Loose Lips

“No,  no, shut up, fuck off, this, this is mine. I stole it, it’s mine,” said  Rowan, grinning, as they stumbled backwards into the living room,  holding the bottle as far away as they could manage. 

“Just, just  one more sip,” said Nat. They kicked the door to their apartment closed  as they followed Rowan’s movements; they were too far away to swipe it,  but they lunged anyway. The two swerved and danced around one another,  dodging, diving, until Rowan discovered the couch had scooted up right  behind their legs and sent them sprawling ass backwards. Still, they  didn’t let that stop them; they kept scooting. 

“I’ve been  learning, from Deogee. They’ve been teaching me to keep what’s mine.”  Sniggering, Rowan popped the top on the champagne bottle with their  thumb and took a healthy swig as they tried to fend Nat off with their  legs. Nat, though, was faster, and Rowan squeaked as the bottle was  snatched away from their lips. 

“That’s a steamy load of shit if I ever heard one,” Nat said as they plopped down on the couch.

“Bitch.”

“Bastard.”  Nat took a swig. It had long turned warm, but it went down smooth,  bubbly sticky and sweet. They offered it back to Rowan, waggling the  bottle to entice them. “Last sip, just for you.”

“So generous.” Rowan reached for the bottle, but Nat pulled it back out of their reach. 

“Ah  ah ah~“ They wagged their finger, but then let themself fall between  Rowan’s legs, wiggling and scooting until their head was comfortably  rested on Rowan’s stomach, just under their ribs. With a content sigh,  they said, “Okay, now, now you can have some.”

“Give me  that, you fucking, you fucking drunk,” said Rowan, snatching the bottle  and downing it as Nat giggled. It really was only a mouthful left.  Swallowing, they peered down at Nat. Arm dangling off Rowan’s side—and  the edge of the couch—fingers tapping the floor to an unheard rhythm,  knees bent and rocking side-to-side. They were as restless as ever.  Rowan tossed the bottle to the floor. 

Tilting their head back to peer at Rowan, upside down, Nat asked, “Hey, Rowan? Why don’t you ever talk about Deogee? Like, never.”

Rowan snorted. “That’s easy. They’re a private person; they hate people up in their business. Oh, and they hate you. Obviously.” He gestured to all of them, as if that explained everything. 

Nat groaned. “Ughhh, why does everyone hate me? I didn’t even do anything to them.”

“You dated this hot bod,” offered Rowan, grinning, as they stretched their arms above their head. 

Nat  elbowed them in the ribs—“ow!”—then sighed. “Aren’t you tired of it?  Everyone, hating you, and being mad all the time. I am. Everyone was  always mad at us.”

Rowan shrugged and swept their hand broadly. “I am who I am. A bastard.” They grinned a bit. “Besides, it’s fun.”

“Yeah,  but you didn’t always used to be that way. C’mon.” Nat tilted their  head back again to peer at Rowan, frowning slightly. “It doesn’t ever bother you?”

“Nope.”

“Mm… I’m calling bullshit.”

“No,  I’m serious, it’s—how’s that stupid fucking phrase go—people who, have a  mind? I don’t fucking remember. If it’s not a friend, who gives a shit  what other people think? Nothing matters more than the crew—did you fall  and hit your head after you left?”

Nat rolled over, folding their arms over Rowan’s ribs so they could look them in the eye and say again, “Bullshit.”

Rowan snorted, loud disbelief, and crossed their arms. 

Nat  smiled. “You’re different, Rowan, you know? The Rowan of five years ago  would’ve chased me into a bathroom to jump me, not apologize. And  Nimrod?”

Rowan sniffed. “Don’t think I could recognize someone useful?”

Nat leaned in—Rowan could smell the champagne on their breath—as they repeated, “Nimrod.” 

“Nim  is—“ Rowan’s protests were cut off by Nat putting their hand over  Rowan’s mouth, and Rowan’s eyebrows dropped, deeply unimpressed at being  silenced. 

Nat just giggled. “‘S not a bad thing to change. You still like me.” 

They  lifted their hand as Rowan started struggling to get up, leaning back  onto their knees to give Rowan the space. Rowan poked their chest  accusatorially. “You, you just got me drunk to drill me. Harlot.”

Nat laughed and helped Rowan to their feet. “This was your idea. C’mon, let’s get some water.”