a newspaper article pinned on the cork board. it outlined the phenomenon of a dumpster diver who had repeatedly found unbelievable treasures among bags of trash. an insanely expensive watch, a rare gemstone, a bag of cash. they began calling him irish luck with the loot he’d dug up. but buster had another theory. ❝ i don’t think he ever really found those things. you pickin’ up what i’m puttin’ down, amiga ? i think he stole them, and put them there himself and just magically happened on them. a solid scam t - b - h, finders keepers losers weepers. ❞
his chest puffed up with an air of smugness from remembering the saying on the spot, made for a great end to his pitch. ❝ since our boy irish luck is still kicking, or should i say : still diving, i think we should catch him in the act – stake out style. ❞
bright eyes make no effort concealing their very obvious attempt to take in as much of the room as she could. she wouldn’t admit it to his face but the amount of times she had attempted sneaking into his room was abysmal, almost bordering on straight up embarrassing as she failed every single time — mostly out of paranoia that he’d pop up out of the corner and honestly, she was scared of what she’d find. drugs. a dead body. a poster for shyamalan’s avatar. the possibilities were endless. nose wrinkles as she catches a whiff of the heavy layer of lavender spray, the scent tolerable and then full on violating every bit of her senses. it starts itching and then she turns away from him to let out the most dramatic sneeze, something she was certain would make her father proud. ❝ buster, dude, it’s like i’m inhaling chemicals, it’s like they’re injecting straight into my lungs and burning my nose holes. am i bleeding ? ❞ she turns back at him to tilt her head back slightly, revealing her nose for him, only to let out a hum of intrigue at his proposition. ❝ alright, i’m game. ❞
arms folded over her chest as she listened to him, gaze narrowing at him with skepticism. ❝ why do you have to do that to me ? you can’t just hook, line, and sink me in just to blow it out of the water. ❞ she says absolutely nothing about deli meat, a hidden grin behind her forced look of indifference at the nickname. and so she listens, bites down on her tongue to keep from interrupting him despite the questions that rose and the excitement that was now bubbling wildly in her chest. she skips across the floor to close the distance between them, just enough to reach out with her foot and nudge at his knee, only to gravely underestimate her height and she ends up tripping over air. ❝ i’m so pickn’ up what you’re putting down ! oh my god, this is going to make us rich if we expose this sucker. oh my god, ❞ she inhales deeply, octaves rising as she points at him, letting silence fill the gap for dramatic purposes.
❝ what if we stole his shit and kept it for ourselves ? one man’s trash is another’s treasure and i could really use more expensive garbage. we could double whammy it with an exposé and getting away with the goods. ❞ she’s now excitedly slamming her hands over his chest like it was a drum board, ❝ bro, we’re gonna be like the goonies ! we should get a matching outfit. ❞ and then she starts coughing violently as she chokes on her own spit. ❝ how’re we gonna track this lil bitch down ? ❞