Chapter 7: Revelation

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Winston:

The sun shone in his eyes as they sat on the bleachers, mostly in silence, if it hadn't been for Griffin pawing at his arm like a little puppy.

"Aww, it's alright, Winston," he cooed gently, stroking his grey arm sleeve with such sweet enthusiasm, Winston grimaced and stuck his tongue out. Griffin laughed in response and patted his head, before returning his palm to his arm. Winston rolled his eyes, sniggering at the gesture, although it was secretly adorable. Griffin was always adorable. How could he not love him?

He gently placed his head against Winston's shoulders, before his head shot up, "Where's Draven?"

"He's working a shift." Ravenna lifted her legs above the edge of the seat in front of them, before glancing around for creeps who might be staring at her legs. Luckily, she found none.

Griffin hummed in acknowledgment, before returning his head to Winston's shoulder. It was an oddly comforting motion, his warmth and the smell of shampoo on his head. Winston released a sigh, before running his fingers through his friend's hair. He stopped suddenly, not wanting the natural oils on his skin to dirty Griff's auburn curls.

Griffin patted his head for the second time, which Winston grunted at in annoyance. But again, it was cute as hell. But he wasn't going to admit that out loud.

However, the best thing about Griffin wasn't his adorable mannerisms; it was his telepathic ability to understand when someone didn't want to talk about something. Alright, maybe that was called 'empathy' or some shit, but regardless, it was what made him such a good friend. Perhaps that was one of the qualities that had also drawn Winston to Cain Sheldon.

Winston sighed again, before running his fingers through his own hair and covering his face in his hands for a few seconds, before recovering. When he lifted his head back up, he noticed Ravenna staring at him for a second, before her gaze quickly turned elsewhere.

Griffin started patting his hand as well, until Winston swatted him away, which made the former pout, "Yo, I'm just trying to help."

"Trying to annoy me, you mean?"

"I didn't think you were annoyed."

He had a point. It took a lot to get upset at Griffin. He couldn't recall anytime he or anyone had been annoyed at Griffin at all. Heck, did his parents ever get angry with him? Probably, but they likely forgot their annoyance quickly. Griffin was just that; a bundle of joy you couldn't take for granted.

Griffin was a literal sadness detector. And to be fair, he was always right. Two days earlier at midnight, Winston had received a phone call from Lance, one of the gang members who was an acquaintance of his and Cain, but hadn't been arrested with him side by side. Winston had been asleep-- what a surprise-- and had been greeted by a swift, but painful message, "Brad is dead. S-shot down during a police chase just now. I-I mean, h-he was armed, but the damn, fucking cops--"

Winston had hung up before Lance could tell him what the 'damn, fucking cops' did. He didn't want to know. Let the kid rest in peace. Brad had only been 18 for fuck's sake and had been arrested with him and Cain that summer. 'Police chase' had only meant one thing: he'd escaped. Until they killed him...

Winston had closed his eyes after hanging up, leaning his head against the hard, cold wall, praying to God that Cain would be smart enough not to try to escape prison, although he'd never been religious.

But now that he'd taken some time to himself, it became obvious: Cain was not stupid. Sure, he was reckless sometimes, but also sly and clever as fuck. After all, he'd managed to avoid capture for at least seven years. He wasn't stupid enough to escape a two-year jail sentence; that visit to his prison several weeks ago had spoken volumes: he wasn't leaving until the sentence was over. It wasn't worth the risk.

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