Starstruck (the Idea of Always)

Vrijdag 23:47

Lucas
Lucas hoped his music wasn't so loud his neighbors could hear it. When his ears hurt too much because of his headphones, he'd switched to playing music from his speaker, pacing back and forth slowly in the living room, a joint between his lips, his eyes half shut.

He swayed on his feet, letting the music take his body over, his head tilted back so he was looking at the ceiling, and hummed along to the music under his breath in between drags. He couldn't hear himself.

Shaking his head, he stepped over the blanket that had fallen to the ground and turned the music up, taking the joint from his mouth and throwing himself onto the sofa, pulling his legs up in front of himself, curled into a fetal position. He laid his head against the sofa, closing his eyes and bringing the joint back to his mouth, taking slow drags in time with the music.

He wasn't worried about falling asleep with a lit blunt in his mouth. He wasn't worried about falling asleep at all. He hadn't slept well in days, mostly drifting off during the day, only for minutes at a time. He'd fallen asleep while drawing that day and had woken up before the song he'd fallen asleep to was even over. He scrapped that drawing, adding it to the growing pile of ripped paper in the corner of the room, as his pen had drawn a long, wavering line down the center of it. He was glad he had decided not to go to school. He would have been assigned detention by all of his teachers for drowsing in class.

When he thought about it, the last time he'd slept normally was in the hotel with Jens.

Jens
Jens skated down the street, glancing from his phone to the road and back to his phone, making sure he was following the right directions. The night was cold; he kept reaching up with his sleeve covered hand and wiping his nose. The streets were wet, shining under the streetlights, and mostly empty. He'd only been passed by three cars so far.

He skated to a stop when his phone told him he was coming up on his destination, looking up in front of himself and seeing more houses than he'd hoped. Grabbing his board off the ground, he walked slowly in the direction his phone was pointing, coming to a stop at a house, the only house on the block with a light on. He could hear the faint sound of music being played loudly, a strong, slow bass.

Please be the right house.

He rang the doorbell.

Lucas
The song came to an end, and Lucas heard the doorbell ringing. He lifted his head, taking the joint from his mouth and exhaling slowly, his brows drawn.

Then there was knocking.

The sound of it in the complete silence startled Lucas, and he jumped, pushing himself to stand. Before going to the door, he dropped the joint in the ashtray he'd brought down to his room and grabbed his phone, pausing the next song that had started, and threw his phone back to the sofa.

Grabbing the door handle, he prepared himself to apologize for the volume of his music, ready to face whichever neighbor was standing behind to the door, demanding to speak to his mother. She's not home right now, I'm sorry. It wouldn't be the first time.

He wasn't prepared to see Jens at all. For a second, he thought maybe he was just high. High enough to hear knocking, to see the beautiful boy at his front door. But he hadn't even finished smoking one joint.

"Hey," Jens said quietly.

Lucas stared at him, looking over the face he'd only seen on a screen and paper for the past week, the face he'd missed so much, the face he'd longed to see. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold. He had a backpack on, a skateboard under his arm, a hood over his head.