This is another thing that’s kind of become… a thing. An unspoken thing that we don’t formally plan, and as far as I know, no one else is aware of—least of all Gray.
We meet up here to smoke and shoot the shit. The first time it happened was a few days after we smoked in my dorm building, and since then, it’s become an almost daily occurrence.
I’ve also finally figured out why I thought I recognized Declan when I first met him. Fucker has music out. He’s not with a big label or anything, but he’s had a couple of singles do pretty well.
Sometimes he’ll put an earbud in my ear with one of his tracks playing. I don’t compliment him, and I don’t disparage him. He seems to be able to tell what I think about a song by looking at my face, though he never asks me to confirm if his inner suspicions are correct.
I don’t know what to make of this, to be honest. It’s not the chaotic and tumultuous thing that Gray and I have going on, and yet it’s not…
Fuck. I don’t know what to make of it, but it isn’t bad, whatever it is.
Declan doesn’t fill the space with needless words. I’m pretty sure our first stairwell conversation was the longest one we’ve actually had. I think he only speaks when it’s important, and I kind of like that. It takes the pressure off me to speak too.
“Max talked me into going to the football game on Friday,” I say after a few moments of comfortable silence.
“Yeah?” He lifts an eyebrow at me. “You’ll be able to see Gray play.”
“Not why I’m going.” I pluck the joint from his fingers.
“Didn’t say it was.”
“Will you be
there? To watch your boy play?”
I don’t know why I’m sort of hoping the answer is yes, but Declan shakes his head. “Can’t. My folks want me home this weekend.”
Home is nearby for him, I think. I’m pretty sure his parents live in Calabasas. But I don’t want to ask, because I still don’t want to admit I’d like to know more about him.
“Oh,” I say instead, taking a drag before passing him back the joint.
“It’s too bad.” A half-grin curves his lips. I’m starting to realize he usually smiles in halves, one corner of his mouth or the other quirking up. “I think I’d like watching you watch football for the first time.”
“How do you know I’ve never watched it?” I shoot back.
“Have you?”
“No.”
He chuckles. “There you go.”
I roll my eyes. “Excuse me if I was busy doing better things.”
“Hey, I’m not arguing that.” He takes a long drag and holds it for a long beat before blowing it out. “I never really got into it myself. I only started watching because Gray and Elias play—well, played.”
“Elias played?” I bite my tongue as soon as the words slip out of my mouth. I’m not supposed to be asking questions. Not supposed to be interested in any of them.
Declan’s gaze shoots to me, almost as if he’s guessed my thoughts. He shakes his head. “Yeah, he used to play. But that’s really his story to tell, not mine.”
That’s another thing Declan does. He won’t tell me private details about either of his friends, steering the conversation away if it ever veers into that territory. I don’t quite get it.
Is he trying to protect them? Protect me? Or does he just not like talking about them when we’re in the strange little bubble of peace we’ve formed while we get high in the stairwell?
We each take one more hit, lapsing back into easy silence as we do. Then Declan gives me a small nod, pushing his unruly black hair back from his face before standing up and heading down the stairs. I watch him go, then lean back on my hands and gaze up at the ceiling, letting the pleasant buzz work its way through my system.
If anyone had told me at the start of the semester that Declan would become my smoking buddy, I would’ve told them they were crazy.
But he has. And I like it. Way more than I expected to.