Chapter Text
Incense burns on the messy bedside table. The tray sits on crumbled receipts, pennies, water rings, and other assorted miscellaneous garbage.
The smoke curls upward and the smoke alarm is unbothered because it’s hanging by its wires.
Crispin leans his head back, exhaling. The smoke from his cigarette joins the incense.
He’s sitting on the floor in front of his bed, elbows resting on the rumpled blue duvet. On his walls are posters and vinyls of his favorite bands. On his floor is garbage and dirty clothes.
As he takes in his own space, he wonders if he forgot about something.
With a frown, he reaches over and puts out his cigarette.
Man, what was it?
Crispin huffs, getting to his feet. He taps his hand against his lips while the other rubs his forearm anxiously.
It’s definitely important.
He jolts backward when his phone repeatedly buzzes in his back pocket. Fumbling, he reaches for it. After almost dropping it he manages to get it open.
What a ditz.
Kylar
Ru still coming to kellys party
Kylar
Bro wait
Kylar
Do u need a ride
Crispin facepalms. He totally forgot he said he’d go to that. He isn’t even invited! Something still feels off though, that’s not all he’s forgetting. He sighs and sends a response, fingers missing the buttons and forcing him to backspace.
You
Yea id apprec tht thx
Kylar
ill b there in lik 10
He groans, snaps the phone shut, and throws it onto his bed. He should probably get out of his pj pants and pizza roll stained band tee.
Obviously the best way to remedy this is by digging for clothes in the piles on his floor.
While tugging on his worn out jeans, he notices his T kit on the desk.
Holy shit.
THATS what he forgot about!
Crispin hastily buttons the jeans and zips up the kit, shoving it in his pocket. He’ll just have to take it in the middle of the party.
As he’s tying his shoes his ringtone blares. He stumbles, trying not to lose his balance. One shoe is successfully tied as he dives onto his bed and answers the phone.
Kylar grumbles on the other line, “Yo, dude I’m here,”
“Just a sec,” Crispin mutters, putting the phone between his shoulder and chin. He pulls his other knee up to his chest so he can finish tying his shoes.
“I don’t have ‘just a sec’, get your girly ass out here!” He says, absolutely and totally peeved.
Crispin gnaws on his lower lip, ignoring the comment. He can brush it off and play it cool. It’s not like he sees Kylar often.
“Calm your tits, I’m tying my shoes and then I just gotta grab like-” he huffs, standing up, “like two things.”
While Kylar complains through the shitty speakers Crispin grabs some antiseptic wipes and a lighter.
—-
With a harsh click, the front door shuts. Crispin’s hand lingers on the brass doorknob for just a moment too long.
He can’t figure out if he has everything he needs. If his laces are too loose or his binder too tight.
But Kylar honking the horn pulls him out of his ever present haze.
So he half heartedly jogs down the driveway, and once he’s halted he runs a hand through his hair, gets eye level , and knocks on the passenger door window of Kylar’s car.
“Hey man,” his grin is lopsided as he waves.
Trody rolls the window down, “What’s up?”
He moves his shoulders back and stands straighter, “Not much, how-“
“Get in the fucking car sissy, I don’t have all night,” he sisses, slamming a hand on the dash.
Crispin sighs. He opens the door roughly and slides into the scratched pleather seats. He slams it, rattling the junk in the cup holder.
Trody has some shitty emo band CD (three days grace, he’s been forced to listen to it hundreds of times) playing and there’s lax merch everywhere for no reason other than Kylar’s insanity.
The car’s AC has been shot for months now, which Crispin only has to endure every now and then during the extremely rare time these two hang out with him.
—-
When they get in Kelly is saying hi, a red solo cup held tight to her chest and Ari by her side.
She gives Jecka a loose side hug before turning to see the three boys.
Her lips are pursed like she wants to point out Crispin isn’t meant to be here, but she quickly recovers and plays good host.
“Kylar! Hi!” She taps his shoulder, he gives her a bro nod, and so she moves on to Trody.
“How’s Hot Topic treating you?” Her tone is much lighter.
He stumbles, “Oh, good, how’s FYE?”
“As good as retail can I guess?” She sighs and takes a sip of her drink.
“Oh, and hi Crispin…” she says, tacking on an “I guess,” under her breath behind her cup.
With that Kelly and Ari move into the crowded dark living room.
Kylar glares down at Crispin, “Alright dweebus, you don’t know me, fucking got it?” He huffs, pointing to his head. Probably trying to insinuate…something? Crispin isn’t sure.
“Got it, dude,” He mumbles.
“Good,”
—-
Standing alone with a cup of cheap booze near one of the occupied couches was to be honest… exactly where Crispin expected this night to go.
He didn’t think to do or bring anything harder than a menthol cigarette an hour or two ago. Something he’s deeply regretting.
He can recognize it’s Emily and Jecka on the couch to the left of him. They’re talking about hair dye and MSI and an upcoming Marilyn Manson concert. The music is loud, the lights low.
To the right a brunette he doesn’t fully recognize is making out with a guy he’s never met.
With a sigh, he ditches his cup on the coffee table in front of Jecka and Emily.
“Crispin! Hey,” Emily leans forward, “have you seen Nicole?”
He stumbles, standing upright after almost knocking over his newly orphaned cup.
“Oh my fucking god don’t fucking ask him,” Jecka hisses in an attempted whisper, she grabs Emily’s shoulder harshly.
“No, sorry, uh, I haven’t,” Crispin says awkwardly, “But uh, Emily have you ever played the game Metroid? Y-you kinda look like uh Samos,”
His heart races when her face lights up, only for Jecka to shut it down.
“Literally fuck off and kill yourself,” She yells it with the same bite every time, he’s well beyond used to it.
He just sighs and decides to find a bathroom.
—-
He drags the door shut. Kelly seems to be the daughter of Richie rich and girl Richie rich. They have the expensive soap and a seashell shaped sink. Anagrammed towels, bath rug, marble tiles, bidet.
While unpacking his T kit, he notices the gold doorknob is the same color of the hardware on the sink.
His shaky hands draw up the testosterone from the vial. He digs for an antiseptic wipe in his pocket, pulls it out, then rips it open with his teeth. He awkwardly pulls it out with one hand and wipes down the site.
Right after he’s switched the needle and is about to start, something moves in the bathtub.
Nicole groggily pushes the shower curtain away. Her shirt and leg are covered in puke.
“Are you doing fucking drugs in here? What the fuck? Like, um, hello?” She blurts, trying to sit up.
“I- w-what?” Crispin is dumbfounded.
“Turn off the light,” she moves an arm over her eyes, “And give me one too,” she shakes her half empty cigarette box toward him.
He sighs, exasperated, and chooses to finish what he’s doing and give in. “Just give me a moment,”
Once he gets her cigarette for her he lit it, “here,”
“Whatever, this party sucks fucking ass.” She takes a clumsy drag of it, blowing the smoke up in rings.
Crispin can’t help but eye how low her jeans sit, her sidekick pushing out of the pocket, electric blue sandals off and in the tub. Her hair is messy but looks oh so intentional. He wishes she would just consider giving him a little bit more to go off of.
More conversations that don’t feel like hostage situations.
It’s not bad to want a girl, right?
Her face screws into disgust, she barks, “What are you still god damn doing here?”
—-
While patting down his pockets and trying to remember where the drinks are, Crispin bumps into someone.
“Woah, watch it fucktard,” Kylar says with a raised voice. He gives a halfhearted shove to Crispin; who takes in that Kylar is talking to college kids and lacrosse teammates.
“Uh, sorry, I was trying to like, get over there- uh,” he scratches the corner of his mouth anxiously before running it like a moron, “Did you know Mountain Dew makes guys sterile?”
Kylar’s friends laugh awkwardly.
One of them grabs his shoulder and asks, “Do you know this faggot?”
Before Kylar can answer, Crispin does, “No, we don’t know each other,”
He begins walking off toward where he sees Ari.
“Hey,” He gently shakes her shoulder, then puts the hand in his pocket, “How have things been?”
She shrugs, “Oh, hey Crispin, things have been fine I guess,”
He nods, trying to ignore the pink, cyan, and blue in his peripheral.
“Did you listen to that CD I gave you?” He asks even though he’s begging to check out.
Ari’s tone lightens, “Oh, yeah! They’re a really good band, thank you!”
Of course, he continues to stumble over this conversation.
He chooses to state the overtly obvious, “Yeah, they’re uh, they’re a really influential lesbian band, I was really shocked when you said you didn’t know them.”
She begins talking about the research she did on Bikini Kill, but he’s distracted.
Crispin is drifting, sure, he’s smiling and nodding. He’s saying all the right things to be nice.
But he can’t seem to get Nicole from his head or vision. Not so far in the distance he can see she’s drinking a bottle of some kind of fancy looking booze. She’s abandoned her puke covered t-shirt and is just in a black bralette.
“Gosh and the lead singer is just soooo cool,” Ari says giddily, snorting a little.
Crispin nods, “Yeah, she sure is awesome," he intends for it to be about Kathleen Hanna.
But his eyes are fixed on two girls who hate his guts.
Jecka’s blonde hair bounces as she dances, daisy dukes riding up and halter babydoll top swaying.
Her and Nicole pass the bottle back and forth.
“What are you looking at?” Ari asks. She squints and does her best to see.
“Oh uh, nothing,” He mutters, extremely embarrassed.
Ari squeaks and sputters. She’s obviously figured it out.
Everyone at LHS knows Ari has had a crush on Jecka and Nicole for the past three years, to be fair, who exactly hadn’t?
They seem to swallow the world around them. They capture attention and praise effortlessly.
Crispin isn’t sure if he’s jealous or overwhelmed or what- but he is sure he needs more to drink.
——
By the end of the party Crispin is half asleep on a bar stool at the kitchen island. He can hear Kylar from the other room but can’t really make out what he’s saying.
Everything feels fuzzy and tilting and nauseous.
Someone gently grabs his shoulders and leans down. It’s just Trody.
“Hey, it’s time to go.” He says with indifference.
Crispin is roughly helped up on his feet and out the front door.
“You better not fucking throw up in my car, fag,” Kylar slurs, stumbling to the passangers side.
Slowly and clumsily, he nods in agreement that he totally won’t puke in his car. He does this even though he’s done looking at him.
Trody double checks everyone has buckled in before peeling out.