(no subject)

[mitsubishievo]

Time moved. He'd been married for a month now, nineteen for a handful of days. He hadn't turned into a girl this year, and that was, Kavinsky wasn't sure, an improvement or not on last year. The days were long, and cold; if it wasn't snowing, it was raining. If it wasn't raining, it was windy as hell. Kavinsky was done with winter. He was over it.

He and Jack still talked, texted mostly, and Kavinsky wasn't entirely sure if the distance was just because Kavinsky had been busy with work and Jack had been busy with classes, or if Jack was making a conscious effort to stay away from him, like Kavinsky might not respect that Jack had put up a roadblock on whatever they were--had been--doing.

He didn't like the roadblock. He supposed he didn't have to like it. That wasn't the point. Kavinsky was just tired of one of his best friends being sort of inaccessible.

So, Kavinsky was sitting at a light when he called Jack. He picked up, which meant he probably wasn't in class, but Kavinsky said, "Are you in class right now?" anyway, and then followed it swiftly with, "Play hookie with me, if you are, bitch. I'm way more fun than color theory."

Comments

[mitsubishievo]

"Oh God," Kavinsky laughed again, shaking his head. He had enough experience with weird, creepy teachers to know what that was like; at least any conduct problems had been his decisions, and not the teacher's. "I'd say, like, report him or something, but you still need that grade. Hopefully he gets off your ass; I could always suck his dick for you."

[rockabillyboy]

"You will fucking not," says Jack, shaking his head, laughing. "C'mon, asshole. Come see my house."