“Is this all we do?” Sunset sighs morosely one day. “Hang out in stuffy hotel rooms?”
Tony looks up from doodling in his notebook. “No, we spend time in our houses, too.”
Sunset groans, “well, can we go somewhere ?”
“Where?” Whit asks, “there's not much to do, it’s ten.” she looks out the window, to the dark sky, still dusk-purple with sunset. They’re in California this time, enjoying the late-drowsy summer heat, were the days are long and sleepy and the nights are muggy but still electric.
“Well…” Ty draws, “I know a certain after-hours activities we can do.”
Tony grins, while the others only shrug.
Half an hour later, they're standing on a curb in front of a booming club. The line is a block long, and it doesn't look like they’ll get in tonight, if ever.
“Well,” Sunset says shortly, “we’ll just lead with Ty’s name, that’ll work.”
“Hey! I haven't been to every bar, you know! It might not work!”
They step onto a balcony overlooking the bar and dance floor, two staircases leading down to the ground floor.
“ Oh ,” Ty sighs, spreading his arms, looking upon the dim lights and grinding bodies like a king at his kingdom.
Tony laughs wildly, madly, drunk without a drink in his hands, drunk on tonight, on this buoyant bubble, lifting the room out of life, into the starry realm where nothing matters but the music, but the person grinding on you and the taste of tequila on your lips.
“I don't know what you guys like the club scene,” Sunset hums, “it’s just pricey drinks and horny boys.”
“One: we’re rich, two: we’re horny boys,” Ty snarks.
Sunset rolls her eyes and swats Ty on the back of the head.
“Let's get a seat!” Whitney calls out, voice drowning in the beat of the music.
They leans against the bar, drinks appearing into the girls hands. They're some fruity things, so sweet they mask the (high) alcohol content. Ty and Tony head out to the dance floor.
Ty jumps up and down, dancing to the music that is no longer words, syllables, but is now just a raging beat, just the same way that their world is no longer the world, it is in that magical place. It is just Tony a nd Ty, the party music, jostling bodies, and the lights flashing around them.
Ty is shining, this is more than his element, it is his very realm, as said before: a king in his kingdom. His hair, so very blonde, is dyed different colors every few seconds by the party lights, and Tony cannot help but watch how he jumps in tune with the beat ricocheting through their bones, how he seems just one more bass note from touching the stars.
Ty’s mouth opens, and he shouts the lyrics that he can somehow hear, Tony blinks, Tony world is back; if only for a few fleeting moments.
Ty turns, smiling at some girl with too-much perfume and a lipsticked mouth.
Tony swallows, a heavy feeling in his belly. He walks back to the others, who greet him drunkenly.
Whit ropes an arm over his shoulder, pecking a kiss to his cheek all while grinning happily. She and Sunset (who is sucking down her Long Island Tea like air and making eyes at the bartender) don't seem to be okay with the club scene at all. Sure.
Tony laughs when everyone else does, inserts a copy-and-paste joke when needed. But his mind never drifts from the still-missing Ty and the perfume-lipstick girl, still not to be spotted.
They leave around three, Ty isn’t back, but Tony knows he shouldn’t worry, Ty can take care of himself and he’s done this a bunch of times. The bartender calls them a taxi after pressing his number into Sunset’s hand, Tony is squashed into the backseat, yelling the address to Sun’s hotel.
He drops the others off, leaving the staff to deal with them, and tells the driver to keep going towards the worst, crappiest, cheapest, shadiest motel room he knows, reminiscent of that time he told Ty he was broken.
He books a stay for a night and forks over a deposit. He opens the door with a creak, the seedy, unfurnished room that smells like cigarette smoke and mold feels strangely at home, even though his houses are big and grand and echo and echo when he talks.
He flops down on the bed and stares at the popcorn-ceiling. He likes Whitney. He can say that, he doesn't love her, he doesn't wanna marry her. Tonight, when Ty had been dancing, he had looked...like an angel — albeit fallen, but still an angel— alive and holy in his brilliance, a thousand-watt light bulb.
If he closes his eyes he can pretend to live in that moment forever, bass pounding, bodies moving, a strange type of heaven on earth.
He opens his eyes, ripping himself out of the dream. Whitney. He is dating Whitney. One day he might love Whitney. One day he might marry Whitney.
Whit whit whit
He likes Whitney.
He closes his eyes again and tries to believe it’s true.