Wisteria (Eddie x Chrissy) ST

Shiver

Warning: ED and body horror

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"C'mon... Spill it."

"No way! You're just going to make fun of me." She's sure of it. A guy like him—whose life revolves around it—probably has very specific tastes and it's not whatever Billboard's pushing. Someone who's been extremely vocal in his distaste for anything mainstream. Getting called a little sheep would ruin the mood.

A chilly breeze rushes by and sends a shiver throughout her body. The weather's not nearly as bad as it has been recently. That's a plus. Many of the trees surrounding the clearing block the worst of it. This is a pretty nice day for the most part.

Moving her head against the pink bookbag she's using as a pillow, Chrissy glances the guy across from her. He must run hot. Last time they came here, he took his vest and jacket off as well. Now he's using them to prop his head up on the bench.

"I won't. Promise. I'm not like those assholes in band who think they're the authority on good music." Eddie takes another hit and stretches his long arm out under the picnic table to hand the joint to her. Thinking about it, the band kids are never spared in his rants. She thought they'd get along from having something in common. Guess not.

'I wonder if they insulted his taste in music?'

"Fine. You better keep your word."

"I swear. Cross my heart." A ringed finger draws a cross over his chest but she notices it's upside down. The horizontal line is far too close to the bottom. Cheeky guy.

"Alright. Billy Joel, first and foremost." She looks up toward the sky while trying to gather a decent list. "Fleetwood Mac, ABBA, Prince, Queen, Bowie, Hall & Oates, The Mamas and the Papas, Culture Club... Bananarama, Lionel Richie, some Madonna songs... That's, um, off the top of my head."

Eddie stares at her for a moment before his lips slip into a smirk. "Okay, I lied. I'm totally gonna judge you."

"You jerk!" Her face turns a bright shade of red as she leans over the side of the bench, grabbing a handful of leaves to toss at him. He finds that even more entertaining.

Truthfully, Chrissy can't remember the last time she smiled or laughed this much. It's strange. Despite getting flustered here and there, it still feels easier to let go. Unless it's the weed. Doesn't matter. She's enjoying this and doesn't want it to end.

"Just kidding. I definitely had you pegged as an ABBA fan, though. Call it musician's intuition." Seeing that shit-eating grin on his face makes her want to throw more leaves at him. Maybe some twigs, too. This punk sure likes to tease. Yet for some ungodly reason, it's hard to resist finding him kind of charming.

'Stop that!'

"Is that good or bad?" She takes a hit and tries holding it in, making her eyes water up. So harsh. Handing it back quickly, it's mind-boggling how he smokes this all the time like it's nothing. Her lungs would tear themselves out to get away from the constant beating.

"Neither, really. It's what you like. That's all that matters. Who gives a damn what other people think? Do what makes you happy, even if that means listening to Madonna." He chuckles, rolling onto his side to face her. Leaning on the crook of his elbow and letting his hand hang over the edge.

Laying like that gives her a good view of the tattoo on his right forearm. A hand with strings attached to some small puppet monster. The bats she's seen before. He also gave her a small peek at the one on his chest. How many does he have? Another thing to be curious about.