So Long, Sunbear

prologue - more than one

VIBIN' STAGE

Francis did not sign up for this.

It was approaching midnight, but everything around Francis seemed to move so fast despite the vigorous movement of projected neon-coloured lighting and the heavy bass that felt violent onto his eardrums after a whole day of loud mash of rock, metal and pop at the main stage. Bodies of half-drunk men and women crushed either sides of his tall, lanky frame as he went through the sea of surprisingly-still-energetic dancing crowd on the floor of Vibin'.

The chorus of ABBA's Gimme Gimme Gimme blended into a much older song that Francis seemed to remember once from playing old records at Atlas' Audio Technica record player. Not everyone is familiar with Rose Iwanaga, let alone her songs. He raised his head and glanced towards the DJ. A familiar face—DJ Landon. Francis attended several of his shows before in the past twenty-four months, bit he had never heard him pull out a Rose Iwanaga.

"I love this song!" He heard a girl by the booth said excitedly. She continued to dance and twirl as her golden wide leg pants swept across the floor—that was when he realised that she wasn't wearing shoes anymore.

"Found you, Bayu," Francis whispered to himself, but she wasn't the person Francis was unfortunately babysitting for the night—or the day, even. Francis scanned the crowd again for signs of a wavy-haired, possibly intoxicated woman that has stomped off angrily two hours ago from the main stage with a flask of vodka in her hand—which may be difficult now that the sea of dancing crowd he is surrounded with, reeked of beer and hints of whiskey.

At the corner of the dance floor, he saw another familiar face—his friend Rhea, in her white laced top and a black denim skirt that seemed to rise further up that he remembered when she left their cabin earlier this morning. The ends of her straight bleached locks were tangled in a mess that another set of fingers tried to brush through—a set of fingers that belonged to a much taller man that towered over her tiny frame. She leaned against the slim wooden column of the Vibin' hut, which looked uncomfortable as fuck, but his fingers were now grazing gently at her jaw, tracing it to her neck...

"Oh no, you horny bastards," Francis whispered to himself again, as he tried to make his way to Rhea and the man. Alcoholic Poppy can wait, but hormones can't. He cussed under his breath. He just wanted to enjoy the music festival, get drunk, and dance. Not babysit a bunch of old teenagers who by now, would have been scattered around the grounds of the festival village in the middle of the night.

DJ Landon's heavy eyebags were apparent. Maybe he was sleep-deprived. He frowned in a microexpression that Francis caught for a milisecond, and plastered on a fake smile and bobbed his head with the crowd. The song changed into an unexpected Bollywood number, and that was it. That was how, in the most cheesy cliche Bollywood fashion of all, Francis found Poppy—now with her top off and no longer with a flash of vodka in her hand.

Unlike petite little Rhea and model-like Bayu, Poppy dances around in her comfortable, just average height, but on a table that the two other DJs tried to pull her down from. Poppy winked at Landon, and continues to dance while the crowd cheered for her. The music has become louder, Bayu was now moving in the arms of a man much skinner than Landon, and Rhea was probably already making out with the man she was with. Francis pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Only night one of the music festival and his friends managed to turn into the ideal models of the teenage social problems essay that they used to be forced to write in middle school.

Francis managed to lock Poppy in his arms, but he struggled to keep her still. He could tell that she was drunk—and drunk Poppy is dangerous. He saw drunk Poppy once. He secretly enhoyed it, but the things she did when she was drunk, he couldn't clean it up afterwards. Figuratively.

Poppy's eyes widened as she looked at Francis. "Francis, kiss me."

The music gets louder. Francis caught a glimpse of Bayu making out with the man she was dancing with. Rhea has disappeared. Poppy struggled herself loose and let out a loud woo before she disappeared into the crowd. Francis felt his shoulder being gripped from behind, and when he turned, his best friend Atlas stood there. He couldn't make out the words from his mouth. The music. Francis locked his fist.

He punched Atlas on the face. His best friend, Atlas.

His knuckles hurt.