Mumble

V I S I T I N G ②⓪①③ -[The Seventeenth Birthday]

②⓪①③

It was June. Early in the month and hot. A time where the edges of spring and summer met, blurring together like a shimmering mirage in a desert. The colors seemed to vibrate in anticipation of the coming season, waiting to explode in a flurry of too bright greens and oranges and vibrant yellows. Already the poppies were blooming, turning grassy fields a warm honey gold, their leaves a shock of color in between the petals.

Ozzie brought the joint back up to his lips, inhaling slowly as he watched a faint copper glow light up the tip. He held it for a beat, feeling the smoke slip down into his lungs before exhaling and passing it on. He grinned. That was good stuff. His body slumped back against the balcony wall. Outside it was raining. Hot and humid and he could smell it all, the mix of grass, weed and evaporating water, comfortable and protected from the wet by the balcony's awning.

The smoke curled in the air, dipping upwards between his pursed lips. It was James' idea to do this, sporting a fresh new tan and bag full of Mary Jane courtesy of his stint in Los Angeles. His most recent film had just finished shooting and he'd decided what the heck, let's pay Ozzie a visit. Ozzie remembered James saying something about this being the first week of Ozzie's summer vacation and to take proper advantage of it as he'd sauntered into his room before promptly flopping--falling--onto Ozzie's bed.

James' body was a long strip of sluggish arms and uncoordinated feet so Ozzie couldn't say he'd been surprised when his friend had tripped during the two-step journey across the room. Classic James. Able to make teenage girls swoon without a word in a movie but barely able to cross a street on his own in real life.

Still Ozzie wouldn't complain. He wouldn't. If he was being truthful, it was one of the few things that still made him smile. It wasn't like James had any other reason to come back to their boring middle of nowhere town in Northern California except for him. The thought made him grin even more.

It'd been awhile since he'd been able to do this. Relax. He felt loose-limbed and content and something else, something close to happy.

James took a hit. His cheeks dimpled and his eyes crossed a bit as he tried looking at the joint between his fingers. His brow wrinkled. Ozzie wanted to reach over and smooth his hand across it. No one should look so serious when they were getting high. Even he was grinning. James breathed out and chuckled in Ozzie's direction, his ebony curls bouncing with the movement.

James tilted his head to the side.

"Wa's so funny?" Ozzie slurred.

James grinned. "Your face," he drawled, voice slow and low and even. It reminded Ozzie of someone thinking really hard about what they were going to say next. And not in a I'm-thinking-of-the-most-diplomatic-response kind of way but in a legitimate sort of I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-trying-to-say-so-let's-just-say-it-real-slow-like-so-they-won't-notice kind of way. James handed the joint back to Ozzie. "You look like you need to take a shit."

"Ay," Ozzie took back the joint and gave his friend the finger. His cheeks hollowed as he blew a smoke ring in his friend's face, "fuck you, man."

James held his hands up in surrender. "What?! You do!"

"Yeah?" Ozzie rolled his eyes and took another hit from the joint before slouching back against the wall, "well whatever." He looked down at the joint between his fingers. The end was burning dangerously close to his fingertips. "You gonna finish this? Or...?" He left the question hanging in the air.

"Nah, you can," James said with a wave of his hand, "I can get more back in L.A."

Ozzie snorted. "Fuckin' movie star."