LANCASTER AND MAXWELL ( ✔ )

chapter seven.

Chapter Seven.

SULLIVAN prides himself in his speed; he likes to believes he's the fastest white kid around. Unfortunately, he has to put those skills to the test, and not in the way that he would like to. As soon as the c-word fell out into the open air, he's up and out of the lounge chair and already breaking for the glass door (not forgetting his new belongings, of course) before the blonde even has a chance to open his mouth, but he knows that Arthur understands. If he gets arrested, the boy might as well kiss freedom goodbye.

That's one thing he isn't prepared to kiss yet.

He weaves through the crowd of scattering adolescents swiftly like he's done this a thousand times — he has — and breaks for the front door, the smell of the leather interior inside his Jeep already filling his nostrils if he can just get there. 

Three blocks left.

Realizing that he came with two other people, he doesn't break his stride as he pulls out his phone and leaves Diggy a message telling him that the party got busted, to meet him at his Jeep and to hurry before jamming his phone back in his pocket. 

Two blocks left.

Now that he doesn't have to worry about them, his mind conjures up the next thought that he's bound to think about — Artie. Thanks to his brain, SJ has become painfully aware that his face was inches away from his and that he was about a tenth of a second away from making the biggest mistake of his life. There's no possible way that if they actually kissed that they would ever be the same. He tries to play different scenarios over and over in his head, but they all end up with the same result: they drift apart with unspoken words and open-ended conversations, until they're nothing more but strangers.

Sullivan has lived in a world with Arthur, and he's lived in a world without him. A world that he can live with him but doesn't? That version is better off nonexistent.

One block left.

His green eyes can practically zero in on the black vehicle, if he tries hard enough. He's at a good pace right now, and all he has to do is keep sprinting until he can see the others and then he'll be home fre—

"Freeze!" 

Fuck.

Complying to the voice behind him, he takes a glance over his left shoulder and sees that it's a middle-aged cop. He makes his assumptions (six feet tall, slightly out of shape compatible to the way he was searching for breath, couldn't beat the young man in a race), and Sullivan takes his shot. He's not going to jail, not tonight.

"Officer, you gotta help me." The faux helplessness in his voice is something that makes his stomach churn with disdain, but he'll do whatever it takes to get the job done. "I just got a call from my lil' sister, and my grandma ain't doing so hot. She's had a heart attack, and now they're doin' a triple bypass surgery on her," he cries out as he makes his turn so he's facing the officer, the man in front of him staring with eyes wide. He must've not been expecting that. 

Good. 

Sullivan continues, "I-I don't think she's gon' make it, and that'd be a shame for that to be the end of her life. My granny, my soul and spirit, to die while I'm livin' it up at some godforsaken house party that I didn't want to be at in the first place!" He truly believes he dserves an Oscar for his performance.