#cmerys

MAXXIE: It's been a time...

he doesn’t mean to avoid his brother -- it’s actually quite a feat, considering their close quarters. it’s just difficult to look at him and not think of the blatant flirting he thinks he saw at the gala. so it’s extra practice hours and getting up at ridiculous times to start his day and generally making himself unavailable. that works, until his protective instincts kick in -- marley could never really stay away from emery forever. the day of emery’s arranged date, marley pushes down all his jealous feelings and wills himself into a positive demeanor. he’s taken off from rehearsals early, to make himself available to help emery get ready. he knows the kind of nervous wreck his twin works himself into before these kinds of things; even dates with a steady boyfriend could be enough to send him into a panic. knocking a few times first, marley lets himself in. “y’decent?” he chirps playfully, closing the door behind him. “i’m here to doll you up, emmy.”

tate’s feeling good. he finally feels like he’s got enough alcohol in his system. maybe even too much, if he’s being honest, but he’ll worry about that later. he’s on the high before the inevitable crash and he’s going to have as much fun feeling this way as his evening allows. it’s after midnight, all the fanfare and champagne toasting now left in the past. last year, he adds on for his own amusement. tate’s prowling for something, for someone, entertaining and his eyes lock on a slim white blond boy he usually doesn’t see at these kinds of events. “emery!” he shouts over the music, waving animatedly before traipsing over and easily draping an arm over the other’s shoulders. “i have something for you! a gift for the new year, c’mon.” he starts leading emery away from the crowd and out towards a door to the outside where, hopefully, the temperatures haven’t dropped too quickly. he’s drunk enough for that to be dangerous. as he plucks the joint out of his fancy dress pants pocket, tate throws his gaze in emery’s direction. they’ve smoked before -- less than a handful of times -- with the less experienced of the two only lasting a couple hits, max. however, he’s convinced that with his own good mood and charm, emery will be feeling more adventurous tonight. he hopes so, anyways. “you down?”

maybe some part of him is convinced that smoking a joint will somehow warm him up from the inside out or maybe he’s dependent upon the high just to function at the bare minimum socially. whatever the case, tate finds himself taking breaks from his skating to light up perhaps more often than he should. it could be worse, he reasons. at least at this skate park there are fellow stoners with which he can share, passing it around with furtive glances at the sidewalk in case a cop should happen upon the local riffraff. during one of his scans, tatum spots not a figure of authority but, rather, a small wisp of a boy that actually quirks one corner of his mouth into a smile. “gimme that,” he offers curtly, plucking the joint practically out of the mouth of one of his temporary friends and dropping his board to the cement below him with a clatter. he hops on to quickly cross the distance between himself and emery, skillfully kicking the board up into his hand once he’s successfully crossed in front of his path. he smells like weed and his nose is maybe a little wind nipped but hopefully neither of those are too off putting as he breathlessly greets his sort of friend with a “hey. y’busy?”