The house is a mess of sweat and speaker static, walls trembling from bass-heavy pulse and the crash of too many bodies in too little space. Kerryâs leaned against a makeshift bar setup in the corner of the kitchen, red Solo cup in one hand, other pressed to his ribs where someone elbowed him mid-song. His pale blond hair is pushed back off his forehead, but humidityâs wrinkling it at the edges again, a tangle thatâs caught a few eyes. Blue gaze scanning the crowd, heâs wired sharp despite the booze, muscles wound a little too tight for someone whoâs just here for a good time.
Wells catches his attention slipping through the hallway like smokeâjittery and all sharp joints in a borrowed jacket, something itching just beneath their skin. Kerry clocks the tremor in their hands before he catches the half-worn look on their face. He pushes off the wall, weaving through strangers until theyâre shoulder to shoulder, half-lit by the open fridge glow.
âFuckâs sake,â Kerry mutters, voice low and warm, something fond under the grin he pulls. âWhere you headed?â He tips his head toward the back porch. âYou wanna breathe for a second or come with me to the toilet?â
He doesnât wait for a reply, just nudges Wells with his shoulder, gentle enough it doesnât jar. âCâmon.â
Party starter for @godbrks
