𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒

𝙥𝙤𝙤𝙡𝙨

hello all ten of my usual readers how are we doing!! ive been listening to charlie's inferno by that handsome devil on loop
sophie walten x reader bc i like talking abt sophie (this takes place a year before ashley goes missing lol)
-

You squinted against the sun, using one hand to overshadow your eyes while using the other to secure the bag against your side. "Do we seriously have to walk to the pool?"

"I drove my mom's truck into a drainage ditch. I'm not allowed to drive it anymore." The blonde beside you explained, hand locked around the frayed strap of a aged bag with the name of some sports team written on the front. Brighton Bunnies–you didn't have to read it to tell if it was the decade-old sports team or not.

"Brian." You deadpanned. "Have you ever heard of something called public transport?"

His lips twisted in a frown, enunciating the small freckles that were gradually being dragged out by the sun. The sun, at the moment, was burning the bottom of your feet through your sandals in a new type of fresh hell and making the swim suit buried under an old sweatshirt of yours and some shorts stick to your back like a second skin. You were momentarily pushed away from your sulking by Brian's drowsy voice–a result of the thin veil of sleep he usually got—responding to your sardonic question. "Listen, the pool's just a block away. C'mon, you can stand it."

"Questionable." You hummed in a reluctant yet conceding tone, not raising another gasp of protest until you had safely gotten to the pool–more because you were parched then anything. Inside the pool building, blasts of A/C kept you cool, blowing gusts against your sticky skin and making you and Brian let out a synchronized sigh of relief.

Brighton had hit peak heat during summer break, and all of its inhabitants were victim to the waves of scorching air that left the pool never alone. Even now, people were resting around the pool's edge or directly in it–most lounging about with some cool drink in their hand extracted from the local vending machine.

"Should I do a cannonball? Should I?" Brian wiggled out of his shirt, revealing the rough scars right around the top of his chest. He never explained how or where he got them, just shrugged and hissed out the weak excuse of an accident. You wouldn't pry, however.

"You're asking me?" You set down your bag, taking his own away from him to set aside. They were filled with extra clothes and towels, water bottles crouched under the entire lump of fabric that were probably sticky with warm water. "You won't listen if I tell you no. Go ahead."

He whooped, prepping himself up as you pulled off your own clothes to reveal the blue swimsuit not unlike his own. Walking over to the edge of the pool just in case he slipped and dragged his stomach against the harsh tiles like last time (that resulted in a whole hospital visit), you watched him run forward and splash into the pool with a burst of water that sprayed on everyone in a 50-foot radius. Including yourself.

"Eep!"

Your head turned at the squeak, and you gasped at your sudden discovery of a girl absolutely drenched in the remains of Brian's cannonball. Her t-shirt–a blue one that was the same shade as your swimsuit–stuck to her skin, shoulders soaked with the brown curls-turned-ropes that dripped along her neck.

It took you a second to formulate an apology to the girl standing in shock beside you. "I am so, so sorry about my friend. Are you okay?"

It also seemed to take her a second to acknowledge your presence. "Y-Yeah. I... uh... it's fine."

"Brian!" You snapped, hoping your voice would carry over the mix of shocked laughter and grumbles that your friend had elicited. It did, and his head bobbed above the water to meet your furious gaze. "Never do that again! Got it?"