location: seaglass gardens status: closed @loversfms
Beau doesn’t make a habit of doing favors without a little bullshittery. His time is valuable, after all, and by valuable, he means he usually spends it doing absolutely nothing. And by doing favors, he means dragging his ass out of bed long enough to hold a conversation in a more social context than asking Slater to pick up more Cheerios on the way home from work. But somehow, in the back-and-forth of his and Major's usual bullshit, he’s ended up here, sitting astride his bike outside Seaglass Gardens, the most charmingly pretentious apartment complex in a five-mile radius.
Helmet dangling from the handlebars, Beau flicks the ash from his cigarette and scans the area, vaguely on the lookout for Major. Kids are shrieking over by the playground, a couple of moms in tennis skirts are power-walking past with the kind of energy that says yoga was too easy today, and some guy with an expensive-looking golden retriever side-eyes him like he’s lowering the property value just by existing. Which, fair enough. This looked like a place where the grass is always trimmed, the sidewalks always power-washed, and the raccoons don’t challenge you for dominance on your own balcony like they do at his place.
The cigarette hangs lazy from his fingers as he exhales, smoke curling through the humid air. “If this dude makes me wait too long, I will be chargin' a late fee,” he mutters to himself, before flicking his cigarette into the parking lot with expert precision.