Delicate ― Kevin Day

05. ice cream & bdsm

[trigger warnings: underage drinking; drug use; mentions of past drug use/addiction; past arson; past child sexual abuse; burn scars; mention of a murder-suicide]

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"WHEN DID ICE CREAM BECOME THE GO-TO PREGAME?" Hadley asked as she followed the trio of cousins into the small, 50s-style ice cream shop an hour from Palmetto State. She adjusted her jacket as the A/C hit her, covering her exposed midriff. The brassiere was cute and all, Hadley had to admit, but it didn't really fit the whole ice cream shop vibe. 

"What's wrong with ice cream?" Nicky asked as Hadley watched Andrew grab two handfuls of cracker packets from the salad bar and demolish them. 

"Nothing," Hadley said. "I've just never been keen on gorging on ice cream and then drinking myself into an oblivion." 

"That's because you're boring," Andrew drawled, all traces of medicated glee gone for the night. This was the Andrew she remembered—tired and perpetually annoyed.

The host came and led them to a corner booth, setting a pile of menus on the table. Before he could leave, Andrew stuffed his empty cracker packets into the man's apron. Apparently this was expected behavior, because the host barely reacted. 

As the host walked away, Andrew dropped heavily onto the booth, and Hadley took the seat next to him. Nicky and Aaron looked wary and angry (respectively), but they both sat down opposite the pair and said nothing. 

Well, Aaron hadn't said a word since they left Palmetto. He had reacted to Hadley's invitation about as well as she'd expected, like she was crashing some sacred ritual event. If Hadley gave a shit what he thought of her, she might have been offended—but, as it stood, she was perfectly fine. 

Their server wasn't far behind, and Nicky handed back the menus before Hadley could even read the front. "We're just here for the ice cream special." 

"Alright," the server said. "I'll get that right out to you." 

Nicky gave him a smile and settled back in the booth, looking as relaxed as Hadley was used to him looking. She had to admire his ability to not let shit get to him—if the upperclassmen said even half the shit they did to him to Hadley, she'd have perpetually bruised knuckles and a suspension already. That could have just been her temperament, though. Nicky kind of had to be supernaturally patient to have taken in his teenage cousins as a young twenty-something. 

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream, Hadley?" Nicky asked curiously. 

"Mint," Hadley answered, expecting the disgust on Andrew's face. 

"Gross," he commented sourly.

"Fuck off," Hadley responded. 

"I like cookie dough," Nicky said. "But mint's good, too—tastes a little like toothpaste, but I won't say no to it." 

Hadley and Nicky chatted back and forth, neither of the twins bothering to contribute to the conversation as they waited for their order. It came faster than Hadley expected, though it was still a considerable wait. The waiter set bowls in front of each of them and set a pile of napkins in the middle of the table. 

As soon as the man was gone, Andrew scattered the napkins, revealing a pile of packets full of pale yellow powder that Hadley barely got a glimpse of before he was shoving them into his pockets.

Hadley raised an eyebrow but didn't ask. She had a feeling she'd know soon enough. 

The ice cream—spicy cinnamon vanilla—was nothing to write home about, but Hadley ate a little over half her bowl before pushing it away. There was no need to worry about wasted food, though, since Andrew stole her bowl and finished it after demolishing his own.