𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

17

"Are you sure no one will mind?" you asked, nervous. You were in the passenger seat of Yates's new sports car, the tan leather sticking to the backs of your sweaty thighs as you shifted around, nervous. It was your second day of 'work'- just something to get you out of the stifling house and distract you from the grief. You had dressed up for the occasion, wearing a professional skirt and blouse, one hand on your handbag and the other fiddling with your necklaces. The charms made a soft zipping sound as they traveled up and down the chain.

Yates rolled his eyes, laughing. He had slicked back his mullet, you even helped him trim the ends, and was clad in a pair of flashy white pants and a hawaiian dad shirt with the first few buttons undone. "You've asked me this three times already, [pet name], no one will mind.

The band's music video for their summer EP was filming today, and you were going to be on set to help out. It was just menial things, helping with the setup and organization, although you felt more like a figurehead giving everyone a big smile and occasionally shifting an extra into place. The set was extravagant: it held a green screen, more lighting than you could count on two hands, and a mass of beach-goer extras. You didn't even want to imagine how chaotic the dressing rooms were.

"Whatever." You shifted away from him, watching the terrain buzz past. And then you turned back. "You'll be there, right?"

"For what? Can you hand me my sunglasses from the glove box? Goddamn, it hasn't been this sunny in a month."

"I like it! Here," you said, rifling through the car and popping out a pair of three hundred dollar glasses. You put them on him. "And for the music video. You'll be in it, right?"

"Yes! But I'm in the later parts. It's one of those skit type ones, you know?"

"I thought you broke into song! And juggling!"

"That too. I don't think Dafne and Emina would ever miss out on an opportunity to break out into song, anyway. Do you wanna be in it too?"

You blanched. "Absolutely not. I'd rather be run over by a truck."

"But we could be like the Jonas brothers!" he interjected. "I'm a sucker for you," he hummed, looking at you with a cheeky smile and a point. "Come on, you can't tell me that music video wasn't the cutest."

"We aren't even married!"

He rolled his eyes. "I have a ring in the glove box too, if you so choose."

You laughed. "Take it down a notch, Yates." You gave him a melodramatic scoff and put on your own sunglasses, turning away. "I'm a working woman now. No time for your games."

"Do you want me to court you then? Rayyan should be our chaperone, he'd love that."

"I meant that I want an elaborate proposal, you idiot. How much longer?"

"Just a couple more minutes. I'll probably join for the second half of production and then we can go back home around 4. I want to have vietnamese food for dinner."

The two of you bickered like little kids for the remainder of the ride, Yates claiming to be the expert on vietnamese food because of his childhood while you pulled up various restaurant menus and argued for the authority of your tastebuds. Eventually, you pulled up to a tall, worn down building near the edge of town; layers and layers of cracked red brick and lackluster windows studded into the face of the front like hundreds of unblinking eyes. A parking lot of cracked pavement and haphazard weeks fanned out from behind, already filled to the brim with high end cars that typically wouldn't be caught dead at a place like this. There were a few stragglers in the lot, carrying ring lights or hauling around clothing racks with squeaky wheels.