checking up on baby ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
{ hfscade, punkrockernoah }
Esme had been bummed that she’d had to duck out of the St. Patrick’s party early. She had wanted to at least stick around long enough for a few drinks with Noah, her self proclaimed party buddy with whom she’d ventured out several times since her return to Telluride two months ago. Texting each other the next day had become a “thing,” making sure the hangovers weren’t too bad and that they got in bed safe and sound. Texting Noah the day after the bar party and getting no response had Esme on edge, worried. She didn’t like not knowing if the blue eyed boy was alright and though they didn’t know each other much beyond their frivolous nights out, she still considered him one of her closer friends. Esme tended not to have many of those. It was the reason she was tugging on a hoodie and making her way over to Noah’s -- just to check up on him. After all, making sure he wasn’t dying of a hangover or being there to provide a quick fry up of something nice and greasy to help cure him was what a good friend did, right? As she came up the walkway, she saw another figure stood there at the door, obviously waiting. “Um,” prompted the girl lamely, “what are you doing here?”
