Billy shut the balcony door, fed up with the abhorrent music that the people he called friends had chosen to blast during the party. At least, there on the balcony, it was quieter, and the noise had turned into just a subtle, steady, dull thump, bleeding through the wall in vibrations that nonetheless made his brow twitch. It was rare of him to prefer ‘quieter’. He really needed a cigarette.

Bored out of his mind, he looked at the liquid in his cup as it swirled and followed the slow, circular motions of his wrist. He began to space out, lightly tapping his foot to the.. familiar riff coming from down the street?

His eyebrows knitted together. The faint hum of the tune felt like a slap in the face, and he was suddenly hooked by the sound, jolted wide awake. He pushed himself up from the chair to make out the source of it.

His head throbbed slightly, but he was the perfect kind of tipsy, he realized with the grin of a fool as he swayed from where he stood; tipsy enough to feel loose, but not enough to miss a thing—especially not the mean, sharp and sleek beaut of a car that was the lovely thing that had just parked under the streetlight like it came straight out one of his car magazines.

He leaned against the railing with both his hands. The windows were rolled down, and the music—his music—was cranked up at his volume. He leaned forward another bit, to the point where ‘another bit’ felt like it would’ve almost cost him a face plant onto the hard cement down below, but in Billy’s book, either way, to crash in front of such heavenly car would’ve been the most pleasant way to permanently end one’s suffering.

He didn’t even remember deciding to leave the balcony. By the time he was on the sidewalk, he was already fixing his hair, boots dragging lazily as he wandered closer.

Billy hoped not to startle the driver as he leaned down, bracing a hand on his knee for support and peering in through the open window with bright eyes. “No way,” he squinted, trying to read the title of the song. “You–” he hiccuped. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you? Turning up the volume on purpose ‘cause.. ‘cause you know Mötley Crüe’s my favorite band..” he huffed out a tipsy laugh (he’d just now realized he was far more buzzed than he’d thought), shaking his head in faux-exasperation and trying to appear less giddy than he actually felt. “Whatever was your intention, sweetheart, it’s working.”

Up close, he smelled like cologne and summer heat, posture relaxed, guard lower than usual. He straightened, swaying just a fraction, and jerked a thumb back toward the house behind him. “You should.. you could come inside. I mean, if you want to, y’know. You definitely should though.”