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The address given seemed at first like it must be wrong. It was a row of cramped studio apartments--a single story building tucked away at the fringes of a poor suburb--and it was obvious even from the outside, from the spacing of the doors, that there was no room in any of those apartments for a party.

But around back, there were more doors open than Fix's. The apartments on either side were open too, and a crowd of perhaps twenty people were milling between rooms and on the slabs of concrete that constituted front porches; there was trip hop coming from somewhere and the smell of prepacked hamburgers on a George Foreman on someone's bathroom counter. The vibe was immediately low-key: this was the sort of party that people wandered into and out of, where beers were shared freely. Smoke hung in ropey drifts around the circles of brightness thrown by the porch lights; elsewhere people sprawled on the twilight grass, so that the dim walk from the parking lot to the doors was a minefield of potential human stumbling blocks discernible only as shadowy shapes and murmured conversation and the occasional orange ember at the end of a cigarette.

He'd told them to come to his place and find him, as though he'd been in a sprawling mansion and not a single-room flat, and inside his apartment there was a quiet haze of pot smoke, and mountains of clothes strewn across the floor which two people were using as makeshift seats. The guests looked to be mostly in their early twenties--older than Sawyer--and the birthday boy himself held court from the throne of an uncomfortable-looking futon, where he was leaning back into the lap of a girl with a nose ring, his eyes closed as she brushed his hair. The only decor was a prominently-displayed set of shelves that housed an impressive collection of All Stars (meticulously arranged with toecaps shining as though they were brand new; the only clean oasis in the clutter), but Sawyer's feet were bare and propped on the armrest, ankles crossed; his interlaced fingers rested on his stomach. The quiet wailing of the electronica, the haze, the girl brushing his hair--all combined to form the vague impression of a bohemian king at rest in his seraglio, an image given a boost by the coils of hooka hose resting on the floor and the fact that he was wearing an armload of gold bangles and a blazer made of red paisley brocade.

“Oh no, no… I am going to meet this ‘Fix’, I mean if nothing else… I’d love to find a good reason not to shove what’s left of your cell phone up his sinuses.” He hesitated sniffing at the odd odor of the smoke and shifted in his discomfort. Retreating sounded more tempting now than ever, people, lots of people who didn’t seem to have any issue at all laying hands on each other or anyone else.


“…if I wasn’t coming here out of revenge for that damned phone alarm, then I’d say you owed me one. But…not this time I guess.” He squeezed his fingers in Ever’s own and followed, bracing himself against the utter ‘not his kind of place’ nature of the whole affair.

The smell was curiously sweet, something he thought of as like incense but not quite, everyone sprawling like they had just stepped out of the Alice in wonderland book, and there, was the caterpillar. A flash of recognition at the young man, the hookah-smoking caterpillar sprawled on the lap of some Cheshire-Alice with a nose piercing.

Sawyer, it surprised him a little, he didn’t remember him being quite so, well, open. But who was he to say, he did mention it was going better since school ended.

Now, who though among this motley crew was ‘Fix’?, that was the question.

"You weren't lying about knowing everyone." It came with a bright flash of a grin, Ever maybe taking some enjoyment out of Zac's grumpy annoyance. A good thing, too. If he didn't find that entertaining, enjoyable, adorable, they'd spend a lot more time exchanging words and a lot less time happy. One of his hands was still tangled in with Zac's, to keep him from running off perhaps.

In the other was a bulk-sized bag of Value-brand gummybears. He didn't hesitate. Instead he tossed them into Sawyer's lap, unhesitating. 40 ounces should be enough for him to share -- or enough to make himself hopelessly sick. And Ever still had more, at home...

"Happy birthday. I guess I don't need to introduce."

The girl was back almost instantly with the drinks, giving them to Sawyer and wandering off when she realized he had new company, giving them a peeved look on her way back out.

He bounced to his feet. "I am," he said with deep satisfaction, "going to eat these until I get so, so sick. Thank you. You are great. You are both great. Oh my god, he's cute as s**t," he added to Ever, apparently talking about Zac. "Thank you for coming. Let me know if you need anything else, I can scrounge it up." And the act of handing him a drink (he had eyed Zac skeptically, perhaps remembering his reaction to the offer of a smoke) turned abruptly into a hug of enormous and sincere gratitude.

The level of tension that not only runs through Zac, but also positively radiates from him at the hug could have been used to reinforce steel. If you picked him up, you could probably have used him to batter down a door.

His expression reads rather plainly ‘Oh god, why is it touching me’, and given he was holding hands; it wasn’t an expression that had anything to do with Ever.

His hand is curled around the questionable drink hard enough that if it got any tighter, it ran a real risk of breaking the glass even if he wasn’t in uniform. It took him a long moment to work his jaw out of ‘locked’ position to answer, but at least he managed a nod. Yes, ‘Fix’ was Sawyer.

“Apparently.” He managed. “We went to school together,

"Jealous, I think." It came with a sudden glint in Ever's eye, and edge of teasing that hopefully wasn't too far, and as he said it he tugged Zac in to loop an arm around his shoulders, instead. Hard to tell if that would be reassuring or annoying, considering the way he loomed over the second man -- but. It was Ever. And this was how he was.

He sipped the beer, considered the small apartment, and then some of the strangers milling about. Interesting sorts, and not exactly the kind he would have run into in his day. He remembered fewer languid loungers and more fierce desperation. And closets. He remembered closets well.

"This is happening. It'll be a b***h to clean up after, though..."

"Maybe... a third of them?" he estimated cheerily, gnawing on a fingernail and swinging his red solo cup idly at his side. "I told people to just bring whoever. I have no idea who that was brushing my hair but I need to figure out who she came with because... yeah." He grinned.

"Anyway, what's the point of a party where you know everyone? You're supposed to meet people. And sometimes they feel compelled to bring you gifts. You guys should go mingle it up. Good god but you're adorable," he exclaimed abruptly, apparently spurred on by Zac's pulling of faces. "Keep him on a short leash, Rain Man. Too many giggly drunk teenage girls here, and I get jealous." Of who, it wasn't exactly clear.

“Oh I know him… “ He grumbled and, after another sip of drink actually leaned into Ever.

Ever now represented A safe zone amid the strangers, familiar touch preferable, to chance touches or the risk of random hugs from at least moderately irritating former classmates.



“…Why, why did you want me to meet him?” He said with a sudden curious look, so long as curious could include suspicion. What he suspected could have been anything but it was there nonetheless.