1.1 | constellations of you and me ✓

15 | triangulum

"GODDAMN," HE BREATHES. "Adri, stop. Stop eating."

His friend looks up at him with a mouthful of cinnamon-sugar waffles, crumbs lingering on the bottom of his chin as a comical grin barely touches his lips. Jonah scoffs and pushes him roughly on the bar stool before standing up as his aunt walks out of the kitchen with two aprons and notepads in hand.

Fuck.

The boy with golden hair shakes his head from side to side violently. "Aunt Sue, you know I love you, but—there's no way I'm putting that on." Adrian grimaces and retreats slightly from the dark fabric, and shaking his head profusely, Jonah observes his expression as he reaches out his own hand to take it from his aunt.

Sue rolls her eyes, makeup sparkling underneath the fluorescent diner lights. "I don't hear Jonah complaining, hmm?" A pause. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad."

"The only reason I took it is because last time you hit me so hard I got a bruise," Jonah mutters under his breath, posture relaxed and eyes warm. On instinct, he flinches a bit and lets out a smooth laugh as fond memories cascades over him like a tidal wave.

When he used to get bullied for how short he was in elementary and middle school, Sue would bring him strawberry cheesecake pancakes with a side breakfast potatoes to cheer him up. Keep your chin up, Jonah, she'd whisper. Don't listen to them, okay?

When he'd asked why, his aunt had only shushed him and presented him with more food throughout the next ten years, and when he finally hit six feet, Sue proclaimed that her strenuous job was finally done. His aunt was the epitome of a spitfire, perhaps, or just a woman that noticed every little detail. And the signature electric-blue eyeliner certainly didn't help.

Due to the fact that he was practically raised by two women, Jonah would like to say that he knows his way around the female gender. And so with the look that his aunt is shooting his best friend, he reaches out a hand to take it and throws it on top of a blond head.

"Just take it, man," the Korean boy laughs. "It's better if you don't argue with her."

"I—"

"You dumb fuck."

With that, Adrian finally puts it on and reaches behind himself to tie it behind his back, a twinkling gleam glistening in the depths of cerulean irises. It took a lot of convincing to get his friend up and out of their apartment (he's convinced that Adrian's suffering with girl problems—something he's not used to, and it's giving him so many goddamn mood switches), but he was determined to continue their tradition. Under his breath, he mutters something about busting Wren and Lukas's partying asses when they all meet up tomorrow for soccer practice.

The boys follow the woman into the kitchen and look at the steaming plates of food waiting to be served: dripping honey pecan waffles, fluffy vegetable omelettes, and crispy sweet potato fries.

But before Jonah can say anything, his aunt slaps his shoulder and grins devilishly.

"Don't even think about it."

***

Standing in front of the mirror, she grimaces at the vision in front of her and hooks her thumb through a raggedy hole near the kneecap of her gray sweatpants. Eloise's hair is unbrushed and lies in a messy knot on top of her head, stray curls tumbling down the middle of her back. She's wearing a shirt that she bought three months ago from the men's clearance rack for five dollars, and as the fabric dwarfs her body, she briefly wonders if she should even go to this party.

It's a rite of passage, she supposes. To get so fucking drunk that she can't even remember her name in the spur of the moment—to drink cheap liquor for a couple of hours and dance with people that she'll probably never meet again. Eloise has never been into making stupid decisions like that. But Jude asked her if she could come, and she'd said yes, so there wasn't much to it.