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"Your weird ass likes being lonely, don't you?" Nick practically yells at the friend across from him. He was getting sick of Zion's bullshit. Edwin was, too.
They have both asked him hundreds of times to come to clubs and parties with them, and interact with other people. But every time, Zion quickly says "no" and changes the subject before anything can be said to counter it. It was like he was convinced that parties were poisonous.
"Yeah, I do actually. But don't call it lonely. It's just alone." Zion blurts out, twisting a dread at the back of his head between his ring finger and thumb. He briefly looks up at Nick's gross, sauce covered face before looking back at his cellphone. Clubs were headache fuel. They would often drag him to the ones you had to pay for, and he thought that was the dumbest thing. You have to pay your own money just to go into a room and dance. And you have to wait in line, Fuck that.
Edwin sucked his teeth, throwing a napkin at Nick's chest. "Come on, Z. You always look sad as fuck. I'm sure some henny and some ass throwing will turn that frown upside down." He did a small dance with his shoulders, nudging Zion while doing so.
"No." The dreaded boy deadpans.
Edwin rolls his eyes and sighs, yanking at a strand of hair of the boy in front of him. "Ain't no fun."
☆
There's a certain point where alone does become lonely. And even though Zion told his friends he wasn't, he'd reached lonely a long time ago. He lived alone, in a small studio apartment, the only other living thing in there with him was a monstera called Margo. But even though he was desperate for an intellectual conversation, or a cuddle or two, the clubs that his friends were begging him to attend weren't where to find that. And he wasn't very willing to look anywhere else. A lonely, lazy boy.
When he gets home from eating wings with his friends, he rubs Margo's leaves while he lays on his couch, his head thrown back as he stares at his ceiling.
Suddenly, and quite unfortunately, a knock is heard at his door, startling him out of his relaxed position. He jumps, and yanks at Margo, making her fall from the table she was on, and break from her ceramic pot. The boy's eyes widen in shock.
Scratch that: the only living thing in that apartment was him.
"WHOEVER THE FUCK IS AT THE DOOR SHOULD GO HOME AND CHOKE! I'M NOT ANSWERING, I'VE GOT A PLANT TO CLEAN UP!" He yells, picking up the rest of the pot.
