"Who's that over there?"
The man looked at me like I was from outer space, or perhaps like I lived under a rock, maybe a mixture of both.
"Him? They call him Full Throttle," he chuckled with a hint of nervousness in his voice.
I scrunched...
the song for this chapter is "Sweet Memories," by CID and Kaskade :)
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Finley
After our...rigorous activities...Harry and I went back to his house and took a shower. After that, we informed the group of Leonardo's surprisingly fun demands, and Lars, Willa, Harry, and I all drove to my house to pick up some extra clothes before heading back to his place to get ready.
While Lars, Willa, and I weren't getting ready in my bathroom like we normally would, it still felt nice to do something somewhat normal as we got ready in one of the poolhouse bathrooms. I think a normal night out would do us all some good, especially after the stress that had arisen within the past few days.
In all honestly, I felt bad for Lars and Willa more than anyone, as they seemed to be the most out of the loop. It had to be hard to try and support your best friend when you were suddenly thrown into a world of danger and confusion without any warning.
But as we listened to Willa's party playlist and nudged each other with our hips in front of the bathroom mirror, I couldn't help but think that maybe...just maybe...everything would end up alright.
Willa was wearing an orange halter top with plaid pink pants, and inadvertently, we had coordinated, as I was wearing a black tank crop-top with black and white plaid pants, and a faux leather blazer. Lars had decided to not make our unintentional matching a trio and had instead gone with a black and burgundy striped button-up with some black trousers.
Everyone else had given us three our space without us even needing to ask for it, as I think they all sensed that we were craving some normally among the very abnormal things that had been thrown into our lives, and even though I knew we were still in just as much danger as before, when it was just the three of us, it was like I could pretend, even just for a moment, that nothing had changed.
We were currently listening to "Losing It," by FISCHER, which was one of our favorite go-to clubbing songs.
The rhythmic and repetitive beats of the song were interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door, and I glanced up in the mirror to see Harry leaning against the doorframe with a black jacket left unbuttoned, a white tank underneath, and a pair of loose black trousers. His signature gold cross chain dangled on top of the tank, his hair pushed up and out of his face.
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