You were an asshole seventeen-year-old whose parents happened to have a shit ton of money. And that pretty much meant that you had a shit ton of money- if you asked for some, that is.

You went to a private school you didn't care for, lived a life of luxury you didn't want, and always wondered what it would feel like to be normal. If anything, you'd sacrifice your lovely life in a split second, if it meant you could attend a public school or a high-school party.

Of course, no one understood why you didn't want you fortune. Hell, you didn't even understand yourself. So you kept most of your money-related opinions stored in your head.

You didn't like that your family had plenty to spare, yet never gave anyone else any. And you couldn't do it anymore- not after your father lectured you on saving things when you tried to help a new family down the street pay for furniture.

After that went down, you decided to take a different approach. The rebellious teen route. Which, as it happened, you were incredibly good at.

The first step in your plan of rebellion was make a friend. Well, that worked. Sort of. It's hard to explain, but, you managed to befriend some asshole from your class named Five.

That was six months ago, when you met him. Now your rebellious teen plan is in motion, and you've spent the majority of the last six months inebriated or in someone else's bed. It's not all that bad, really, this whole idea. You're quite good at it to say the least.

You've also been spending a shit ton of your allowance on Five- he tells you to stop, continuously, but you don't, and now he's probably the second-most spoiled kid in your city. Next to you, unfortunately.

Today, you invited Five over to your house for the first time. You don't exactly like sharing your suburban paradise with people, because it makes you feel guilty that you have so much shit you don't want.

You're up in your room with Five, not entirely sober. "Your house is insane," he mutters, from the desk chair he's spinning in.