Tokyo Drift || HS

10 || Desperate Times (Part 1)

Trigger Warning

If you've experienced any form of harassment or that subject is a trigger for you, please proceed cautiously moving forward or skip to the next chapter.

I take this subject very seriously and want to encourage you that if you have experienced anything you need to talk about, or anything grave enough that needs to be reported - please seek help or call your local police.

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JALEN'S SNEEZE IS LOUD enough to start an avalanche.

"How did you even get sick?" I ask as I bring him another blanket, taking extra precaution to avoid his line of fire. I add the blanket to the three that are already laying on top of him.

He looks pathetic.

His eyes droop from exhaustion. His nose is red with agitation from wiping it with countless tissues. I can't even see his body. His head is the only thing visible from the lump of comforters piled sky-high on the couch.

"Bruh, I don't even know." His voice is slow and congested. I can tell he's contemplating my question but the gears are turning slower than usual. "There was this cute kid at this store I went to. He had big chubby cheeks and I think he sneezed on me."

I let out a sigh. For how tall and lean Jalen is, he's always had a soft spot for tiny humans.

"I'll make you some soup." I pat the blanket pile. "Does that sound good?"

He nods his head but it barely moves because of fluff that's cushioning his chin.

"What are we going to do about the shows tonight?" He asks as I walk into the kitchen.

The shows...

Jalen's question echoes in my ears.

Sebastian set us up with a couple of VIP passes for an underground concert series tonight in one of the burgeoning music districts of Tokyo. It's said to be one of the biggest nights for the up and coming revival of the Japanese city pop genre and the fusion of new house sounds.

To me, that just sounds like a bunch of fancy words for a futuristic rave.

Jalen and I have got a decent amount of research done. I've already started typing the article. But Anne has been hounding us over email about how we still haven't accomplished any sort of "music experience" and we need pictures to document for the magazine.

These passes are a godsend.

"I can go." I state firmly. "It's fine. I don't need you to come."

"Don't be dumb." He glares. "You can't go by yourself."

Another loud sneeze explodes through our apartment. Jalen rubs his nose in an effort to keep any other strange secretion from coming out of his face.

I stare back at him just as stubbornly.

"Jalen, we need this. You know we need this." I reaffirm. "Plus, it's me! I'll be fine. And if Sebastian gave us the passes, I bet some of his workers got them too. Christa, Peter or Ryan will probably be there."

The thought of seeing Peter there dissipates some of the stress I feel when I think about having to go to the concert alone.

Something about his presence is comforting. 

I've thought about how I should take him up on his offer for help. And although I was distracted from Peter by Harry's texts a couple nights ago – I haven't heard much from Harry since. And realistically, I don't know how often I will.