Normally Rocky’s preamble has something to do with the party he’s at, or the girl he’s been hitting on. Sometimes they’re about how he can’t find his keys or pants so Spook can you please unlock your front door because it’s getting a bit nippy out here and I think your bed might be a little warmer. Those are the kind of drunk dials Spook’s come to expect, so when such a ludicrous statement catches him off guard he’s silent on the phone until Rocky’s voice crackles through again, “Spooky?”

"...You're drunk."

"Huh?"

Rocky pauses to push those few strands back out of her face with a half-smile before continuing to walk. "I dunno... there's this weird sense of relief I have right now. Like if I wasn't here walking with you I would've.... I dunno, gone on that impromptu roadtrip with Spook. And for some reason I feel like that... would've ended badly. Car crash status-badly. It's a weird gut feeling. You know what I mean?"

All at once Entre feels hands closing in on his throat causing him to choke on the words that intended to follow. His vision seems to stutter, still, then rearrange itself so that Swag, mere inches from his face, is in clear focus--from the determination set in the line of his mouth to the tears in his eyes--

"I will," Swag whispers. His hands tremble with the weight of those words.

And right then Entre feels something crack within him, something irreparable and necessary and it shatters into a million pieces on the bloodied floor of his conscience. Entre wonders if Swag could see it, if Swag could feel it, because he always thought that Swag was the one who understood him the most. But if Swag noticed, he'd relinquish his choke hold. Of course he doesn't do that. "So... you're picking them... over me--?"

Swag shakes his head no, but his fingers shift a little on the sweat gathering on Entre's skin as he tightens his grip. "I'm not," he says. "But you're leading our camp somewhere we can't fucking follow!"

Maybe there's an element of control in losing control. It's different, this weird notion of giving the reins to someone else but if Spook was to give them to just anyone it'd be Rocky hands down. And maybe that's exactly what they're doing, maybe that's exactly what they're doing as Rocky leans in a little more with tongue and teeth and--jesus, it's something he'd like to say is chaste which it is, but it has the barest hint of something more. Like, Spook knows that his best friend has experience in matters such as these and so Rocky knows how to work things up. But even with the bitter taste of vodka on his lips--on both their lips, really--he knows how to give it all without really giving everything, kind of like a tease, but--

--no. There's restraint, and hesitance, which is something different for two teens used to the thrumming drive of impulse, and even if they both can feel the burn of alcohol and want and something shining bright in both their eyes, well.

”I want to remember this.”

Part of Entre wants to believe they could, really really wants to believe that it could be just him and Swag against the world, no ifs, ands, buts, ors, or fucks given--

--but it doesn't work that way. Things were never that easy. 

At least not when Swag's involved.

Part of him thinks about reconsidering this whole—thing. He’s sitting outside of camp, and if the sun was visible it would probably be sometime around noon, but the red haze of daylight looks the same from sun up to sun down. Except for One who’s on watch with him, everyone’s still sleeping.

At least he’s not going to make too big of a scene, he thinks. Like with—him. It’ll be quick and efficient and aside from the single shot it’ll be quiet; everything it should’ve been with—him.

The spot where it happened is just a stone’s throw away. Even if he squints he can’t see any dark stains in the dirt, no signs of a struggle, no evidence that—he was killed here. Dave did a fine job of cleaning up. He’ll do a fine job of cleaning up this last mess too.

And with that last thought, Entre flicks the safety and squeezes the trigger and—he’s pretty sure he can hear Bitter’s screams before everything goes black.

(But it doesn’t occur to him that they might’ve been his own.)

but I think they're my favourite characters partly because they don't have fully fleshed out backstories? to begin with it's nice because there's an empty canvas with vague guidelines to go off of but at the same time it's an empty canvas and you're scared to start painting