[this chapter took THREE WEEKS TO WRITE with no explanation it just took a while. I just sorta dropped this book bc I was stuck but I've picked it up and hopefully it'll continue. I'll let u all know. But thanks for keeping this in your library and giving it the little itty bit of support :') ]

It took till the end of my neighbor's days for him to finally fill the gaps in his faux story with reality. Dare I say, I found the truth more captivating and interesting than the other. In some strange and satisfying way, I believe it's crucial and far more interesting to hear the early aspects of his life before the events begin to unfold.

He grew up as Dallon Weeks. All he did when he decided to secede from his quiet and unadventurous family was add another 'e'. I asked him why, but all he did was shrug quickly and continue on as if I hadn't spoken up at all.

His family found a place to settle in Nebraska, solely because nobody wanted to live there. They had moved because the government offered to pay them to survive in the middle of nowhere. While they certainly weren't alone in taking advantage of free land and extra money, there truly was nothing in Nebraska. So, when he was old enough, he upped and left on the next train to New York City with only the clothes on his back. He left behind his past identity and everything he'd ever known for an escape from certain boredom and little accomplishments in a lifetime.

Still, at that time, he was merely a scraggly kid with no cash or work experience that would've aided to gaining a well-paying job. Coincidentally, Pete Wentz was also in a similar situation. Nobody was too sure of his actual history due to countless conflicting pieces of information, but their paths crossed and in a few short years they were milking the prohibition for a massive influx of wealth. After being separated as a minor casualty of war for a handful of years, Dallon returned, and soon enough they'd rebounded from back alleys to the front page of the papers by lying, cheating, and smuggling alcohol to whoever was willing to buy some.

Oddly, I found myself growing moderately upset at the story. If that was all it took to become unfathomably wealthy, I might've joined in as well. But the police were always in search of bootleggers. It was illegal to sell, produce, and transport, but it wasn't illegal to drink or possess it.

It was a backwards amendment, I'd decided in the middle of the balcony cluttered with warm bodies and cold thoughts. Everyone on the property could walk away without a scratch, even though they were all consuming illegal alcohol. The only people at risk were Dallon and Pete Wentz, only if he admitted to the crime. But surely they weren't the whole line; there had to be others they could blame instead of themselves. Responsibility for wrongdoings was never something people liked to freely confess.

The only other backwards thing was the mood of the party. Sure, there were those oblivious to the affair right behind their backs, and only I knew of the betrayal on multiple sides of the triangle. Between the kept secrets and silent wishes to be together every moment, there was no Hayley to keep me company in the middle of it. She was involved with someone else, but I was preoccupied by her and each aspect of my life seemed to be a little more dull without her smile.

I swore I could see the outline of the past on the crowded floor, the two of us running between coldly distant bodies in search of a mystery man.

[Start the song if you wanna. It's called Quarter Past Midnight by Bastille.]

"Some party, isn't it?" Ryan said behind me, uncomfortably close for just seemingly appearing from thin air. Brendon hung on to his arm, but his gaze was transfixed elsewhere. "Are they always like this?"

"In my opinion, the past couple I've attended have been far livelier; but I suppose that is based upon who's on your arm."

Ryan patted my shoulder and smiled softly. "I'm sorry it didn't play out well between you and Hayley, I truly am. There are plenty of fish in the sea, John. Taylor has some friends in search of partners, if you'd like me to introduce you."

I realized he wasn't aware of my desire for one person and one person only. I turned down his offer, even though every bone in my body begged to accept it in the hopes it would bring a cloud of jealousy to the one I did want. I was not that type of person. "No, thank you though. I'm just fine on my own."

"John, I insist," Brendon turned his attention away from the party just long enough to grin, "there's someone out there for you."

I knew there was. She was just with somebody else.

"There sure is quite a bit of alcohol here." Ryan frowned skeptically, though he wasn't one to talk with a half empty glass in his hand. He was right, though; nearly everyone held some, and the tops of plates balanced over dancing hands threatened to spill over at any moment.

Brendon rolled his eyes. With each second that passed, he seemed to grow more anxious. It was obvious in his eyes, and the way his fingers fiddled with the loose string of his jacket. "It's no more than the average amount at anyone's place. Everyone has some."

Everybody with enough wealth and luck had some in their possession. I didn't expect him to know that, though, because the closest he'd ever stooped to being poor was living next door to me. Even then, he still somehow lived in luxury.

"Where's Weekes? Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is his property and celebration?" It dawned on me that Ryan wasn't aware of the disappearing act my neighbor pulled every so often. I always assumed it was to properly handle business with Pete Wentz before anything fell out of hand.

I didn't anticipate seeing Dallon for at least another hour, but by the time I'd woven together an adequate excuse for Ryan's eager ears, he was standing tall behind Brendon with a forced grin on his face at the sight of the ironically stable couple. I couldn't help but stare at his hand gently ghosting over my cousin's body where Ryan view was obstructed, longing for the intimacy forbidden at such a large event that had begun to symbolize the theme of isolation fairly frequently.

"Lovely weather tonight, isn't it?" Dallon smiled into the busy night air, warm from the bodies of countless strangers, but cold in the absence of them. Even though it was nearing the end of summer, the evenings were shadowed in low temperatures and icy breezes.

"I don't quite care for the cold. It reminds me of harsh times back home when I was young."

Brendon frowned. "Well aren't you in a pleasant mood, Ryan? I, for one, just adore nights like this," he shared a secretive glance to my neighbor, and I realized the temperature held a deeper meaning than what it sounded like to Ryan, "they're so refreshing and... perfect."

A biting wind tore through the balcony like talons through thin cloth, timed by higher powers to contradict the positive connotations in fondness for such weather.

"Well, I'll be off," Ryan uncurled Brendon's fingers from around his arm and pushed him away gently, "I'm a drag on the party. Go, have fun, let loose for once in a while."

He kept glancing eagerly over the balcony to a cluster of women and men with far too many drinks in their hands. I held the observation to myself, but before I could consider letting it slip, he had disappeared into the crowd like a needle into a haystack.

There was no space of time when my cousin was alone; as soon as Ryan had his back turned, he was in the process of grabbing on to my neighbor's arm, and when he was gone for good, they both set their hands free and bodies close.

I picked up the glass Dallon had been holding, and downed the liquor in three swallows. He wasn't around to see me do it, neither was Brendon. A few minutes later, I saw them running through a crowd on the main floor and down the steps to the garden, but I didn't see them again until later that night.

I did run into another woman that night, however. I didn't know her name, and I never found out, but she was stunning under the strings of overlapping bright lights dangling overhead. Her company was only a distraction from the chaos looming around every corner, red lipstick drawing my attention away from the forbidden relationship between my cousin and my neighbor, sharp nails digging away the thought of Taylor and Ryan in the depths of my mind. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the woman I never really came to know, but nothing mattered for a decent few hours. I couldn't remember her face, but I imagined her as Hayley, and fit the pieces of her laugh and voice together over the blaring music like a puzzle. By the time I had finished engraving her memory in my mind by hand, I had danced with Hayley for the whole night.

Past midnight, so read the clock, I stumbled down the steps to the garden to try to find my cousin. Ryan was searching for him. The group he had spontaneously slipped into had dispersed, and he ached for company and somebody naive enough to pay any sort of attention towards him.

I found them underneath a large overgrown birch tree, sitting together at the roots breaking the ground in rough dusty chunks, sending the grass splitting at odd angles. Brendon was asleep, but my neighbor was very much awake, gaze fixated on me. He must've been keeping watch for wanderers.

"I thought you'd left, John? Parties don't particularly seem to up your alley. You always seem so uncomfortable and distressed in the presence of so many. Every time I see you on my property at these times of the week, I'm surprised."

He wasn't wrong; gatherings with people I had never met before were the source of my nightmares, and I couldn't stand being alone in such situations. But the alcohol was too tempting to resist, and under the influence, everything is always so pleasant. "Yes, yes. Ryan is looking for Brendon, you know, so he should most definitely leave before you both get discovered. Ryan wants to go home, and what Ryan wants, he will ultimately get."

He nodded, but made no effort to shake Brendon awake, or even allude to the action. Instead he relaxed back against the bark and shut his eyes, savoring the moment for a bit more. "Did I ever have the chance to tell you how we met, John?"

"I don't believe so. Tell me now, so he can sleep for slightly longer. He's been exhausted nowadays, thanks to your shenanigans."

He smiled softly, and fell silent for a minute while the party continued to rage behind me.

"It was when I was taking a... let's say a quick break from the war, for the holidays. I said I wanted to see my family, and I spent my time here with Pete. He, for some odd reason, dragged me alongside him to a party held by some people he'd met a while back, a couple celebrating some sum of money they'd surmounted to after some expert investment moves. I only owned my uniform, two stained white shirts, and a few pairs of old slacks, so I wore the only thing that didn't make me appear to be living under a bridge, surviving on insects and meal scraps.

"There was a spark across the room when we saw each other, like everyone claims in their romantic novels, describing the exact moment when they met the person they were going to spend the rest of their lives with. I still haven't found the proper words to explain how we ended up in his attic, far too close under the moonlight to pass off as simply friends. That night, I realized what I wanted for the remainder of my life. I regained the vision of what I was fighting for in the war. After that moment, I knew nothing would be the same if I kissed him and vice versa, because it was forbidden from the very beginning.

"We did, though. We still did, even though we knew soon, the media would be climbing through the windows for an interview, the articles about our relationship would make the front page every day. There would be nothing that the public eye wouldn't dig up, and we'd be scrutinized and despised for the rest of our lives. I was willing to risk it all, that's how in love I was in such a strikingly short amount of time. I've spent the remainder of my life trying to phrase it properly, and I just can't.

"But when I had to return to fighting, and there was nothing for me to provide except for letters and pebbles the color of his eyes on the beaches I visited, he left me. Not because he didn't love me, because he did for a fact with all his heart. I mean it in the best light, but Brendon is horribly dependent on wealth and a steady income, and the first person to provide it to his liking, was Ryan. And somehow, I got swept up in the war for even longer, and didn't return home until after their relationship was official, and after I had gone bankrupt.

"Pete came back around, and we rose back to the top, and I swore I would take him back. I sold alcohol for years to companies and drunkard fathers, mothers exhausted from days full of reckless children, young adults in college wanting to let loose before exams. I bought this house, right across the water from Brendon. I hosted parties every night in the hopes he would come and I'd be able to see him again, and convince him to return for the perfect life he and I both rightfully deserved."

The story took a while to sink in. The drinks in my system must have impaired my ability to process words. "He needs to go back home — it's what's best. You can't repeat the past."

Dallon's eyes grew wide, with both confusion, pride, and upset. "Can't repeat the past? Of course you can, John! Haven't you ever tried to yourself?"

I was raised by two strict but loving parents. They said the past was the past, and was never a toy to be broken. If things fell apart, it was for a reason. It was unnecessary to slap a bandage over every painful memory in my life through recreation and redemption. Those events were supposed to shape you into yourself. Altering them would only skew your perception of yourself, which I should know, as I've attempted it an awful amount of times. It's fairly unwise. "I have. That's why I said what I said, Weekes."

I wasn't sure if he'd truly taken my words to heart, or if he'd merely brushed them off like dirt on a windowsill. I suspected the latter, as he scolded me to head home for the night.

I did with the ever present loneliness tugging at the back of my mind, an anchor of defeat dragging my body through the earth.