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hunter.

whoever said you were stupid . yeah , whoever . it was a lot of people . often , and without remorse . including melody , and her boyfriend . now , would that comment itself not fall into the category of calling him stupid ? kinda . it was rude , at the least . what is with the girls at this bonfire and their urge to be bitchy to hunter ? far as he can tell , he’s been perfectly polite . probably something about the moon . he’ll ask sage later . ( actually , where is sage , come to think ? hunter twists around again to try locate them . hm . must be down by the water . he makes a note . ) anyways , hunter does his very best to stifle the laugh prompted by mel and her overambitious pull . she can be as rude as she likes , he’s not gonna poke back at her . she’s clearly having some sorta cassie howard breakdown moment , and frankly , he doesn’t particularly wanna get screamed at . he smiles amiably , accepting the joint back and taking his own hefty drag . “ just cough . don’t hold it in . ”

hunter hoists himself up , bracing on the truck , and heads back to the coolers . beer in one , girly ass fruit seltzers in the other . he grabs a natty for himself and a white claw for mel . “ all i got is black cherry . ” unsaid there is : my friends drank the good flavors , this is what’s left . cope . he tosses the can in her direction and cracks open his own , resettling on the tailgate . hunter leaves a space for her to sit , if she’d like , but he doesn’t advertise it . just rests against the side of the bed , one leg tucked under him and one leg left to swing aimlessly . “ y’know , ” as hunter’s words tend to do , these ones leave him slow . strung out , syllables slipping together . “ it don’t take any kinda remarkable insight to know justin maddox blows chunks . ain’t he sorta . . . below your station ? ” hunter felt that was the kindest way he could put it . your boyfriend is a shithead and a bruiser and i’m pretty sure he’s got no brain cells left in the tin can he calls a head seemed like it’d end up poking the proverbial bear . he sips his beer with intention ; he isn’t nearly crossed enough for any of this .

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.”

#hunter.#hunter: 001.#bonfire.

hanna.

she’s leaning against a jeep – not hers , mind you , since she spent the forty - five minute drive out here drinking in the bed of hunter’s truck – and tapping at her phone to figure out where sage went , when mel materializes in front of her . “ how was dinner ? you missed a whole show with the drakes . ” hanna’s laugh meets her squeal ; phone nearly slips from between thumb and index finger behind mel’s back as she meets the hug halfway .

“ of course they did . four years of college for the big d . basically writes itself . ” mel taps her chin , smiles / hanna scrunches her nose , adjusts one of the sleeves of mel’s top . “ nope , no drink yet . come with me to get one ? ” hanna’s paying attention , really , swear to it , but she is a bit buzzed . mel’s perfume lingers in her nose , there’s cheap beer coating the roof of her mouth , nails brushing somewhere near her ribs – “ hm ? ” she looks away then , barely sparing a glance down at the outfit in question . “ new in that i took the jeans from hunter , like , a month ago and started messing with them until i was happy with it . or got bored of painting . ” a hand toying with her shirt here , hanna’s hand settling somewhere on mel’s forearm there . “ but forget me , you look fucking amazing . ”

“A show with the Drakes? Spill the fucking deets, Han,” she demands. Her eyes would be twinkling if they could, revealing affection that slips through other cracks, too. If Melody Jiang tries to control most situations she’s in, she’s willing to let go of the reigns a bit around Hanna. ( A bit. Mostly. There’s still a legion of things she disallows herself, so strictly and consistently that she has forgotten that she even does it. ) “We went to the diner, it was nice. Dunno, he keeps talking about wanting to travel or get out of here and it’s getting on my fucking nerves.” The summer is high season, after all, and Melody’s plans are strictly constrained by her ambitions within the hotel. Hanna knows, because Mel has spoken of these plans since ... well, for fucking ever, really.

“Whoever came up with that definitely took more than four years to get their bachelor, trust me,” she quips, looping her arm through Hanna’s and pulling her close. “I’ll be your escort, yes. Must get a beveragio in your system, stat!” Fingers burn on her forearm and Mel feels the urge for a drink grow, starting to move towards where she knows the coldest drinks are. ( Ever situation must be controlled, after all, even one like this: Mel tries to keep a general overview of the party in her mind. ) “Well, they look better on you than they ever could on Hunter, so.” Lips part. There’s something about your looks being called amazing by a girl whose beauty you envy. “I always do.”

#hanna.#hanna: 001.#bonfire.

hunter.

hunter’s sat happily on the tailgate of his truck ; swinging out his legs , bracing back on his elbows , smoking a joint and watching with keen attention as johnny drake ( junior , giant , former baseball teammate , current idiot ) sized up a broken chair and considered throwing it into the fire . he’s so invested in the outcome of that decision — potentially disastrous , considering the state of the fire and the size of the chair — that it takes almost the entire run of the argument between melody and justin for him to even register that it’s happening . to be fair , though , he makes it a point to ignore the melody — justin — hydra whenever possible . he’s a meathead who enjoyed beating up on hunter before hunter had learned to beat back , and she was … mel . whatever that meant . best to avoid them altogether .

johnny heaves the chair above his head . hunter swivels to watch melody scream in justin’s face . honestly , good for her . he looks for hanna in the crowd , wants to meet her eye over this , because oh my god , but she’s nowhere to be found . it’s as the chair is launched that justin storms away , or maybe it’s mel , who knows . either way , one of them storms . the bonfire destabilizes briefly , threatens to come down altogether . hunter sighs , looks again for hanna . or anyone he recognizes as one of mel’s friends . she’s , like , having a mental break over there . but no dice , there’s nobody to find . finally , hunter whistles in her direction . “ MEL - OOO - DYYY . ” he waves her down , calls her over to the truck . " your boyfriend blows . “ the joint shifts from his lip to his hand , and tips its way towards her on offer . behind her , a group of boys tries to sort out the collapsing bonfire with large sticks . the chair breaks apart , a leg goes flying , there’s a collective whoop .

Public displays of affection make her uncomfortable for reasons she’s not keen to investigate, Justin’s lips in her neck, arm around her waist, his skin on hers. Public displays of discourse make her uncomfortable for very obvious reasons. Flushed-skin, tears-in-eyes screaming, pointed-finger-desperation — these are all signs of weakness, of diseased weakness. Her heels cannot bridge the height between herself and her boyfriend and her heart cannot bridge the gap between herself and him, either. Here, at this party, the future awaits: congratulations, you have graduated, the rest of your life awaits. For Melody and Justin it’s cookie cutter clear, white-picket-fucking-fence. She’ll start at the hotel, officially, and he’ll find some kind of job of his own, and they will move onto the next phase in their five-year-plan. That’s the plan, but Justin wants something else now, wants to go and travel and Melody is first jokingly forbidding him and then she’s serious and he’s looking at Marissa Jones’ curved ass, and well: here they are. Her finger pointing at his chest and an ultimatum at his feet: if you leave, I’m not coming with, and you’re gonna be real fucking single, too.

He storms off. ( He really does love her, doesn’t he? Even if he’s staring at Marissa’s ass. Maybe that’s why she feels so heavy, now. ) Melody feels something within her tremor, either her now-limp hand by her side or the muscle in her clenched jaw. Both, maybe. For a moment she just fucking stands there, staring at the whooping people, at that blazing fire. Someone could write a poem about that, the reflection of flames in tear-filled eyes, but it won’t be her. And then there’s a whistle, her name shouted like a melody ( ha ) and she’s whipping around. Ready to sink her teeth in whatever bullshit Hunter Callan is intending to offer her today. It’s something, anyway, to sink her teeth in: better than her own bottom lip. “Great fucking insight, Hun. Whoever said you were stupid must be eating their words right about now, hm?” She takes the blunt, takes a drag that’s too big for her lungs, which are already compromised by unshed sobs. Her arm whips out, extending the blunt as she tries to hold in a cough ( and fails ). “Fuck.”

#hunter.#hunter: 001.#bonfire.

There's such instant, unexplained relief at seeing Hanna Callan's face in a crowd. Melody places a kiss against the stubble of Justin and separates from him, rushing over in that way one does when seeing another part of oneself. The distance close and Mel is hugging the other, hair tickling her nose, a squeal leaving her throat. As if she has not seen her best friend in eons, when the opposite is true. "Killer outfit, babe," she says, pulling back. She had not been there, when Hanna had gotten ready: a ritual they had performed so often in the years prior but had not performed tonight. No curling iron around her hair, held by Hanna, no fashion show, no exchanging eyeshadow shades. And still, they both looked stellar. ( That such a thing was possible seemed strange. )

As her hand journeys back to her side, it lingers for a second, tapping Hanna under her chin. Mel smiles, bright and all teeth, all sincerity. “Congratulations on both of our gorgeous degrees. Heard someone call it the 'Big D', earlier, and thought that was ... well, patriarchal, but rather fucking funny too. You got a drink yet?” A hand reaches out again, feeling the fabric of Hanna's clothing, so desperate to touch a piece of her. “I really love this outfit, is it new?”

#hanna.#hanna: 001.#bonfire.