SIESTA!!

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DESPITE POPULAR OPINION, Lu did not actually like being dragged everywhere with Belcourt.

     He could see where popular opinion was coming from, really, he could. For all intents and purposes, Lu and Belcourt were glued at the hip. You couldn't have one without the other.

     Lu didn't mind it at all that much, truth be told, despite Belcourt not being the best candidate to have been stuck with—sure, he had a pretty face. But he also had a wicked grin and a tendency to cause an uproar wherever he went. Which meant going out to any crowded places with Belcourt more or less meant that you'd be suffering from an affliction the following day—bruises and a hangover, bloody nose and a headache. That sort of thing.

     It also didn't help that Belcourt was an outrageous flirt.

     "Look alive, Louis!" Belcourt yelled, over the din of the nightclub. "We've only a few more years to live."

     "Unless you plan to die at twenty three," Lu said, not bothering to raise his voice, "I don't see why we have only a few more years."

     "You can die at eighty nine, in a warm bed surrounded by all the people you love and cherish.But me?" Belcourt laughed, in that way that was unique to Belcourt or particularly charming demons—which, Lu supposed, was the same thing—and he said, "Louis, I'm going to die before I have a single gray hair on my head."

      "Is old age something that just happens to old people?"

      Someone's elbow dug into Lu's back. It was hard to tell whose elbow it was, on account of there being a lot of elbows in the room. Ergo, a lot of people. Ergo, a lot of pointy bits.

     "You mean to tell me it isn't?"

     Lu shrugged, though Belcourt couldn't see him. Belcourt looked positively out of place here. In this den of sedition, Belcourt looked like an angel, albeit one that was enjoying his fall from heaven greatly.

     They pushed their way through the dense crowd—Belcourt happily forcing people out of the way, Lu muttering apologies left and right though no one seemed to mind all that much—and towards the bar.

     The bartender looked over at them both. Belcourt leaned forward and muttered something, and Lu couldn't hear him. They'd been coming to this bar for months now, and this barside ritual was still one he didn't understand. Two shots. Belcourt downed them both, his eyes screwed shut. Belcourt shot him a questioning glance. Lu shook his head. One of them had to sober enough to drive them back home.

     Lu had learned early on in his life that he was a light-weight. He did not like alcohol, and alcohol did not like him. He came from a Puritan household, one with very old-fashioned ideas of honor and decorum and that one should always look as respectful as possible.

    So did Belcourt. The difference between Lu and Belcourt was that the only ideas Belcourt was ever interested in his were his own. This bar was his idea, coming here on every other Friday night was his idea, and dragging along Lu was his idea.

     Belcourt popped a button off his chest, revealing a healthy bit of collarbone. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing up the golden curls.

     He looked at Lu and pouted.

    "How do I look?" he asked, tipping his head forward at a rakish angle.

    "Like the great whore of Babylon," Lu said.

    "Excellent! I must look like quite the dish, then." Belcourt patted Lu on the back, and said, "You're welcome to dance with me if you want."

     Like alcohol, dancing did not agree with Lu.

     Which didn't matter to Belcourt. He pulled Lu towards the dance floor, towards the gyrating crowd.