TWIST.

TWO • EYES ON THE ROAD, STYLES

"Psst, pssssst. Nighthawk to Black Owl, I repeat Nighthawk to Black Owl. Can you hear me?"

"For the one hundredth time, yes I can fucking hear you Harry. I'm sitting right next to you." I groaned, grabbing at the walk talkie Harry held in his hand, but his reflexes were too fast and my failed attempt at snatching it made me lose my grip and my head to tilt too far to the left, causing me to hit my temple on the steering wheel of Harry's Expedition. God must've known we were doing something dumb tonight, because just before I could even lift my head, he ran over a speed bump, making my head go up and then down again, knocking myself unconscious for the second time.

Well, not unconscious, but I would've rather been instead of having to help Harry rob fucking Bank of America.

"And how come I'm Black Owl, and you get the cooler name. It's because I'm biracial isn't it." I complained as I rubbed at the knot forming on the side of my head. I tucked my arm underneath the one that was soothing my temple and pouted.

"This isn't a race thing. But if it was, let's talk about all the times you call me 'white boy' or 'my caucasian crumpet' or-"

"It's not the same thing, white boy." I shot back before he even had the chance to finish his sentence. I squinted my eyes at him, flicking my index finger and middle finger between the both of our eyes, telling him in the most subtle way that bitch you better watch it.

"I get the cooler name because I am cooler. That's a fact." He stated boldly, as if he were hot shit. I mean, he was hot shit but ugh -- I'm supposed to be mad at him for dragging me along in his felonious conduct, not thinking about how good he looked in all black.

Speaking of how good he looked, he was wearing black skinny jeans that were honestly way too tight in my opinion, was his manhood even breathing? He of course had on a black boots and a black shirt, because if you're gonna rob a bank, you gotta wear the right attire.

But, he didn't stop there, no, he had to go all out with his stupid black leather jacket like he was fucking, Danny Zuko from Grease or some shit, and his stupid black bandana that he'd wrapped around his head in such a way that his hair wasn't even tied up, the curls just kind bounced on the sides, completely covering the bandana and defeating its purpose. He also wore a black duty belt, you know the ones police wear that they keep their mace and handcuffs and stuff in? Yeah, he was wearing that too, just to hold his walkie talkie in securely. Talk about extra.

We didn't even need walkie talkies, what were phones for these days?

I looked at his outfit and then down at my own. Black sweats and an oversized hoodie that I stole from Harry.

Tuh, I looked good for my first robbery, if I do say so myself.

I looked down at my stomach, raising the hoodie and my undershirt so I could have easy access to the soft bundle of rolls and fat, before trying to bring my ear down to my belly button to listen.

Yep, my stomach was definitely barking at me. I would've eaten before this trip but Harry came to my house 30 minutes ahead of time, claiming we needed to go over the game plan. What game plan?! I was literally watching the door!

I pulled my clothing down and began to rub at my belly, feeling something inside of the pocket that I didn't feel there before.

"Can we go eat first? I'm sta-a-a-arved." I dragged the word out, whining, and licking away at the cheeto dust remaining on my fingers.

"No. We can go after, we're on a- where the hell did you get cheetos from?" Harry did a double take between me and the road, which made us swerve a little because he was so concentrated on my cheesy orange fingers.