• BURN ME •

• 10 •

Here

~ JP Cooper

Snow

My phone screeches, a digital banshee, fourth time it's ripped me from the shallows of sleep. First few rings, I ignored, burrowed deeper under the covers. Now, it's a jackhammer against my skull. I groan, peel my eyelids open, fix on the ceiling. White. Blank. Wait. How the hell did I even get home? A sigh escapes, heavy with dread. Fuck, my head. A vise clamped around my temples, throbbing in time with the blood pounding in my ears. I roll onto my side, hunt for my phone, finally spot it face down on the floor. Reaching, stretching – clumsy, hungover limbs betray me. I slide off the bed, a graceless sprawl onto the hardwood. Forehead throbs, a dull ache spreading. Grumbling, I snatch the phone, answer Sophia's insistent call. "Yes?" I snap, no preamble, no patience. She should have a damn good reason for this early morning assault. "Ah, so you're still breathing after last night?" Her voice, bright, too cheerful. I sigh again. "Wouldn't exactly call it living. But talk." A low laugh, amusement bubbling in her tone. "Just checking in. Brother dearest said you... overdid it a little last night." Understatement of the year. "Still inhaling and exhaling," I manage, a yawn cracking my jaw. "Anyway," she barrels on, "thought if you were upright, we could do breakfast. Bonnie's kitchen. Hangover cure, courtesy of yours truly." I stare at my bedroom door, a prickle of suspicion. "You're... here?" Her laugh again, closer now, definitely in the house. "Yep. Coming down or what?" Another sigh, heavier than the last. "Give me five minutes." I disconnect, the call severed. Next second, wet, sandpaper tongue scrapes across my face, intrusive, unwelcome. "Oh, goddammit, Ares, stop it you furry menace..." I shove the dog away, a playful growl rumbling in his chest. Push myself upright, legs shaky. Clothes. Necessary evil. Stumble out of the bedroom, the apartment tilting around me. Shit. Black hole in my memory. Total blackout. Dancing... I remember that, a fragmented image of swirling lights and heat. After that... nothing. Rubbing my throbbing temples, I drag myself towards the bathroom, the promise of cold water a distant beacon. And then, kitchen. Sophia. Exactly as predicted, perched at Bonnie's counter, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. She brandishes a white paper bag, diner logo emblazoned on the side. "You look like roadkill," she announces, grin widening. I roll my eyes, a practiced maneuver. "Newsflash: feeling the same." And the worst part is, the goddamn amnesia. "Total blank. Last thing I remember is dancing... after that, static."

I sink onto the kitchen chair, the wood cool beneath my thighs, and exhale a slow breath. Sophia grins across the small table, that radiant, almost blinding smile of hers. "Flame brought you home, you know," she says, amusement lacing her voice. A faint blush crawls up my neck. Flame. He brought me home. The edges of last night are still blurry, fragmented images flickering at the edges of my memory. But Flame... that much registers. A tightening in my gut, a flicker of... something unreadable. I push it down, force a lighter tone. "Right." Then, to deflect, to steer the conversation away from whatever embarrassing state Flame witnessed, I pivot. "Hey, actually, where does Flame get his tattoos done? I've been thinking about getting some of mine touched up. His are... really beautiful." The words are out before I fully consider them. Beautiful. A strange descriptor for ink etched onto Flame's skin, but it's the word that surfaces. Sophia's grin widens, something knowing in her eyes. "All Nacho's dad's work. Sam. He really is a master with the needle." Nacho's dad. Of course. The connections in this city run deep, tangled. I nod slowly, considering. "Okay. What's the name of the shop, then? Maybe I'll drive over there." A casual suggestion, a way to fill the silence stretching between us, but Sophia pounces. "We could go today," she declares, bouncing in her seat. "The shop's open. If you feel like it, we could go right now." Her enthusiasm is infectious, a bright burst of energy that's hard to resist. I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Sure. Why not?" My gaze drifts to the white paper bag from the diner sitting on the table. I reach in, pull out a lukewarm container.