Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter six

Sebastian

In a span of less than twenty-four hours, I have now had Harris in the passenger seat of my truck not once, but twice. It might not seem like a lot to some people, but for me, spending this much time with a virtual stranger—not to mention doing the kinds of things that we did the night prior—is crazy. 

The parking lot of Paco's Shake Shack is large, designed to be shared with a Culver's and a Taco John's. There's a noticeable kind of crowd for each food joint, being: Taco John's attracts a lot of probably-stoned teens who want greasy, salty food quick; Culver's brings in a lot of families who prefer a drive-thru over having to get their young kids out of the SUV, and old people who appreciate the lack of young families and probably-stoned teens; and Paco's picks up a mix of the refuse, a drive-thru-less hang out for teens and slightly older families who like simplistic shakes and a staggering three burger options.

Because of the lack of drive-thru, most of the cars parked in the lot are Paco's customers. Which makes it very easy to gauge just how busy it is. Today is pretty middle of the road, with cars jammed in together on one side of the lot, and the rest of it wide open.

It's a nice seventy degrees. For me, that's about the lowest temp I'll take for acceptable shake weather (because, there really are some temperatures that make shakes better). It's just enough for the backs of my thighs to stick just slightly to the black leather seats. I glance over at Harris in the passenger seat next to me. He's too busy squinting at something on his phone screen, but we're dressed in similar khaki shorts, although his leg hairs seem to catch the sunlight, almost glowing white where the light hits his skin. Don't know why that's what I'm paying attention to, but ... well. Nice legs.

The sun beats down on my arms and the back of my neck as soon as Harris and I step out of the truck. It makes the walk of only halfway across the parking lot to Paco's front entrance feel like an eternity. He's been quiet—we both have. He'd hopped in my truck this morning, still in the middle of putting one sneaker on as he ran out the door, a band-aid plastered on the side of his temple in the most dipshitty way possible, and flung the passenger side door open with a grin.

"So," he'd asked, that mischievous glint in his eye, "what do you have planned?"

And all I'm doing is bringing him to Paco's Shake Shack. Which is pretty underwhelming, now that I think about it. And, believe me, I am thinking about it. I feel like an absolute idiot.

Why did I think that Paco's was a good, cool, hip place to be bringing Harris? For one, knowing what he and Liam get up to, he's much more of a Taco John's guy. And is a malt shop really where you're supposed to bring your ... whatever Harris is to me? I'm hating myself for letting him leave the "hey, what are we?" decision up to me. In theory, I know what "casual" means, but now that we're putting it into practice, I'm completely out of my element. What are our boundaries? What are the rules? Are we going to have to write up some kind of contract, like a fake couple in any rom-com? I did some extensive Googling last night, but everything just all seems so different. 

Side note, I didn't sleep a wink last night.

Harris keeps pace next to me, tugging his hair away from his face with one hand. I was surprised to see he kind of dressed up for this. He's wearing a yellow button-up short-sleeve shirt and khaki shorts, which might not seem like dressing up for most people, but for Harris, it's significant effort. He's solidly a T-shirt and jeans guy. For him, it works. I'm convinced Harris could make any look work. I'm completely in my head about his current outfit choice though. Why dress up today? For me? For this? Why? Why why why?

He's practically bouncing with excitement. "I fucking love Paco's," he says. I wasn't expecting him to speak. I nearly jump.

"You do?" I ask. Thank the lord.

"Ohhh yes," he says. "Liam is more of a Taco John's guy"—knew it—"so I never really have anyone to go here with, except for my mom, but she's been so busy recently that I just haven't gone."

"Oh, that kinda sucks."

"Yeahhhh. I mean, we go to Culver's with my grandma, so it's chill. Just miss Paco's, that's all."

"Ahh." I nod. "Cool." Which, wow, Seb. Ever the conversationalist, I see.

I hold the first set of doors open for Harris, and he holds the next for me in turn. Inside is about as warm as it was outside, but there's a noticeable relief in no longer having UV rays beat down on the sensitive, too pale skin on the back of my neck. The radio playing over the speakers announces itself as 99.7 KARZ FM, the station from a few towns over that I know my parents love, before launching into a song I vaguely recognize.

"Oh, I love this song," Harris says. "Do you know whose mom this is?"

"No clue." I'm still trying to figure out what song this is.

"Maya Rudolph's mom, Minnie Riperton. Everyone remembers Lovin' You, but I like Les Fleur better."

I'm somewhat impressed that he knows this. Harris always seemed like the kind of guy who wears the occasional Pink Floyd or Black Sabbath shirt just for shits and giggles. Like, his Purple Rain shirt is a fashion choice, not a fan choice. "I didn't peg you as a music guy."

"I mean, my mom loves oldies hits, so I grew up with it."

"Ah, I gotcha." It's weird to hear him talk about his mother. I know I've seen her around—if she were a guy, she'd probably look just like Harris. Same messy blonde hair, same pointed yet soft nose, same tired, laughing eyes. Although, her eyes are more tired than laughing, a trait unshared by Harris. I remember seeing her at different school events over the years, how exhausted she looked all the time.

My aunt was in her graduating class and told me that Harris' mom gave birth to Harris right before her last year of her pre-med undergrad. One of those freak pregnancies that goes completely unnoticed. And with Harris' dad out of the picture—no one knows who, because Harris' mom went out of state—she moved back home and worked here. So I can't blame her for how tired she looked all the time when I was a kid. Especially knowing how much of a handful Harris can be now, and likely was as a child.

It's unnerving how easy it is to learn all about someone's family living in a town the size of West Denton. It's a little over twenty-thousand people, so it's not as if it's the smallest town on the face of the earth. But it's small enough to where you only need to talk to one or two people to find out everyone's business.

I have to wonder if people will notice that we're here together, or if we're maybe too tired of gossip, worn out from finally graduating—at least for the time being.

Harris looks over his shoulder at me, grinning wide enough to bring to light one dimple. I wouldn't have expected myself to be floored by a mere dimple, but you know what? I guess I'm easy like that. 

a/n - the way i took 2 exams today (still feels like monday, 1:48 am on tuesday is still monday) but ONC deadline is today (tuesday, because it is tuesday)

anyways ENJOY