You're in a car with a beautiful boy,
and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.
And you feel like you've done something terrible,
like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills,
or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired.
SEPTEMBER 15, 2003
Ronnie Vannucci Jr. is completely unaware that his next forty-eight hours will result in a long con spanning what may possibly be the most arduous year and a half of his life. But he's not concerned with that at the moment because he can't find his damn wallet.
It's nearly 4:30 in the morning, which means that he's got to get his ass in gear or risk being late which he doesn't particularly want because Dave would kill him if that were the case. Everything else is ready to go by the front door but here Ronnie is, turning in circles in his tiny bedroom trying to find the last piece to this puzzle.
Thinking back to earlier in the day, he retraces his steps. The only places he had been today were Dave's apartment and the wedding chapel because he had been called in at the last minute to shoot a couple after his coworker got sick. Could it possibly be in his camera bag?
Just as he's about to check, a long, loud, honk sounds from outside. It makes him swear under his breath as he hurries along because his roommates are probably all asleep—or they were until just now. Good thing he'll be moving out soon, otherwise they might just kick him out for the disruption.
Ronnie sends a silent thanks to the sky, having found his wallet in the camera bag. Weird place for it, but now isn't the time to question it because a second honk has just occurred and he needs to get out of this house as soon as possible to prevent a third.
He gathers up his things and heads out the door, struggling to lock it behind him. If only there was a bellboy in the immediate vicinity to help him out.
Once Ronnie makes it to his ride and swings the rear door open to put away his luggage, the soft lulling of the radio floats out of the car. It's the UNLV radio station because that's the only thing that will play anything good at this time of night.
"Thanks for the help," Ronnie says once he has gotten into the passenger seat. "And I'm sure the rest of the neighborhood appreciated your honking."
Brandon grins, their eyes meeting for a brief moment as Brandon is turning around to back out of the driveway. "Places to be, Ron," the younger man says, leaving it at that.
They're taking Brandon's car to avoid having to pay more in long-term parking fees than they have to and under the unlikely circumstance that it gets stolen, Brandon's car is shittier anyway.
"I don't mean to offend, but this station sucks," Brandon says, motioning to the radio. "I took all my CD's and cassettes out just in case and it's hell trying to find anything to listen to."
Ronnie snorts, "No offense taken. It's not like I go there anymore—I think the guy who used to run it graduated last semester."
"Well you need him back," Brandon says. Even though he and Dave were the ones who convinced him to not return to UNLV in the fall, Brandon still says things like you when he talks about the college. It's as if Ronnie is the school itself in Brandon's eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Hopeless Haze - Volume I: Hot Fuss (Remastered)
Romance"If Brandon cared, he would wonder if Ronnie was also deep in thought about something and has only just absentmindedly found something for his hands to play with. But as Ronnie runs his fingers through his hair, Brandon finds that he does not care a...
