Revolution (rewrite) - Lashton AU boyxboy

2. happiness can be bought

^^^this is p much how i picture ashton in this story except with a bandana bc 2014 5sos i cry 4 lyfe

IM THE WORLDS BIGGEST MORON AND HAVE SPENT LITERALLY A WEEK WONDERING WHY NO ONE WAS READING THIS THEN REALIZED I NEVER FUCKING PUBLISHED THIS CHAPTER AHAHAHA :)))))

song: herojuana - nofx

also this isn't a punk song but i vibed to this so hard while i was writing this: if so - atlas genius

a.i.

The thing about college kids that will never stop pissing me off is that they always try to gyp you into over-paying for weed. I mean, do I really look like the kind of guy who's gonna pay thirty fucking dollars for a dub? Am I wearing boat shoes? Are my mommy and daddy paying my way through college? Do I take a fucking private jet to school?

No, no, and--oh, what's that last one? Oh, yeah: no.

I'm not usually a third leg like this. Nate and I buy our weed straight from the source: Dick, or so he has us call him. All we know about him is that he's the guy who grows almost all the weed you'll find on this campus, and I'm sure it's taken years of exercising extreme caution to get to this point. Nate tends to be quite the detective but still can't figure the guy out. I've told him time and time again that playing mindgames with a drug dealer is gonna get him killed, but he doesn't care. So I make sure that Dick doesn't know I'm friends with Nate.

The downfall to buying from Dick is that he prefers to work on a schedule so he can avoid giving out his phone number. I told him he should get a disposable phone if he's so worried about it, but the guy's more paranoid than my grandpa was after 'nam. So I buy a half ounce every other Friday around 4:00. It's a bit ridiculous, but I've seen what can happen if you run your mouth to a drug dealer, so I keep my opinions to myself.

It's only Wednesday, and I only have a few grams left, so I had to buy an eight from that shithead sophomore, Alex Cavillo. Apparently Wednesday is not a good day to buy weed, because I looked everywhere to find someone who had never double-crossed me, yet all I was left with was the kid who, once upon a time, stole my key and trashed my dorm.

Last year, when he was a freshman, Nate and I had talked to this kid a bit, thought he seemed cool, so we invited him to our hall party even though he lived downstairs. He thanked me by drinking all my Jack, stealing my house key, and trashing my dorm the next day while Nate and I were in class.

It's alright, though, because now there's a poster-sized picture of Alex and his friends cleaning our dorm in maid costumes plastered on our door for everyone to see, going on its second year. The kid knows better than to snitch on me. It'll stay there as long as I want it to.

Nate's alarm clock rattles against the desk as I shake my knee. It's already 7pm. I shouldn't have told the kid today or tomorrow--I should've said, '7pm tonight, en punto, bitch.' I shouldn't have to wait on some freshman I don't even fucking like.

To prove my point, I open the bag and take out a medium-sized nug. Alex said it was Blue Dream, but it doesn't look like it to me. It's not orange enough. I'm not a bad person for ripping him off. It happens to everyone in the beginning. Besides, it's bad business to sell something you haven't tried yet. It could be total shit for all I know.

I wheel over to the desk, pulling out my grinder and pipe. I grind some up and pack a snapper, but it won't stop sticking to my fingers. That's usually a good sign, but wet weed can be really misleading. I hit it in one swift inhale and the minute I exhale, it punches me right in the face.

"Shit," I breathe. I always forget why I love this strain so fucking much until I get my hands on the beautiful hybrid.

There's a knock on the door then, which must be fucking Hemmings, because Nate wouldn't knock and I don't have any other friends. I toss the pipe and lighter back into my drawer and tie the baggie shut. Sure, I'm gonna rip him off, but he's not supposed to know that.