scraped up knees lip gloss smileRobbie leaned against the peeling wallpaper and dirt-crusted spaces separating cold tile. He shifted his weight to the other foot, absentmindedly checking his shitty temporary phone for texts he knew wouldn’t be there. Fluorescent lights buzzed above him, a cashier of what looked to be Italian descent reclined on a spare seat at the front of the store, and he the teen let himself find distraction in the dull glow of LED beer signs and swirling Slurpee machines.
There was an uncomfortable creak in the silence as the door beside him swung open, and Wendy walked out brandishing her playfully sarcastic grin and always optimistic commentary.
“Dude, I think that toilet seat gave me butt-AIDS.”
“The good lord invented hover-peeing for a reason, babe.”
She punched him on the shoulder as the two of them exited the gas station. “Man, that’s so awkward-sounding, haha.”
Robbie said nothing in response, just smiled agreeingly
somewhere in neverlandThere was a certain beauty to the way that your legs gave out during concert life.
When you could barely stand and you’re in the middle of a wriggling mass of strangers, people you've never met in your life, all singing the same words, somehow. You don’t know who’s sweat is keeping you cool, or who the shoulders you’re ramming into belong to. There’s long hair choking you and you’re pounding your fists into the air, the lights glowing off the crowd are the only brief glimpses you get of the spirits cradling you. Massive venue or shoddy club, it’s always beautiful.
So when her boyfriend told her only weeks into them dating to come see him play, Wendy nothing short of lost her shit.
If the local teen wanted to see a show near Gravity Falls, it’d take a drive to Portland and her whole month’s paycheck of gas money. And then someone to actually drive, god forbid 3 hours in a car with her dad, the
cold tile floors and facts about giraffes“Uhh... hey, Wendy? Are you sure about this?”
“Dude, man up. It’ll be fine.”
Robbie swallowed the shudder that was creeping down his spine as he let go of the chain links and fell to the asphalt. The last time he had been in this parking lot, it was fleeing into the T-Van (the appropriate nickname the crew had christened Thompson’s “hotrod” with) in absolute horror. All of them had been scared out of their wits that night, but Robbie had really taken it a lot harder than some of them. He’d watched half his friends taken captive by angry spirits before his eyes, and the entire time waited and waited for his inevitable demise at their hands. The anticipation was absolutely soul-blackening, but it made for one hell of a good song later.
Wendy’s suggestion to come back to the Dusk2Dawn was lost upon the boy. He saw she’d been just as traumatized as he was, and even though he didn