#pineapple crush

PINEAPPLECRUSHIC

Pineapplecrushic is a gender connected to the pineapple flavor of crush soda

“…hey. Zeke. Zeke.”

Zeke hums in response and looks up sluggishly, gaze focusing on Lewis standing overhead. The friend in question uncrosses his arms with a vaguely peeved exhale, which makes Zeke suspect this isn’t the first time his housemate has attempted to get his attention so far. Well, whatever. In a show of conciliation, he pats the space next to him on the threadbare sofa and offers the other the half-full bottle of Firewhisky he’s been nursing for the past… three or four games of Exploding Snap he’s spectated so far.

Lewis joins him in watching their mutual friends play and takes an unenthused swig, passing the bottle back after. Zeke wedges it between his hip and the armrest and stifles a yawn, head lolling back against the cushions.

“They’re sucking at this,” Lewis comments, disgusted.

Zeke shrugs. “Everyone’s drunk,” he says by way of explanation, though in truth he also found the game insanely tedious to watch. The party too, had dragged on long enough. His eyes wander, skimming over the packed room, squinting to discern faces and features in the dimness.

Lewis pauses. “I’m surprised you’re not with Quidditch boy.”

He doesn’t know why Lewis (and a fair majority of his house) is so invested in his friendship with Cain, but he figures dodging the implicit question would be counterproductive. “I’m not his keeper. Anyways, some Ravenclaw girls dragged him off to, I quote, congratulate him on the victory against Hufflepuff today.” 


“Poor sod.”

“They act like he’s the only player on the team,” Zeke snorts.

Lewis laughs, rapping him once on the shoulder before standing again. “Looks like he’s back. I’ll leave. See you.”