Locke found Edge to be interesting. As often as he found himself in the company of oddballs, Locke tended to gravitate toward people who were hard to figure out. Cracking them open was a fun challenge. Alternately swaggering and insecure, Edge reminded Locke a great deal of his friend Edgar. Another boy made king, it seemed, forced to take on responsibility long before any man really should. That changed a person in fascinating ways.
And he was a cuddly little fucker when he was smashed. Locke didn’t mind, laid out in a field some ways south of Baron, enjoying the starlight that couldn’t be seen in his own world. The grass tickled his skin, contrasting with the cool night air and the warmth of the grown man tumbled atop him.
He was rambling about something, the words swimming toward Locke through a haze of smoke, echoing in his ears. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, man,” Locke rasped. “I’m great with people.”
Loner. The word grated on Locke’s psyche more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be. It was simply the hand that fate had dealt him.
All of his thoughts were washed away when he felt lips against his own. Eyes wide, he looked up at Edge, his silhouette rimmed by starlight. If Locke were a person to be bowled over by looks, he might have taken some enjoyment in the view. As it was, he pressed a palm to Edge’s chest, keeping him at arm’s length.
“Ed…. I mean… Edge… I… I think you might have the wrong impression of me, man.”
He was too blazed for this.
Fuck fuck fuck. This was definitely not how the night should have gone at all. He knew he felt off, but damn, this was beyond reproach. Now his nerves made him feel like he was going to collapse. He just gave a silent nod as he tried to catch his breath. “Y...yeah, I don't know what came over me.” That wasn't true, he had found Locke attractive since first laying eyes on him, but he never made any kind of move on it. He had too much respect for him, and Locke was so much more than just his charm, and admittedly, Edge didn't know much about Locke's past, though it wasn't exactly like he was forthcoming with his either.Locke was more than some guy he was trying to be nice to, though. He was an actual friend. Someone Edge felt comfortable with. And now he had to go and try pulling this crap.
Once he snapped out of it, he managed to get off of the other and sit straight up, eyes gazing into the horizon. He kept opening his mouth, trying to form words. An excuse, some way to call it a slip up, something, but nothing was coming to him. This was a buzzkill. Hell, now he was fucking trembling. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to get some kind of grip.
“I...probably just had too much or somethin'...” Half assed excuse, he didn't expect Locke to buy it either, but he couldn't just stay quiet.
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