His Gray Half

3. Popular, Hoe, Nerd

He made certain to officially be a part, exactly thirty minutes since he went through the tall ass gate, as being the whole "make-an-entrance-all-eyes-on-you" kinda guy, wasn't his strongest suit. He liked being a ghost: slip in unseen, loiter undetected, and disappear without a trace. But the situation he was currently in, didn't permit enough room to be lost in the shadows. It was one that somewhat required his presence.

It had been seven minutes, and no sliver of Yve was seen after he made a quick scan of the whole mansion, from the porch, golf yard sized living room, kitchen, and every nook she could be cuddly matched up with a boy –Devon or not.

He hated parties hosted by the wealthy spoiled kids of Ridgewood high. Parties are like expensive cars on an exhibit, with their finely polished, carefully sanitized luxurious abode as the exhibit housing the cars. Parties were their chance at struting their stuff. Not like he cared about expensive shits he couldn't afford, but still...

He should've left, but he didn't feel too ready to leave just yet. Maybe he was bored of loneliness, or needed the presence of non-sad humans, but what ever his reasons were, he did decide to stick around a bit longer.

"Hopefully something interesting happens."
Hopefully!

"Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!"
His attention was drawn to a chanting encircled horde, with one in the middle: legs coupled in the air, hands with a firm grip on the sides of a silver beer barrel, and mouth sucking the bitter juice through a tiny pipe on the barrel's lid.

"Barbarians!"
He scoffed, and immediately a ding in his head, reminded him of the need to puff a smoke, as it always helped him handle most social situations better.

He took out a pack from his jacket's pocket, hit the bottom, and sent the skinny bodies of the cigarette leaping. He reached out, and pulled up the tallest of the bunch, struck it between his lips, and rummaged his pockets for a lighter.

"Shit!"

His pocket was empty. He wasn't sure if he could go too long without a smoke or two.

"Fuck it! I'm out of here!"

His head tucked in a hood, face down as he went for the exit, but the blaring music and frolicking people killed his chance at enjoying solitude as he journeyed. He decided to fast-walk.

"Fuck!"
He blurted midair.

It could have been more embarrassing if he had fallen to the floor. He only tripped, stumbled in search for balance, and found it on the body of another, and non other than the sly devil himself, Devon. As he tripped, his shoulder had butted into Devon's, but before he could pull himself up, with young captain's shoulder for support, his initial hit had forced the contents in the red plastic cup Devon held, to splatter and drip down the shirt of the party host himself.

"The fuck dude!"
Devon turned to him, trying to reference his sudden hit and his alcohol soaked shirt. The hint was easily sent but dreadfully received and retorted.

"Watch where you step next time."
Adrian added coldly, and didn't bother looking back at him.

"Uh?"
All Devon did was sigh, and squeeze the spot the liquid poured on, hold it up to his nose, and tried squeezing again.

"Just nice Aid!"
Adrian cursed himself, for being so remarkably dumb. He also felt a bit satisfied for not having to apologize for anything too.
"This night might be a bit fun."
He tried running the activities he be in if he went home, and came half empty, as listening to his neighbor in the next apartment fight, would also be fun, but tripping popular and rich kids will serve him more dishes of fun.