#thread.dylan

Admittedly, he was in a little bit of a time crunch, but it didn’t stop Dylan from wandering through the snack aisles of CVS first, swiping a bag of Cheetos before continuing on his valiant search for lube. He couldn’t tell if he was just missing it or if he should’ve stopped at Walgreens instead, but he found himself stuck on a loop, weaving up and down the individual aisles with a stubborn glare against the bright fluorescents above. “Where the fuck...” Dylan muttered, eyebrows pinching together. Finding K-Y Jelly shouldn’t have been a scavenger hunt. His steps stalled, looking up from a messy endcap to survey the store, finding to be just as deserted as you’d expect any CVS to be at 9 PM. “Hey --” He called out to the clerk, chin tipping up. “Can I get some help over here?”

"Mm, okay, how about this?” Dylan wet his lips as he neared Lane 4, glancing briefly to the television above that displayed his and Marina’s similarly abysmal scores. He shook his head, setting down the fresh pitcher of beer before sliding into the plastic seat across from the blonde. “You’re stuck on a deserted island and you can only take one book and one item with you -- what’s it gonna be?” Slouching back in his seat, Dylan sunk low into the revolving chair, used to the weird slide and give they had attached to the tables that were so aptly decorated with neon paint splatters -- the bowling alley wouldn’t be called Cosmic Lanes without the appropriate 80s space theme. 

It’d only been about an hour since Dylan first let Marina into the bowling alley after hours, but the second empty pitcher on their table and mess of cheap, cheesy nachos proved they weren’t planning on leaving anytime soon, either. Dylan had nowhere to go, but he knew that eventually Marina would be called away by family or an internal obligation. It always happened the same; she’d get a text or check her phone and when she saw the time, she was rushing off. It wasn’t a bad thing, but Dylan just couldn’t relate. He probably could’ve spent the night in Cosmic Lanes, conked out in one of the uncomfortable booths in the food court and no one would’ve given a shit as long as he out by eleven for his math course. “Whose frame is it?” He asked, sleepy brown eyes drifting towards the bright lanes, black light illuminating the decals on the back wall.

“Man, Derek’s already so fucking loaded,” he informed with a grin, almost as if it was the best news he’d heard all weekend. And in a way, it kind of was, because all the best parties had hosts that were already blackout drunk and forgetting to hide their parents’ good liquor by the time you walked in the front door. “Have you seen his last Snap?” Dylan turned his head, neck craning back in an attempt to spot Maris around her room from his reclined position. He’d been flopping around on her bed since he first arrived, taking sips of vodka and Sprite while waiting for her to get ready and for it to be late enough that they wouldn’t be the first to arrive at Derek Howard’s houseparty. Currently, Dylan had his socked feet resting against the wall above Maris’s headboard, pillows pushed aside to make room for his ass while his head rested somewhere in the middle of her mattress -- taking up just as much space as humanly possible. “We should hustle him,” he called to Maris, glancing back at his phone to take a screenshot while he rambled. “I think we could crush him in beer pong if he already looks this shitty. Win a couple hundred bucks, maybe.” Not that Dylan really had the cash to lose, but that was the best thing about Maris -- money wasn’t such an issue for the rich. He stretched out his arm, holding out the device to Maris so she could get a look at their mutual friend making a fool of himself.