Air Brushed

Details, Details

Chapter 5: Details, Details

So Haz and I make our way into one of the rooms which I then realize is an office. The only reason this becomes apparent to me is because there is a window that overlooks the expanse of a smallish, mostly empty, warehouse.

The somewhat not empty-ness comes from one or two cars that are parked near the far wall.

Inside the office itself, barely visible due to the fact that the only illumination comes from the moonlight pouring in through the warehouse windows, are a menagerie of old, probably useless telephones, a few dirty plastic chairs, a large table that looks to be screwed to the floor, and what should have been a discarded mattress on top.

Sitting on the last thing is a sad looking POGs.

I should be mad at him for knocking me out, but I can't find the feelings to be so- especially not now.

In the few hours that I have known him, I have never thought of the guy as capable of the emotion "sad." Sure, I had seen him furious with Tommo just a few moments ago, but everyone can muster up a little bit of anger every now and again, right?

"POGs?" Haz speaks softly and jumps up to join his friend. They both sit cross-legged, one staring out into the warehouse, the other glancing between the blond and his hands in his lap. "You alright, mate?"

The Irish guy replies at length, "I jus' hate it when he does dat."

"When who does what?" Haz asks politely, slowly.

"When Tommo does DAT," POGs throws his hand in the air as if trying to wave the memory away.

The curly haired guy laughs, "You know that's just how he is."

"God ya don' have t' tell me twice," the Irishman lets out an exasperated breath.

Up until this point, I had just remained by the door, but now I clear my throat, "POGs, erm, I wanted to say thanks for... defending me back there."

At first, he doesn't respond, but his quiet reply comes eventually, "Yeah, if I'dda thought dat through just a bit more, none of it would'a happened."

"None of what?" the question comes off as apprehensive.

"Dat argument," POGs seems angry, maybe frustrated, but he slowly eases back to his slightly aloof mood. "Knocking ya' out. I jus' thought it'd be better dan druggin' ya' an' easier dan bringin' Tommo to yer apartm- never mind."

"My WHAT?"

"But now he's pissed," the blonde continues over my question. "An' he probably won't come back till yer gone."

The room falls silent until Haz looks at me over his shoulder, his curls brushing over the collar of his jacket, "Ozzie, how bad do you want those answers?"

"As much as I'd like to strangle the half a dozen people who tried to kidnap me earlier."

Haz raises his eyebrows, "I'm pretty sure they weren't going to kidnap you-"

"But you get the point," I cut him off, not wanting to know what the alternative is.

"Yes, I do," he agrees, bobbing his head slightly. Only half of his face is caught in moonlight, casting the other half in shadow and making the natural curves in his face more prominent. "Tommo will be back by tomorrow night... if you're willing to wait that long."

I cringe, not liking the sound of having a sleepover with a bunch of boys, "Is there any OTHER option? Like coming back later or talking to him at Duke's?"