Reputation - Post Malone

1

"Fucking Harry I bet," Austin mumbles, locking his front door and pulling his phone out of his pocket when he hears a notification. He pulls up his messages and sighs, his inbox is full. It's no surprise as he has been asleep all day. He scrolls past the texts from a few hookups who are hoping he is free for the weekend. Past the text from his dad, he'll be asking for a favor - fuck him. Past his twin sister, Sadie's text - she will be giving him shit about something. He keeps scrolling till he gets to Harry's text and opens it.

Jolly Roger tonight?

That is all it says. Why is he asking? It's what they do every fucking night. Austin owns the Jolly Roger. He would text back and tell him to fuck off but he hears a rumble in the distance so he pockets his phone and shoves his helmet on then swings his leg over his bike and sits down, breathing out in satisfaction as the suspension dips to hold his heavy frame. He loves this fucking bike - it's the promise of freedom it offers that has him so loved up on it. Harry appears around the corner on his bike and roars up Austin's driveway, coming to a halt next to him and flipping up his visor. "It's rude not to answer a text," he says.

"I don't answer stupid questions."

"Yeah, well I would have appreciated something. I felt a little neglected to be honest."

Austin frowns at him, Harry can't see his frown because his visor is still down - but Harry has known Austin long enough to know he will be frowning at his stupid words. "You dropped your tampon," Austin says pointing to the grass under Harry's bike then starts his engine - the roar drowning out Harry's slurry of slated words. When Austin rolls forward Harry flips his visor down and pulls up beside Austin as they head out of town on their sleek black and chrome bikes.

The open road brings a sense of freedom too, and Austin is never happier than he is when seated on his bike, his Harley, the love of his life. He is not confined to the constraints of a city or a stifling office job, and besides Sadie, he feels no responsibility for anyone. But, he has always felt he is running from something - the darkness. It's catching up to him. He is running from himself. He frowns after taking a sharp corner, a bright pink flash catching his eye. It's a pink car on the side of the road, sticking out like a beacon against the dull brown grasslands surrounding the country road. It looks expensive and very much abandoned, with no one around or in it. It's an odd sight around here where most people ride beat-up old trucks with faded paintwork. Also, whoever the fuck was driving that piece of shit is an outsider and should not be walking around this area - the locals are not friendly, and the southern hospitality the world hears about does not reach past the city limits three hours away. Out here you need to know how to either take a punch or throw one, and Austin suspects the owner of that car can't do either.

He groans when he sees Harry's brake lights come on as he slows down. Annoyed, Austin pulls off the road behind him and shuts off his engine. "What the fuck, man?" he asks, throwing his arms out and then letting them drop to his thighs. "I just wanted to see...what color would you call this?" Harry asks getting off his bike and walking around the car. "Bubblegum pink?" Austin suggests. Whatever pink it is makes the car look like an oversized plastic toy. "There are flower stickers on the dashboard and the steering wheel is covered in pink fluff," Harry says as he inspects the car. "Can we go now?" Austin asks - that 6 o'clock beer is calling his name and he has work to do. "Oh! There is clothing on the back seat...bras, panties. Those are very nice p-"

"Get it together, Harry," Austin cuts him off. He does not give a shit about what is in the back seat. He starts his engine and pulls back onto the road, Harry can fend for himself. It does not take long though for him to hear Harry pull up close behind him, the fucker is as desperate for a beer as he is. A mile or so down the road they pull up in front of the Jolly Roger and park their bikes next to the long line of bikes always outside. They are all black and chrome, and all belong to guys who look like Austin and Harry - heavily tattooed, scruffy facial hair, hard stares, hearty muscles, and a complicated history with the police (he is innocent, he swears).