«Why'd you have to make me want you? Why'd you have to give me nothing back?»
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"Your rat is biting me," He complained with disdain when the dog tried to reach for his hand again. Pierre lifted the little thing in front of him, keeping it away from doing more damage. It waggled its tail and he huffed in response.
Charles rounded another corner and quickly glared in his direction. The nickname wasn't welcome, apparently. "His name is Leo, not rat. Come on, you've been having some shit weeks I get it, but don't take it on him. We're almost there anyway."
The dog attempted something with the seatbelt once he put it back on his lap. At least it wasn't his car. "Why did you even need me? Wasn't Joris available? Or Aurora? I don't know. Anyone else?"
"You need fresh air. Your state is fucking depressing, Pierre." Charles said with a tilt of humour. His eyes narrowed in annoyance, but he didn't say another word and busied himself with keeping the dog from ripping a hole in his jeans.
Charles hadn't mentioned where they were supposed to be going. Quite frankly, he wasn't in the mood to question anything or put a lot of restraint when the guy texted him so there was that. He only got into the Ferrari and started beefing with the dog straight away, the same dog that now dozed off in his arm. His suspicion did grow while his friend decided to drive around a very private neighbourhood. Pierre wondered what the hell they were even doing there. Not a soul in sight as he peeked through the car window. At last, Charles pulled up in front of what seemed to be a park.
He turned to the Ferrari driver with a quirked eyebrow. "What the fuck are we doing here? I'm not this depressed."
"He needs to go pee." Charles gestured at the dog before unbuckling and reaching for the sleeping thing, who came awake as soon as he was picked. "Aurora's been trying to train him. I have to follow her orders."
"You're kidding me? Fuck off." He complained with a huff, but Charles was already one foot out of the car. Despite the groaning and more complaining, he followed his lead and slipped out as well. "This is why you wanted me out of the apartment? So your dog can pee in what? Fancy grass? We didn't need to come all the way over here for that."
Charles, raising one of the dog's paws, waved at him. "You whine too much, Pierre. It'll only be a few minutes, come on."
There was a flip-off, more objection, but he dragged himself to keep up with Charles, who put the dog down and called it as they wandered inside the park. There was no one in there except for them, it appeared, and he was ready to blurt out another protest when they walked for about three or four minutes and the dog wasn't doing anything remotely close to what it was supposed to be doing. Pretty much like him, who was meant to be wallowing at home and not there.
His plans were never fruitful, he couldn't complain anymore about the dog, because the moment he spotted the two people sitting on a bench a few feet away from them, the words left his brain with no permission. As fast as his willingness to keep walking. Not only was the reason he'd been depressed for weeks sitting there in the flesh, she was also joined by the more annoying and exasperating reason for his depression. Salma and Sloane.
He was being ambushed. By his own friend on top of that. Of course.
"You're an asshole," He accused when Charles, catching sight of them too, bent down to pick the dog in his arms and stop him from going away. "What the fuck, Charles? Seriously? Like this? You have no shame."
The guy shrugged and pulled a grimace. "They asked nicely. Or Sloane asked nicely. She said Salma really wants to have a conversation with you. And you're depressed!"
