The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The Ellipsis Intervention

Today is the day, boyos and gorlos and everything in between and beyond...os. Today is the day I kick Aiden out of the club. I've learned from my mistakes, I had a good 37 hours coma of rest, I wrote every inch of my long, meaty, beefy plan on my trusty binder, and I have all my ducks in a row, to kill them with one stone, because animal cruelty seems to be the most effective metaphors we can come up with. 

Wait, wait, don't go, keep reading. I know it has been a weird few chapters, but you get me, right? Aiden is a danger to my — our — way of life. Sure, some might say I have developed a slight obsession, or that I'm a stalker for keeping tabs on his every move, or that offering sexual favors as a quid-pro-quo is a crime, but I like to see myself as a passionate man. For revenge. A revenge over something that hasn't happened yet. I'm about to Minority Report this shit.

I grab the bucket of sand and the fake birth certificate from the ground, key items for the plan to come, when I receive a text from Hayden. 

"Brother, come meet us at the club room. We have to put an end to this today. Love, H." 

Finally, he's come around! I knew he only needed some time to understand my position. I don't really need him for this new plan, but I guess the balloon handlers could use an extra set of hands to make all those balloon giraffes I'll need for phase three of this plan. 

After sending a message to the Ned Flander-styled metal band I hired for phase two, and putting my bag of Furbies on a bush outside the school, I go to the clubroom, binder ready to spring into action to go over my five-step plan to expel Aiden and why is he here? 

There, in the clubroom, sitting next to Hayden and Brayden, is Aiden, carefully munching on Kale chips like the washboard-abs, kale-munching, ass eating, teeth-flossing fuck he is. Eat a potato like the rest of humanity, you pedantic SoCal lib-fart!

Interestingly enough, it is not the only weird thing in the room. All the furniture has been pushed to the back, making way for six chairs in the middle of the room on a semi-circle, occupied by Jungkook, Harry, Brayden, Hayden, and the fart-gobbling. A single empty seat stands in front of them. A table stands between that lonely seat and them, filled to the brink with assorted pastries, a teapot, macaroons, and toilet paper. Just, rolls of it. Oddly enough, there is a bucket next to the empty chair. 

"Hello, Ayden," says Hayden, mildly standing up from his chair. "Why don't you take a seat? Would you like some scones? I made them from scratch this morning." 

It is to note that the room is dimly lit, dank, and the few light bulbs it does have are flickering with every sway of the old lamp. I feel like I'm talking to a Bond villain. 

Well, I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I haven't eaten today yet, so I take a scone and shove it in my mouth as I take a careful seat. I was careful, the seat was not, screeching under the weight of all the ferrets I taped to the underside of my leather jacket. They will come in handy for later. 

"So, what's the occasion?" I ask, placing my hand on my back pocket where my kazoo is hidden. Not to be confused with the phase 5 kazoo that is hidden behind the hollowed-out Bratz doll near the water fountain. 

Hayden looks troubled, pensive, even. Positively abstracted, as if his sober contemplation had absorbed his every idea. He leans forward, hand in hand, resting his whole weight on his knees. Taking a deep breath, he stares at my eyes, even beyond my glasses, to speak directly to my soul. The soft shimmering of his hazelnut orbs pierces me in—

"Are you describing things right now?" he asks, interrupting my monologue. Rude. Wait, my monologue?

"I said," he repeats, making emphasis in the last word, "are you, Ayden Gomez, describing things right now?"