In Your Dreams

56 || Emmett Larkin

This is nice. A bit loud and rowdy, sure, but it’s nice. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I sit back on the couch, watching the chaos unfold. I live for the chaos of it all. Especially when I have a cold drink in my hand and a karaoke system in front of me.

I take a slow sip of my coke—and rum, except without the rum. It’s just coke, really. With ice. Coke with ice. Definitely not drunk, I swear. I would have felt woozy and dizzy after a few cups of rum and coke. This is like my fifth cup and I hadn't felt anything weird in particular.

It’s refreshing to just hang out with people you’re close to, with no signs of worry about tomorrow. Especially since the finals would still be like two months away. But the battle of the bands is nearly a week away from now. But no time to think about that.

This evening is all about us, bandmates. Just us, having a great time. I smile as Alecks and Hanz wrestle over the lone karaoke mic. There’s supposed to be two mics, but Samuel somehow misplaced the other one and couldn't find it after hours of scouring around their apartment. Even Lance lend a hand and still couldn't find the spare microphone.

Out of nowhere, Dexter hops onto my lap, startling me. I watch as the little furball curled up against my lap. “Oh, hey, buddy. You enjoying the party?” I lean down, whispering into his ears as I stroke his soft fur. Dexter responds with a purr, and I chuckle. “Sorry it’s so loud. Couldn’t find a sitter for you tonight. You just have to get use to the rowdiness around here, okay?” I scratch the soft spot behind his ears with a small smile on my face.

Well, there was one sitter who crossed my mind, but I wasn’t sure she’d respond. Lately, Phoebe’s been semi-ghosting me—sometimes engaging, sometimes outright ignoring me. I didn’t even bother asking her to come to this party. It felt… easier that way. Though, it did felt wrong at the same time.

Believe me, I tried. I’d stared at her name on my phone for what felt like forever, debating whether to message her. But in the end, I put my phone down. Phoebe’s got her own life. She’s responsible, academic-focused, probably busy with something important. No point dragging her into this chaos.

I've already dragged her enough to join the band. No need to add another responsibility for her to juggle with her academic.

Dexter stares up at me now, his eyes round and piercing. It's like the cat is silently judging me

“What?” I ask, as though he might actually answer.

He meows softly, like he knows what I’m thinking. Judging by his look—directly into my soul, mind you—I’m pretty sure he does.

I sigh and pout at him. “She’s not coming, okay? Phoebe’s busy.” I manage a weak smile, hoping to convince myself as much as Dexter. But as soon as I say it, he jumps off my lap and struts away without so much as a glance back. 

“Thanks for the loyalty,” I call after him, dripping with sarcasm. "I appreciate it, Dexter," I yelled hoping my cat could still hear me from the loud music that is playing. A groan escapes me, and I take another sip of my drink—except I almost choke on it this time.

“Whoa, easy there.” Lance’s voice cuts through, and I glance up to see him. 

And what he’s fucking wearing. 

“What the hell are you wearing?” I blurt, giving him a once-over. 

Lance, proud as ever, stands in front of me wearing a cowboy hat paired with a hoodie and khaki pants. It’s like the Wild West threw up on an urbanite. Like a cowboy lost in time or some shitty sci-fi plot that I've totally hadn't recently watched when I was bored in my apartment. Leave me alone.