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squidnit · 2 years

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mount everest; [fezco series]

— Pairing: Fezco (Euphoria) x F!Reader

— Summary: You and Fezco exist in the same universe and at the same time, completely opposite realities. When you two find one another, none of that matters. All of space-time ceases just so you two can co-exist in that short blink of existence.

— Word count: 5.5k

— Warning(s): This is an 18+ work. Minors DNI. Mentions of drug use, drug abuse, drug dealing, violence, implied and explicit sexual content, weapons, domestic violence, murder, and death. I do not give permission for my work to be copied or distributed anywhere.

↱ Series Masterlist | Official Playlist ↰

○ Main Master List ○

⋅☾ PROLOGUE — new eyes ☽⋅

Paradise was a place on Earth where you listened to music in peace.

No interruptions, nothing to phase your high—nothing but a never-ending bliss of good songs meshing one into the other as your heart thumps to the rhythm of the beat.

Unfortunately for you, no place on Earth could grant you that.

Not even the most expensive earphones in the market saved you from your mother tapping on your shoulders and the rise of her perfectly-styled eyebrow, a clear demand that at least one of the earpieces come off.

You remove the left one and your mother pisses on your parade for the first time since moving to this boring city in the middle of fucking nowhere.

"And where do you think you're going, exactly?" She asks.

Fucking hell. Not even on your birthday.

"It's summer, isn't it?" You throwback, trying to keep the sarcasm and the edge out of your voice. Speaking back to your mother is a one-way ticket to the access of your privileges, and you're already on thin ice. "And it's my birthday."

Neither one of your answers bring emotion to her face.

Your mother stares at you for a solid moment, the wine glass in her right-hand twirling. Finally, she sighs deeply. "Your birthday's in six days."

"My birth week, then," you grin.

Being a smartass never works with her, either. Your mother purses her lips together, then looks outside the kitchen wall. The entire house walls were made of glass, and you hated the feeling of being so exposed the second you stepped in three weeks ago.

Your mother seems to be unbothered by it.

Then again, she's never bothered by anything your father does.

The only problem under any roof is you.

After a sip, she speaks again. "I suppose there's no harm in letting you explore the city a little..." Her tone is low, like she's speaking to herself rather than you. She looks back at you over the rim of her glass. "That is—if you promise me not to burn the whole damn city to the ground."

There's bite in what she says.

Accusations of doings from long before you came to Eastland, from a time when you still thought defying your parents would result in anything different than the indifference they usually had reserved for you and, more recently, of things you did just this year when you discovered you would have to move.

Again.

You put on a smile for your mother, because that is still an ability you have. Lying through your teeth is easy now—a skill learned long ago to survive in the same environment as a Colonel from the U.S. Military and her.

"I promise not to burn the whole city to the ground," you state. At least not tonight, you add mentally.

Your mother gives you that eerie look only mothers own. The one that says she heard what you said in your mind, and she's disappointed that you'd think it in the first place.

"You can go." She finishes the wine, and the clink of the crystal on the marble counter is louder than the music still coming out of your earphones. "Your father went to Crisafi to meet the battalion and see the timetable for when he'll be needed there."

You held your tongue from spilling, I don't care what the old man does. Instead, you nod along.

"He'll come back tomorrow, so you have your usual curfew."

'Usual curfew' entered the realm of "rules by Mother", and those were the ones that ruled over your house as long as your father was not present in the moment.

That meant you had to be back before 2am, and you could definitely work with that.

"Cool. Thank you." You add that at last for good measure and gain a small pleased smile in response.

"Have fun."

Impossible. "Thanks again."

To have fun, you'd need friends.

Because of who you were, friends were scarce at the moment. So far, in almost (six days to go) eighteen years of life, only two people have broken through the tall walls of everything that stood between you and normal life. One when you were a kid, and one just last year. Two friends, nineteen years of life. You weren't doing so bad. The cards you'd been dealt with could've made for a far more grim picture:

A military father. An obsessive and controlling mother. Yearly moves, as it was demanded by the Colonel's job. No fixture. No place to call home.

No friends.

(Except for Buttercup and Bubbles, the only two lights of your life.)

Either way, there might be no friends for you in this town, but there are acquaintances.

For someone who feels so lonely, it's actually difficult to find you alone.

The two girls you met at that gay bar the first night you arrived at Eastland are very nice. Maddy and Kat were there with another friend from their group in high school, which you soon figured to be the same one you'd be attending.

You're not usually this lucky in cities you get to—nice girls who call you to go bowling, let you know where the parties are at, and invite you to hang out at the cinema are hard to come by.

You smile, taking your hands off the rails of your bike.

Maddy had texted earlier:

ㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤbitch come hang out w us! ㅤㅤㅤwe'll meet @ fez's gas station ㅤㅤㅤthere's a theater troupe downtown and everyones talking abt it let's gooooo ㅤㅤㅤi just want a well deserved molly company 1st ;) ㅤㅤㅤkat, bb and i are waiting for u!

It was nice to feel included.

Your phone blasted one of your favorite songs from your playlist right as you rounded the corner and the gas station came into view.

According to Maddy, it belonged to a guy named Fezco.

So far, you'd only heard of him.

The girls dropped by here often to buy drinks and drugs, specially now that it was summer, but every time Maddy or Kat drove you here, he wasn't around—his younger brother Ash took over the register and managed the place while he did his runs, and that one you had grown fond of.

You park your bike, grab your padlock in your backpack and secure it, then start looking around in search for Maddy's car.

"Red! Over here, babyyyy," Maddy's voice calls your attention, and you see her head peeking out of the driver's seat on the parking lot area.

You skip towards the car, happy to see someone being this giddy to see you. The girls are all inside the car smoking weed, or in BB's case, her vape.

"Hi, babe," greets Kat.

"Hey, girl," says BB from the back.

You peck Maddy in the cheek and shove your upper body inside the car, "Hi, beauties."

"Hi, Red," they echo.

"I'm gonna get something to drink and then I'll join ya, kay?" You ask them.

"Uh, can you get me a bottle of water and maybe something sweet to drink, too?" Maddy asks with a smile.

"Of course," you leave them to head inside the shop, and you hear his voice the second you step inside, over the sound of the door's bell jiggle.

"Wow. You ain't dead."

Ash's deadpan tone once surprised you—the fifteen-year-old looks like something out of a movie or a cartoon with his face tattoos and the never-smiling thing. It was him who rang your items the first time Maddy you to come inside and grab 50g of weed and some Coca-Cola.

It was also him who was here during your breakdown.

Crying and running away from home, not two days after moving here, and the house already broke into chaos. It was Ash who saw you entering the gas station at 3am with make-up running on your face, and it was him who saw the finger imprints on your arm.

Time froze for you as you waited for who was then a stranger to just say something, and all he said was, "Here—drink some water. I'll find you somethin' to drink that's nice." He handed you the bottle of water, and watched as more tears streamed down your face.

Kind gestures from gestures were not your specialty.

Kindness, in general, could be a tricky, triggering topic.

You took the water, sat down on the curb outside and waited for him to return, crying in silence.

You liked to think after that, you became friends. An hour or two talking about anime while sitting in the dark make a good foundation for at least colleagues.

You walk over to the register and smile at his frowny face. "Hello, Ash."

"Hi," he answers. "You ain't dead," he repeats himself.

"What makes you think I'd be?" You ask, smile still plastered on your face. You love playing dumb with people who know you better than that.

He gives you an unimpressed look. "Did you already drink everything?"

"Not alone," you defend yourself.

"Jesus christ," he mutters. "That was a shitload of alcohol, Red."

"I'm aware. We were four, big, strong gals, though. It was girl's night," you shrug. "I'm not here for alcohol, though."

"Well, thank fuck for that. Your liver says thanks." Ash leans down behind the register and puts something on top of the counter.

Your eyes widen at what's in front of you. "Banana candy?" The shriek of happiness that comes out of you as you grab them makes Ash wince for a second. "You found it?!"

"Clearly," he huffs. God, this boy is too sassy for his own good. "Now you don't gotta pout anymore when you're eyeing my candy racks. No complaining anymore, got it?"

For someone who loved playing the tough guy so much, Ash could be the sweetest boy in town. You reach your hand across the counter and squeeze his cheek, and he pretends to hate the gesture. "Thank youuuu," you sing.

"Yeah, yeah." Ash gives you one of his rare side smiles—just the corner of his lips tilting up a bit, his eyes softening. "Whatchu want?"

What you want is this—you open the banana candy eagerly and pop the whole thing inside your mouth. "Whatchu recom'end?"

He gives you a disgusted, yet fond look for speaking with your mouth full. "You still goin' through my recommendations?"

"It's your store," you shrug.

Ash leaves the counter, goes to the freezer, and brings out a six-pack of a frizzly, peachy drink; you grab Maddy’s water as he goes that and puts it there as he comes back.

He places it on the counter. It looks like a soft drink—almost no alcohol in it, but should probably taste just sweet enough. He rings it without asking any questions, and you pay him the total while munching happily on your candy.

"Where you girls goin'?" Ash asks when counting the change.

"Maddy said something about theater troupe downtown? I don't know."

"Oh, Fez went there to take care of business." He places the change in your hand. "It's like, this circus carnival thing. You'll have fun."

"If I don't, I'll come here to complain with you, manager," you joke, taking your drinks.

Ash rolls his eyes and gives you a proper smile. "If you ain't having fun just find my brother and he'll hook you with a shortcut to it."

He meant drugs. You weren't the biggest fan of them—weed and an Ecstasy or Molly here and then, maybe, but not as a regular thing, and definitely not as a shortcut to happy times.

There was already too much on your plate to risk adding a case of dependency on chemicals.

A joint might not hurt, though. "I'll think about it." You start leaving, but not before playfully adding. "Text him that Red might look for him, though. I'm starting to think this brother of yours is just a figment of this town's imagination."

Ash actually laughs at that. "You ain't missing anything. He ain't hard to find either—not too many gingers around here."

Right. Maddy's voice saying, "Go in there and ask Fezco for 50g, puh-lease. He'll be the ginger guy at the cashier, he's nice, don't worry" comes back to you.

"Gingerhead," you salute Ash. "Go it."

The honking on Maddy's car startles you and you give him a sheepish smile. "Lady calls. Bye, Ash!"

The drive downtown is nothing but music and loud, overlapping conversation.

If heaven is a place on Earth where you listen to music peacefully, the closest you get to is this: the safe haven in between where the people inside the car all vibe to the same song, equally affected by the lyrics and the loud beating of the drums.

The girls are a godsend.

You know what's like in the towns where everything feels wrong from the start, and loneliness creeps in the corners.

In here, there's messiness—you can feel the rigged and scratched dents in between the lines. Names like Cassie, Rue, and Nate, all carry their own weight. But there's also this: "Oh my god, they have cotton candy! Oh, woooow, are those acrobats? Red, didn't you say one of your friends is an acrobat?" Kat's squeal makes you stop, share a look with Maddy, then laugh.

This is good.

"Alright, we're gonna get cotton candy, talk to Molly, and then we'll watch all the performers—holy shit, there's a magician in there!" Maddy sounds adorable when she's delighted.

BB said goodbye to you three as soon as Maddy parked the car and went to find her date, but you three locked arms and you are thankful Maddy told you to dress up.

The whole square looks marvelous.

Once you three have cotton candy, Maddy and Kat have "talked" to Molly, and you have finished your last South Peach drink, you three link arms again and float through the gorgeous and artistic performances.

They could be friends.

You left home with the certainty that having real fun was impossible—convincing yourself they still asked you out because you were a new and shiny thing was easy, but when Maddy and Kat did their best to include you in the night, it turned out you could have fun here.

Which is why it sucks when it ends.

It starts with a text.

"Who's that?" asks Kat.

Maddy's looking at the phone as if Casper himself texted her. "No one." Definitely someone, but someone she wishes was dead.

She tries ignoring them at first; you three watch one more performance, talk a little bit about Kat's ex-boyfriend Ethan, the girls ask some stories about Bubbles as you watch the acrobats performing.

It gets increasingly difficult to ignore how Maddy's attention has been stolen, though. When a blond figure shows up standing on the other side of the square, Maddy freezes next to you, and Kat's whispered, "Shit," tells you everything you need to know.

"I gotta go," says Maddy. "I'm sorry, girls."

Her face looks about three seconds away from either throwing up or bodyslamming herself on whoever's making her feel this way, so you shake your head. "It's alright."

"Yeah, it's all good, Mads," guarantees Kat. "You want me to drive?"

"Please," says Maddy.

"You're coming?" Kat asks you.

Maddy's feeling vulnerable. She wants friends around her. "No, thanks, girls." You shake your head, shoving your hands inside your skirts' pockets. "I'll stay around for a little longer. Text me if you need anything?"

"Yeah, sure," they both nod.

Why go home after coming all the way here?

You might as well entertain yourself, then.

Watching the rest of the street performances works for a total of thirty minutes, and that’s when boredom and anxious thoughts start eating you up.

This is why you hate new places.

Everything around you becomes unknown, and you hate feeling lost. It’s the feeling that’s carried you through life like a boat so far, and the one you loathe the most.

You start craning your neck around the square, looking without too much focus for something to ignite the spark in your mind. I should just go back to the gas station, grab my bike and—your thoughts are cut short right there.

Is that him?

The infamous Fezco.

Your head tilts to the side, and you feel a small smile creeping on your face as you observe the guy sitting on the bench a few meters away from you. You start from the bottom up—Nike air forces that look brand-fucking-new, baggy, black pants that look comfortable and expensive, a maroon sweater on top of a white t-shirt—woah, someone in this town’s got style.

It’s when you get to his face that you feel caught.

Trapped. You might as well have stepped into a waiting bait in the middle of the forest.

His eyes are green, but not the usual light color—the electric one, that mingles and gets confused with blue depending what type of light shines on them.

They’re also locked right on yours.

The freezing spell they put on you lets you observe him as he tilts his head at you, and the way his gaze does the same ‘up-and-down’ check-up on you has your cheeks heating up—something they haven’t done in a long time.

“Can I help you?” Fezco asks.

It’s not accusatory, neither it’s unfriendly. Matter-of-factly, he’s got one of the smoothest, nicest voices you’ve ever heard.

You swallow down the embarrassment and bite on your shame, red cheeks be damned. “You’re Fezco, aren’t you?” You ask.

Fezco nods, a slight frown creasing on his brows. “That’s me.” His eyes go over your clothes again and you feel exposed with the way he’s assessing you. Unlike most times when people are watching closely, him doing it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. “You’re Red,” he states.

It’s not a question.

Holding back your smile, you walk towards the bench and sit on the far end opposite to him. “How’d you know?”

Fezco chuckles. “If the red skirt didn’t give ya away, that would’ve,” he points at the necklace resting against your collarbones.

As a reflex, you reach for it, touching the pendulum with delicacy. The anatomically correct, heart-shaped piece is red—a ruby stone, and a one-of-a-kind piece. Hand-made by one of your distant aunts as a request from your godfather.

It was his first gift to you, and the one thing you never took off.

“Ash talks about you,” Fez adds after your heartbeat of silence. “He says he met a Red lady when summer started,” he says. “He thinks the necklace’s pretty cool.”

“It was a gift,” you tell him, putting your hand down and fixing your eyes back on him. “From grandpa.”

“That’s a nice gift, kid,” he nods.

You snort. “’m not a kid.”

“You’re not?” He asks, pulling a long cigar pack from his pocket. The lid says Sunday Goods, and you assess that those aren’t cigarettes. “I saw you walkin’ with Maddy ‘n the other kids.”

His assumption makes sense—you may not be a kid legally anymore, but you still lived the final stages of a teen’s life.

“I’m eighteen, actually.” Why did you tell him the truth? When you met the girls – or anyone else who went to school with you – the lie that you were seventeen and about to turn eighteen slipped out of you with so much ease that most times, you forgotyour real age. “A few days away from my nineteen’s birthday,” you add.

It’s his eyes.

When you look at Fezco, and he looks back at you that way—his eyes turned to you and all of his attention placed on your words so clearly, the words just slip out.

“About to turn nineteen?” He confirms. You nod, suppressing a smile in a thin line. He puts a blunt between his lips, and smiles with it. “Happy end of your nineteenth’s cycle,” he says.

“You mean start?”

“Hmm, no. I mean end,” he nods, lighting the thing up and blowing smoke to his side so it doesn’t reach your face. “You’re about to end your nineteenth’ circle of life.”

You frown at him, feeling the smile trying to break out in the corners. “How—that makes no sense? Does that make sense?”

Fezco takes a second to inhale, and when he blows out the smoke, he answers. “Sure it does,” Fezco smiles at you. “Think about it—when you celebrated your first birthday, you were celebratin’ the fact that you just endedyour first year alive and were about to start the second. So really, the age we celebrate ‘s just the age we’re done with.”

His words click in place in your brain and the fact that he’s right makes your jaw drop.

When you glance to your side, Fezco has a look of satisfaction with himself that makes the laughter you were holding inside burst out. “Holy shit.” That’s some very neat trail of thought. “Holy shit, you just blew my mind,” you whisper.

Now that makes him laugh in return. “Yeah—shit’s crazy, right?” He asks through another cloud of smoke. “I can’t take credit for it, though. Ash showed me that shit on his TikTok and I thought about it for like—days, or somethin’.”

“Shit, what the hell is that kid watching on his phone?” You ask, laughing.

“I’ve got no clue, but his for you page is entertainin’ as fuck, I won’t lie to ya.” Fezco takes another drag, and watches as your brain runs that thought at least one more time. “You just moved here, right?”

Did Ash tell you that, too? “Uhm, yeah.” What else did he say? Does he share everything with you? Do you know I nearly had a breakdown at your store? “About three weeks ago.”

Fezco nods. “How you likin’ the town?”

You shrug, and hide your hands underneath your thighs on the bench. They’re starting to sweat, because you weren’t expecting a conversationwith him, and Fezco’s eyes are much prettier from up close.

You’re not used to having handsome guys talk to you without as much as a hint of something else underneath their tone.

It’s strange. “It’s… different,” and I think I like it. “Than most of the towns I go to, at least.”

That makes him frown in confusion. “You move a lot?”

You nod, scoffing sharply. “Well, it’s been fourteen different cities these past ten years, so I guess I could say that.”

The low-whistle accompanied by his wide eyes is the same response you get from anyone who finds out about your unusual lifestyle.

Fezco’s eyebrows are still creased, like he’s thinking really hard about something. “I had a buddy back in school who was like that—his dad was a military trainer or some shit like that. Your parents in the army, Red?”

You nod. “Yup. My father.”

“Ah,” Fezco nods, his expression becoming a little more serious. “That must suck—wait, did you say fourteen in ten?” When you nod, his head tilts back a little. “Aren’t army trainers relocated once every year?”

Oops. Someone who knows about the yearly changes is hard to come by, but deflecting come as easy as breathing to you, so you turn to him with a smile you hope is not too fake. “Ah—that would be on my tab, unfortunately. How much did Ash tell you, exactly?”

Fezco blinks once, then twice. “Ahm… He said he met a Red. And that you had a red bike, and the coolest red sneakers.” He closes his mouth after that, sharply. He told you more than that. “I think my brother’s got a crush on you,” he adds with a snicker.

Oh, no—you physically wince at that for more than one reason, and Fezco seems to find amusement in your reaction.

“Just a tiny one, it’ll pass,” he adds. “It’s probably ‘cause you talked about the shit he likes with him. He ain’t used to makin’ friends, give him a sec’ and he’ll notice he can have chicks as friends, too.”

“I’ll believe in you,” you answer, straightening up again. That’s when you notice you’re not the only one sitting on this bench who is good at deflecting.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Fezco asks.

It feels like he hasn’t looked away from you since you sat down. You know that not to be true, but even as you glance away to the shining lights and bright colors of the street performers in front of you, something in him pulls your gaze back immediately. “Y/n.” He’s a little magnetic. It might be the eyes, or it might be his aura, but it’s there. You extend a hand. “Y/n Y/l/n. Most people just call me Red.”

Fezco shakes your hand. “And which one you prefer? Red, or Y/n?”

He takes a second to let go of your hand, and you feel that second because the warmth of his spreads to yours. The size of his hand compared to you registers, too, very loudly in your brain. A heartbeat too late, perhaps, you answer. “Either one,” you clear your throat, then put on a smile. “They’re both me, in the end.”

Fezco hums. “Most people go for Red?” He confirms.

You nod. “Yeah.” Once they saw Red, everything else became background, white noise. It was hard for people to see underneath it. You made it that way.

“You have such a pretty name, though,” Fezco says. An absent-minded comment—nothing more than an observation, and yet you feel your cheeks tingling at it again. “’s a shame no one uses,” he adds, taking a drag of his blunt with those eyes glued on you. “You mind if I call you Y/n?”

“Not at all,” you shrug.

“Alright. So how are you really likin’ the town, Y/n?” He asks.

The grin he gives you calls you out on your bullshit so loud that you can’t help it—for the second time that night, you laugh.

As if you do that often. As if people can get that out from you without worries. “Alright—there’s a lot going on here, but I don’t know if I’ve got a place to judge.”

“How so?” Fezco asks.

Because he asked, you explain.

The fact that he listens to you without changing the subject or as making as much as a single innuendo makes your brain reel a little bit.

This is what I’m talking about! Bubbles’ voice says in your head. She always liked older men, and is always preaching about them. There’s a difference between a boy and a man¸Blossom. Men are worth our time.

Whether she’s right or wrong, you’re still unsure—to you, men are not worth shit.

Fezco seems to be one of those rare and precious exceptions.

He listens to you tell him the tale of how you met Maddy, Jules and Kat that first night in Eastland.

“They were at a gay bar?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t even know we had one… Damn. Is it nice?”

“It’s pretty nice.”

He laughs when you tell him about how lost you felt navigating their conversation that night—you have no idea who the Ruefigure is, or who the fuck is Cassie, but your future high school sounds like it comes with its own baggage.

“Oh, Rue’s a friend of mine,” Fezco tells you. His voice saddens at her mention, and it makes your heart squeeze around itself. “She’s like family, actually.”

“Is she doing okay?” You ask, worried out of nowhere for someone you never met.

Fezco shrugs his shoulders. “She’ll get there,” he says. “I believe in her.”

“That’s nice.”

“That I believe in her?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Not everyone gets the privilege of someone putting their faith on you.”

Fezco’s stare makes the layer underneath your skin feel alive.

You never knew you could feel the places to where your heart is pumping blood, but you do.

When he’s about to ask you another question, someone interrupts your conversation to buy something from him, and that’s when you remember what you wanted—some spark, something to make you feel a little less alone and at least a little brighter than a couple of hours ago.

The person leaves after their purchase, and Fezco turns to you with an apology. “Sorry ‘bout that, business never stops,” he takes a deep breath. “Where were we?”

“You were telling me about Rue.”

“Ah, right!” Fezco leans his arm over the bench’s backrest and takes a long puff to light his blunt again. “She used to date Jewel—”

“Who’s Jewel?” you interrupt.

“Jewel. You met her at the gay bar,” Fezco adds with a confused frown.

He thinks her name is Jewel. Oh, that’s fucking precious. “Right, of course. And what happened?” You ask, containing your smile.

Fezco tells you a little bit about the telenovela of their relationship and meanwhile, the conversation is interrupted at least two more times. He’s patient with the people who come to him, and you notice in the little interactions that Fezco is liked by everyone.

Even those who seem to be on an acquaintance level with him have a smile to spare, and when that sweet, gentle smile turns back to you, the sweat escaping your palm comes back with it.

When there’s a lull in conversation after you tell him your thoughts on the whole situation, you decide it’s best you leave before you bother him any longer. “I should go—I still gotta grab my bike at the gas station.”

Fezco straightens up a little at that. “Oh—really? I’d give you a ride, but I still gotta hang around here for a little longer.”

“Oh, don’t worry—I got it. I’ll just Uber there and then bike back home. Probably listen to some music on the way.” Try to erase my mind of the way you smile with crinkles on the corner of your eyes.

Fuck. He’s smiling again.

“Well—it was a pleasure meeting ya, Y/n.” Fezco nods, like he’s bowing his head. “You don’t want anything before going?”

I’m gonna needit, I’m afraid. “D’you have a pack of pre-rolled?”

“For sure,” he nods. He reaches inside his puffy jacket, but stops mid-motion. “You don’t got any… issues with drugs, do you?”

What? You blink once, then twice at that, and then laugh. “Do you ask all clients that?”

He didn’t. You just watched him do business three times in the past half an hour and no transaction included this question.

“Not really,” he replies with honesty.

“I don’t,” you tell him truthfully. Can’t fuck around with that too much. Too many other problems on table. “Pinky promise.”

Fezco chuckles at that, and then hands you a neat lilac pack, made of soft cardboard material and so clearly a DIY situation. You wonder who was it—Fezco or Ash, the author of this. “How much?”

“$50.”

You reach inside your bralette for the money and hand it to him, taking the joints in exchange. “Thanks, Fezco.”

“My pleasure doin’ business with ya,” he replies.

If he knows what he’s doing with his smile, Fezco never shows.

To anyone, it might look like an innocent, even friendly smile. You want to get up from the bench and leave, but it’s like his smile has you stuck in here.

Trapped, you remember.

“I’ll see you around?” It comes out as a question, and that must be why his smile widens the way it does.

“For sure.” He leans his back against the bench, and his eyes follow you as you get up. “Nice meeting you, Y/n.”

“You too, Fezco.”

Very nice, your mind adds.

So nice that you’ll smoke a whole blunt by yourself in a distant hill, your bike thrown over the grass and your body lying on it as you watch the stars and let loud music drown your thoughts.

You’ll go back home a little high and with a smile that no matter how hard you try to push down, seems to come back.

That means you’ll have to escape the sharp claws of your mother’s hawk eyes, and the consequential inspection it would come from her seeing you so happy.

There’s not even a reason to be that happy, you tell yourself.

He’s just a pretty boy. A pretty guy with a nice smile, deliciously good smell, and incredible manners.

Good talk… pretty eyes…

It’s not like you’d never seen those before on someone—you had.

It just never made you want to see it again.

Fezco, on the other hand, you can’t wait for it. You think about how that would be, and if the next time, maybe you’d manage to be more you without the freezing spell.

Once the thought is implemented in your mind, it’s weed that grows like a vine:

I wonder what he looks like blushing.

Now you need to figure it out.

— A/n: If you enjoy it, feedback is appreciated & highly encouraged. Mistakes/errors might be here, let me know if you find any. Updates every Monday! If you’re feeling generous, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi. Next chapter: Fezco's POV.

—» Chapter One: Body

🏷 fezco tag list ☆ @jarah2006 ; @itsdawnashlie ; @dreaming4you ; @poisxnedmind ; @newasskid ; @waiting-till-im-okay ; @oopsdevil ; @10blurredsmoke10 ; @edencherries ; @spooky-stoner ; @alex--awesome--22 ; @asimpwriter ; @goals108 ; @asuperconfusedgirl ; @rangotangomango ; @lokismidnight ; @not-again-bestie ; @estereomnisciente ; @purpleflamebluesparkles , @ariianelle , @blackravena , @jessyballet ; @nunya7394 ; @dariequeen ; @criesinlies ; @sorceresss ; @jointherebellion215 ; @moonlightplanet ; @madhatterweasley ; @hoeneyhoeney; @emma-phr ; @bubblegumcat229 ; @clemdango04 ; @destiiny16 ; @strawberrysandcream ; @fezrus ; @ameerakane20 ; @oabf45 ; @crankynfancy ; @jillianblom ; @hidingsikki ; @wxnderingthoughts ; @nifujiswhore ; @niyamar1e ; @babeyglo ; @skinytears ; @needyghosts ; @herbeautifulboy ; @georgeweasleysgf ♡

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