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          he looked as if a party was the last place he should be - slouched in a chair a blossoming bruise on his cheek, and his lip that had stopped bleeding about twenty minutes ago - had split open. if it wasn’t his party, he would have been kicked out by now.  his cheek was cool to the touch, slightly damp from the iced that had been pressed against his cheek, someone had handed it to him after the fight; the red head who had been perched on the arm of the chair had gone to fetch him a replacement for the ice that had quickly melted away. he half expected it to be her when he feels someone sidle up next to him but he’s greeted by someone else. he offers a shrug of a bare shoulder that’s hidden underneath a leather jacket; looking like a mix of dionysus and ares, exiled to earth for one too many wrongdoings. the boy exhales a string of smoke from his juul, moving to swap it for a sip of jack daniels - he knows there’s better options out there, but he likes the roughness to it - the way it still stings a little when it slides down his throat. “  you see the other guy ? ” he questions , “ nothin’ like a welcome back party, is there ? ” 

unceremoniously, she drops a bundle into his open lap. wrapped in a small dish cloth is a bag of frozen peas - turns out even the filthy rich keep their freezers stocked with the essentials; hidden behind obscenely expensive vodka of course. a little unorthodox maybe but the small bag molds perfectly to the curve of a cheekbone or the arch of a knee cap. she’s certainly no stranger to bruises, though her’s typically blossom in the afterglow of a well fought game. “it’s no perky red head but consider it my party favour,” wisps of smoke snake and twist up into the air, the subtle flavour mingling and mixing with the scent of booze and sand and sweat. its not entirely unpleasant but she wrinkles her nose anyways. “or is it more of a consolation prize? the jury is still out on who won that fight.” she hadn’t be a witness to the chaos herself but the party is abuzz with enough gossip to give her a vague idea.

        he doesn’t bother to hide the wads of bills that he counts, two leather wallets lay stripped of their contents and their owners stripped of their dignities for making it so damn easy for him. his eyes lift as he sees one of his roommates entering the kitchen eyebrows raising in a silent greeting as he finishes counting the last twenty before folding the small stack in half and tucking it into the chest pocket of the vibrant button down he sports. there’s a smirk that curls on his boyish features, dimpling the side of his cheek as he leans against the counter and with a single digit pushes a plate of brownies towards them, boston accent coating each one of his syllables, “brownie? i made them myself”

she glances up in time to see river’s ringed adorned fingers shuffle through an impressive stack of green bills. she silently lifts a brow when he tucks the folded wad into the chest pocket of his obnoxiously loud button down. as always, her fingers instantly find themselves rising to her ponytail, pulling at the strands to ensure they are secured tightly. “good day at the office, honey?” her words are surprisingly teasing; filled with a level of mirth river always seems to inspire. she finds herself at the opposite end of the kitchen island, her palms resting flat against the granite surface. “you baked?” she’s incredulous. “what’s the occasion? 711 having half off slurpees?” she eyes the plate with a healthy level of suspicion. plucking a brownie off the pile, she lifts it to her nose for a cautionary sniff. it’s not unreasonable to assume there is more then eggs and flour and sugar inside the chocolate treats. “not that i don’t trust you.. but what exactly did you put in these?”

The problem with deciding not to go to class was that it left Jasper bored to tears. But, he reasoned, at least he wasn’t bored to tears in economics. Standing right inside an elevator in the main building on campus, he stretched his arm out on an impulse and blocked the path of the person trying to get on with him. “Sorry, new rules. You need a password to ride the elevator now. Three guesses, and if you get them all wrong I’m legally obligated to slice all your fingers off like an old Japanese gameshow.”

After eyeing the flock of sorority sisters flooding towards the stairwell doors, Winona had opted for the lesser of the two evils; waiting the five minutes it took for the elevator to reach her floor seemed far more favourable then spending fifteen more trudging down the stairs trapped behind a hoard of chattering freshmen. At least in theory. But then again, some bored kid trying to block her path wasn’t any better. Meeting his gaze with a lifted brow, Winona pressed on the bend of his arm with her palm and pushed her way inside. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to abolish boarders, not make more?”

Index finger and thumb cling to the thin cigarette that’s often found behind the male’s ear, rolling it between the two fingers as he leans against a brick wall. “Y’know - I really need to stop being such a nice guy and letting someone use my lighter.” he muses, boston accent clear and thick with each syllable that escapes. “they never fuckin return it.” He drops his foot that was propped against the wall, readjusting his posture as he nods towards them, “got a lighter I can use? - Hell, I’ll even take a match. Swear on my grandma’s grave i’ll give it back” 

she rounds the corner when she sees him. it’s river; the startling recognition settles bone deep, even before the ever familiar boston accent tickles her ear. it must have been the flash of turquoise and honey yellow in her peripheral, or maybe it was the lines created by that easy slouched posture that struck a cord of recognition within her, but regardless of the reason, it’s a rabbit hole she’d rather not tumble down. still, her stride almost instantly slows. “your benevolence knows no bounds. before you know it you’ll be donating all your unwanted lunches and packs of candy to food shelters.” her runners are nearly soundless as she approaches. her brows lift incredulously at his lingering question, a small huff of air pushing through her nose. “you have to know me better by now. i’m the ‘pinnacle of health’ remember?”

dragonfruit: do you drink alcohol?

160 episodes of spencer hastings ( .05: reality bites me )