@sunriscn
“Slater." Kale stage whispered. “Slater. You—” Kale crashed face first into his best friend’s carpet. Kale really should have the distance to the floor memorized by now. He’d only been crawling through his best friend’s bedroom window for years. (Dawson’s Creek who?) "Fuck. Ow.” He rubbed at his nose with a pout. Carpet burn was supposed to be knees only! “Ow, man.” Wobbling like a graceless giraffe, he picked himself back up. “Slater,” he started again, “you fucking missed it. Preston’s party was so fire. You should have been there. The girls were...” He blindly searched for his friend on the bed with a chuckle. “The guys too.” Kale’s speech spun slowly, like wet cotton candy. “Yo, you got clothes I can borrow?” Kale finally crawled on top of the blanketed form, purposely bouncing the mattress. “Wakey wakey, Slay. Don’t make me sleep naaaaaked. You know I wiiiiill,” he sang.” It was true. Kale would. In a motherfucking heartbeat.
