𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐈𝐕

• 4 •

"I don't know, Adil," I began, "Maybe I should just fake my death and move to Cuba."

"Says a lot of people," he shrugged, "You might end up in an apartment full of missing persons."

"And Tupac is the landlord," I bit into my chilli cheese burger. Adil, who's been amazing company for the past two hours, chuckled with chicken strips in his mouth.

I had been productive and wrote nonstop in the last three days. Not only did Keenan Travino lay a task on my plate, but he also laid a truckload of pressure on my shoulders. On a chilly Wednesday afternoon, my new friend and I decided to meet someplace between our homes to conduct a little advisory session. For the first hour, we took a peak into each other's work, constructively criticising methods and ideas. In the second hour, we got hungry, ordered food, and forgot about why we met here in the first place.

One thing I like about talking to new friends outside of usual circles is that I can freely ramble about life and my problems without them knowing the background. Because it's biased, I hear what I want to hear, and sometimes, that's all I need. Adil is a great listener and being able to listen well is an attribute that should not be taken for granted.

"I can't see myself disappearing," he spoke, "Even if the worst shit goes down, I don't think I'll ever attempt to fake death and move to a different country... or stay silent for the next seven years."

I took a long sip of my chocolate milkshake, making a mental note to order the same thing if I ever go to the same diner again.

"Do you think that's why he went quiet? Because shit went down?" I questioned, knowing that the wind shall now blow towards Keenan.

The man paused to think for a while, "Who knows? Maybe he just got tired of everything. Famous people regret being famous when they get the wrong type of attention."

"If his attitude was like that from the start, then I believe that's exactly what happened," I stole a few fries from Adil.

"I just wanna learn from the man," he sighed tiredly, "It's worth dealing with his shit."

I guess that's how I'll get fucked: others just want to learn from the man, but I want to learn about the man.

Adil and I spent one more hour exchanging jokes and exchanging stories. I'm thankful to have found a friend within the group because I'll need someone to turn to if I ever feel like strangling Keenan or making him choke on his cigar.

We stopped in front of Lemon, and I observed Adil, who had revealed himself to be Syrian, for the hundredth time today. His good looks are undeniable, though I won't make things weird by trying anything with him. The meetings are complicated as they are with Keenan's personality.

It was my turn to speak, "I'll see you on Saturday?"

I expected a simple reply instead of Adil looking around as he gnawed on his bottom lip. A roguish grin appeared on his face as he dove his hands into the pockets of the denim jacket over his gray hoodie, "Wanna go to the carnival?" he asked, looking queasy when he did.

I was hesitant. I just said that I won't try anything with him. Sensing my inner debate, he added, "As friends, of course."

That made things awkward, not to mention slightly embarrassing on my behalf, coming out as egoistic with thinking that he's into me. To save myself, "No, it's just that I didn't know that there's one nearby," I told him.

Adil averted my gaze, his brown eyes landing on our shoes. Chuckling adorably, he said, "There is. Probably ten minutes away from here. I've been planning to check it out, but I didn't want to go alone."