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TWELVE FEELS LIKE HOME
Practicing football and drinking beer in a time like this felt wrong. Still, the guys had missed him and had insisted he come hang out with them. He understood them wanting to stay close in a time like this -- an aching yearn for normalcy when nothing around them was anything close to it. Following his conversation on the porch with his friends, Wes probably needed this small ounce of normalcy more than he would want to admit. He hadn't really spoken to Grizz much since their last conversation, but now they were lying on a football field with some of their other friends, a comfortable understanding between the two of them.
Luke tosses a ball, hitting Jason mid-sip. Clark scoffs, "Missed."
"You guys, maybe we're dead," Luke says out of nowhere, picking up the ball as it rolls back to him. Wes scoffs, taking another sip of his drink even though the beer is bitter on his tongue. "You know? And this is like Heaven."
"Could be Hell," Jason supplies, but his voice is weak and uncaring. Wes scoffs quietly at this, shaking his head. He really can't escape this conversation, can he?
"Optimist," Grizz teases.
Jason just shrugs, "Whatever. It's not the worst kind of Hell."
"Yeah, it's like first circle. Maybe second. Thing is, we don't really know the parameters, right? Like, have we been moved? Or has everyone else been moved? Does the world exist somewhere else? Or is this Earth? I mean, we're guessing in the dark here."
"Woah," is the best input Clark can offer as he moves to lay down on the grass, "My head fucking hurts now."
"That's just what happens when you process a thought buddy," Wes jokes, patting him on the back with a teasing smile, dodging the boy as he tries to smack him. "If we're dead, not happy it's with you sorry fucks. Definitely Hell for me."
Jason laughs at this, handing Clark another beer, "Just your hangover bro. Wes, for someone who hates us so much, you sure do spend a lot of time hanging out with us."
He scoffs at this, his eyes subconsciously darting over to Grizz who is keeping his eyes on the ground. Shrugging, he takes another sip. "Maybe I'm a sadist."
Clark just grumbles at this, "Isn't that a sex thing?"
They all settle down into a small circle, sitting in various positions on the astroturf. Wes sighs, plucking at the fake grass and watching it come apart. The little beads leave black marks on his pale fingers. He tries to rub it off, but a faint scuff remains. It's comfortable, the five of them together like this. It feels normal.
