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Timmy’s nose is bright red; the lightweight has only had 2 Frangelico shots from his parents' cabinet. He is at his father’s upstairs office, showing Spencer his dad’s lighter collection. The velveted shelf sits a foot above Kevin's head. Timmy reaches for it with ease and takes a Zippo lighter down, dropping it onto Kevin’s open palm.
“...ya’see this one is not that wack cause it’s chrome plated…” slurring those last two words together. Kevin lights it up and places it on the old man’s giant wood desk. “... It’s got a proper butane insert, it's antique-ish, from the 50’s heh-eh ...”
Kevin’s beer bottle empty and hanging loosely from his fingers, he looks at Timmy pour another Frangelico and down it “ …And that one over there with the green gems…” as if he needed more liquid courage “...That was given to my father by Serbia’s ambassador...” He thinks of refilling his bottle with that sour posh drink. “I would let you test it, but I can skip the spanking heh-eh…”
Timmy takes a transparent one, you can see liquid through its glass casing. “This one is like the ones you use, it’s got butane, which manufacturers love because it's cheap…” Kevin flicks it, doesn’t turn. Next. “... This one is one of my favourites, on account of it being round, these are called saucer lighters…” Kevin lights it and adds it to the table.
There’s now 12 lit lighters on the desk, burning away carelessly. Timmy takes a gold one down from the shelf with a flip top and engraving on the side, “hic- this one is broken, but the drawing on it is still beautiful.” Kevin notices the flint is misaligned from the striking mechanism. “You see that valve over there? Hic- that's the refill chamber.” Kevin takes the safety pin holding his back jean pocket closed and uses it to fiddle at the steel wheel. “Heh-eh, I once poured the wrong gas fluid on it…” Timmy is leaning in to look at what Spencer is doing with his hands. “My father accuses me of breaking it since then, not like he is gonna use it anyway…”
Kevin tests the lighter, it strikes on. The sudden light makes Timmy shut up. Both of them look at the flame. Timmy kisses him on the cheek. The flame burned for another second before Kevin snapped the lighter shut. He takes a step to turn straight to Timmy and flips his bottle so he is holding it bottom up from the neck.
Kevin glanced at the marble bust next to him. He decided to smash his empty beer bottle on McNaughton's noggin and point the jagged rest of it at him. Timmy leaned back into his father’s bookcase and held himself up from the shelves. Shards of broken amber glass were stuck on his forehead and scalp. Slow tricks of blood dripped down. Head crowned by thorns of arrogance.
“Ok… Too forward…” He bled into his dad’s books, “I deserve that.”