melody .
The most annoying thing about Hunter Callan ( and there are plenty, if you ask Melody ) is that he has seen quite a lot of her. Ugly bits, too. There’s discomfort with having been seen in such a way and even more discomfort in the small bit of kindness that he offers all the same: in some quiet moment, she’ll think herself wholly undeserving. Right now, she simply lets out the cough she’s been trying to suppress and wipes at her eyes. As if the smoke is what makes her mascara dance in dangerous dark drops below her lashes, rather than the tight knot of emotion that sits in her throat. “Any idea where your sister is?” The question is posed, plucked from thin air, thrown Hunter’s way once she’s stopped coughing. Hanna has seen more of her than Hunter has and while with her that’s disquieting, too, it’s in a wholly different way.
“Fine with me.” That she wants something stronger than a fucking seltzer goes unsaid, and she catches the black cherry flavoured drink before cracking it open and pressing her lips against the fizzing opening. There’s a moment of hesitation, then a roll of her yes, and then she sits down next to him, flattening her skirt ( denim, checkered-print ). The condensation of the can meets the skin of her bare leg and there’s a slight shiver. Better than a tremor, at least. “What’s below my station is receiving romantic advice from you.” Mel shuts herself up by taking a long sip from her seltzer, feeling the bubbles travel down her throat. She places the can down, leans back on her hands and is quiet for a moment. “Whatever, he can be a right cock sometimes. Sure, yeah, whatever, that doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see.” But he’s nice in his silly ways and charmingly funny when he wants to be and doesn’t seem to mind Mel’s disappearing interest in laying under him. Most of all, he’s predictable. Even all of this is fucking predictable, even if she wishes it wasn’t. One hand lifts, for the joint. “We’re all dickheads, every now and then though, so it doesn’t fucking matter.”
“ your guess is as good as mine . ” he says , though all things considered , it probably isn’t . he didn’t know where hanna was ––– probably the same place justice had disappeared to ––– but if pressed , he could probably find her . all it’d take is a few steps out into the crowd , a head swivel , a deep breath , and if she was there , he’d spot her . it was easy . something about psychic twin connection . but he wasn’t gonna get up and hunt her down . she’d come by soon probably anyways . circle back ‘round to do a tequila shot . no offense to mel , but hanna deserved to , like , enjoy her night somewhat . not spend the whole time holding melody’s hair back and comforting her over the trials and tribulations of fucking justin mcmeathead . hunter has had the privilege of cleaning up the perfumed , glittery debris of one too many melody jiang emotional explosions for him to willingly subject his sister to another one . maybe hanna forgot and forgave , but hunter remembers senior year . ( well , hunter remembers . . . like , some of senior year . the salient details of his own torment may escape him , but he does remember hanna and the phone calls . he remembers that , at least . )
he lets the station comment slide past him . no skin off his back . she probably wasn’t wrong about it , anyways . what did he have to show for romantic relationships ? edie . years and years of edie . but that was high school . sandbox shit . long over . and then . . . and then whatever he was doing now . his mind is drifting there , to justice , to hunter’s fucking inability to commit to anything , to whatever the fuck was going on , to the many , many ways he could ruin something good before it began , while he takes a loooong pensive pull from the joint . eventually , hunter realizes she’s still talking about justin . he zones back in , passes the joint over without thinking about it . once it’s in her manicured grip , however , it does occur to him that she’s probably trying to get shit faced . he doesn’t remember her being a smoker , really . “ caaareful with that . don’t chief it . ” he points a lazy finger at the joint , necks his beer between thoughts . “ it’s good shit . grew it m’self . and y’can have as much as y’like , but i ain’t icing your vagus nerve when you green out . ” what’s funny is , if you knew hunter at all , you knew that was an empty threat . if she did green out , and she did have a panic attack , he probably would bring her a solo cup full of ice and talk her down . but if we could all agree to avoid that , he’d appreciate it .
eventually , he meanders his way back to their original conversation . “ anyways , there’s dickheads , and then there’s dickheads , right ? like , me ? i’ve got all this impish charm . i think you’d be hard pressed in this crowd to find someone who’s first descriptor for hunter callan is dick . no offense , but i’on’t think you could say the same for him . kid’s a dickhead , capital d . i got the chipped tooth to prove it . ” he smiles wide , showcases the tiny chip in his right lateral incisor . personally , hunter thinks it adds character . listen , he doesn’t harbor any real resentment for justin . if he carried a grudge for every goon that beat him up in his formative years , he’d crumble under the weight of all that anger . some shit has to get let go . but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna like the guy . or sell him pot . a man’s gotta have some self respect .
