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[ TXT ] : pick up. pick up. pick up.

The last thing Ray ever expected – or wanted – was to open his phone to many missed calls from Gary Barkovitch. Not because it was Gary Barkovitch, even if the other male could be kinda off-putting on the best of days, but rather because Ray's mind immediately went into emergency mode.

The few texts from the blond didn't give much peace of mind – most only urging the redhead to pick up the phone ( pick up. pick up. pick up. ) with no explanation nor reason whatsoever. What the hell?

Ray's fingers hover over his phone's keyboard, brain stalling for the right question to ask. The most important question to ask. He's typing, then deleting, then typing again. But before he can get more than two words typed the screen flashes with another incoming call, the sudden ringtone jarring within the silence of his room.

"Please tell me someone isn't dead. Or dying. Or suffering serious harm." Is the first thing out of Ray's mouth as he answers the call, phone pressed to his ear with one hand whilst the other runs through ginger strands. "What the hell is so urgent Barkovitch?"

#( ic. )#( alternate v. )#( loudbark--deepbite )#chomps them

get the fuck away from me, please. he said gayly

At the start of all this, if you'd told Ray Garraty that he'd end up walking beside Gary Barkovitch willingly, he would have laughed in your face. Between Ray falling in with a group of his own and Barkovitch being a constant unknown variable, the two hadn't really intermingled aside from petty interactions. Up until now, that was the most conversation he would have wanted with the other teen.

"I thought you would've wanted some company," Ray shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the snappy nature of Gary's tone. It was closer to a light-hearted jab than the truth - their paces had simply begun to sync up as the hours crawled on, the sun making it's slow descent to dip beneath the horizon. The Musketeers, as they'd been so lovingly dubbed, had filtered apart for once. Ray was vaguely aware of where everyone was, whether it was through a flash of a familiar hat or their voices carrying on the brief breeze in between waves of heat overhead.

Nightfall was coming. Somehow the nights felt longer than the sticky heat of day, cool and dark with the ebb of sleep nipping at their ankles. Night was dangerous – one slip and you could end up with your ticket. It was easier to have someone to talk to, a way to keep distracted. Something you can use to pretend you weren't completely exhausted.

So, making conversation with Gary Barkovitch was better than risking dreaming. Besides, speeding up to fall in next to someone else would be a waste of precious energy. Ray glances at the blond, lips twitching into a small grin. Perhaps he was simply deluded enough at this point to not care if the other bit his head off.

Even so, the teen filters to the left a little, giving Barkovitch the space he so desired. "Especially since nobody's really spoken to you in a while. Surely talking to me is better than being all... stuck in your head." He shrugs once more, hands coming to rest on his backpack straps. "Unless you do wanna be alone? I can find someone else to talk to."