"That kid was such a dumbass," Vincent grumbled, taking a puff of his cigarette. He'd gotten into a fight. He'd gained a bloody nose, which now there was just dry remnants of, he had a few small cuts lining his cheeks, a cut lip, and he had a bruise on his right brow.

The two of you sat on the hood of his car in an empty parking lot, looking up at the stars.

Even at night, he had his sunglasses sat on the top of his head, holding his hair up, but wisps of his hair fell onto his forehead.