Mumble

②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 9]

19.

"If I'm going to be helping you somehow," Clint mused aloud as he began pacing across the plush carpet with shorter and faster strides. There was a tumbler of alcohol in the loose handed grip of his right hand, "I suppose I should get a better idea of what exactly it is you're looking for," he tapped the glass against his forehead before bringing it back down to his lips and letting out a resigned sigh as the dredges drained from it, "but you don't know what that is in the first place do you?" He stopped mid-step, raising a brow in Ozzie's direction.

Ozzie jerked in his seat and slowly shook his head, "not really," he said with a wince.

As embarrassing as it was, he hadn't really come up with a plan. Well, he had his list, the mental one he'd put together earlier, but that hadn't gone so far as to lay out the specifics and subtexts of what to do in the event of Clint agreeing to help him. It had been a shot in the dark and now that it was all sort of paying off he was traveling blind. The fact he was stumped really wasn't all that surprising. The entire night had been one long impulsive streak of debatably bad decisions paved in the wake of debatably good intentions. Ozzie tried leaning back on the couch in yet another attempt at getting comfortable. It didn't work, almost like even the furniture wanted him to know what a dumbass he was, "I...don't really know what 'm doing," he mumbled.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Clearly," he drawled. Ozzie flinched in his seat and Clint rolled his eyes again. He ran his pointer finger against the rim of the now empty tumbler with a frown. "Why did I agree to this? Maybe I should get some sleep. I'm clearly losing my mind—Or developing a conscience. Ugh." He shivered, gagging like he'd tasted something foul.

In that moment, Ozzie couldn't help but think that Clint was like a lion in its den stalking an unsuspecting sheep, lean, calculating and always calling the shots. Ozzie kept his expression carefully blank. Dry and unaffected. Everything's normal. Nothing to see here. I'm not regretting this at all. This all hinged on Clint's continued benevolence and they both knew it. Maybe it would amount to something. Maybe nothing. Hopefully it wouldn't be a mistake.

Ozzie said nothing. He watched. He waited.

Even if he does give you something useful, the vindictive voice in the back of his head whispered, you know the moment you leave he'll just call James. And that's only if you get lucky.

Shut up, he shot back. 'S'not like I have a choice. Not like 'm gonna be 'Most Popular Teen of the Year'.

Fuck that. You're just making excuses. Ignore it like a normal person would, throw away that fucking rock and. Move. The. Fuck. On. Haley's not your problem. A dream doesn't mean anything but that you're going fucking crazy.

Ozzie shoved that thought aside. Caged it. Buried it in a grave in the darkest corner of his mind and threw away the key.

Instead, he brought his attention back to Clint. It was better to focus on the currently pacing short-stack than be stuck in his own mutinous thoughts. At worst, Ozzie knew he'd get nothing at all out of the other man and Clint would get over his (rational) fear of Toni and call her anyway. And that was still assuming she hadn't realized he'd up and disappeared yet. Which was—well—saying 'unlikely' would be an understatement.

Ozzie needed this to work if for no other reason than to make sure the ensuing shitstorm was worth it.

"Ugh," Clint groaned from his place by the window. There were two in the room, large and opening out into a view of the pool that took up most of the backyard. It glowed a faint blue, reflecting the light of the moon and the lights that illuminated it from under the surface, "what is taking Courtney so long? And you," he snapped his fingers at Ozzie, "think of what you want. And try to keep it at least mostly legal. I'd prefer this...favor...not costing me any more."