Finally, you pull up to a small shack on the edge on zone 4. It's smallish and old looking, but judging by the spray paint and open doors revealing an abundance of different clothes it's where you're gonna be going.

Laughing, you stand up (party watching you in case you fell) and start walking to it, the rest of the boys following. The shack smelled sweet - of perfume and dust - and you were nearly blinded by the colours inside.

You walk around with party, kid and ghoul for a moment as jet spoke to another killjoy (presumably the owner of the shop) and pick up some clothes from the racks surrounding you. Eventually when you couldn't carry any more, you were shoved into a curtained room and told to try on some clothes.

It takes you a few minutes, but finally you settle on a f/c leather jacket, black tank top and some dusty grey jeans, all with patches on them. Pulling on your black walking (and kicking) boots, you walk out to show the other killjoys.

"Nice." Party poison said, looking you up and down. The other boys agree and you grab a spare pair of jeans before heading off. The owner of the shack, you discovered, was doing this just to get rid of clothes so you didn't have to pay/trade.

Yawning, you lean back in your seat and start talking to the killjoys. Kobe's kid was driving this time, and you were sat between fun ghoul and party poison while jet star sat in the passenger seat. Eventually you start to drop off, head nodding  and eyelids heavy. You lean on something warm and comfortable before falling asleep.

you feel the car stop and jolt awake, reaching for the gun strapped around your thigh. You open your eyes slowly as you feel what you were leaning on turn.

"Hey k/j/n, wake up." Party laughs softly as he turns to look at you. You sigh and stretch, your tank top riding up, before standing and going into the gas station, your old clothes tucked under your arm along with your spare pair of jeans.

"Where should I put these?" You ask Kobra kid. He smiles and shows you an empty drawer in what is presumably party's room, where you can put your clothes.

"Here," he says. "You'll most likely be sleeping in here anyway." 

You look around the room as he leaves. It was small -probably an old storage room or closet - with a broken dresser for drawers and a mattress balanced on some old wooden boxes. The walls were a faded yellowish colour, empty shelves dotted around. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, probably not working. No-one like you really has electricity anymore.

You sigh and sit on the mattress, which was surprisingly comfortable, before pulling out a notebook from your bag. It was a dog eared purple thing, half filled with rough sketches and poems done with a small pencil - the pencil was nearly snapped and had to be sharpened with a pocketknife, but You didn't have a replacement.

When you had lost your killjoy group in the fire, you grabbed your bag and filled it with random objects along with what was already in there as you left. The flames left it singed and charred, but the bag was still useful. Besides, it was a memory of your friends.

"You okay?" Party's voice snapped you from your thoughts. You froze for a second, before wiping away a stray tear and replying with a "y-yeah."

Party said nothing, just sat next to you and put his arm around your shoulder. You sigh and lean into him, flicking open your notebook and starting to draw. You drew to preserve memories, to calm you and make sense of things. This time you drew the killjoys - party standing proud, kobra holding his helmet, Jet with his curly hair and fun ghoul with his mask. Somewhere in your mind, you were aware of party watching you over your shoulder, but you didn't care. 

"That's really good." he murmurs, arm still around you. You hum, biting your lip in concentration as you keep drawing. For a few minutes there was silence, calming and focused. You sigh as you finished the sketch, turning to lean your back on party as he shifted. It was nice - you could hear his heartbeat and since he took his jacket off, you could feel how soft his black tank top was. He turned to you, laying you with your head on his lap and spoke.

"Hey," he says. "What's your favourite colour?" 

You laugh a little at the random question, but you understood. Sometimes getting to know someone meant talking about the little things.

"F/c, how about you?" You say, looking up at him.

"Blue or red, I like the bright colours." He joked.  He leant back against the wall, you still on his lap, and ran a hand through his red hair. You had to admit, he was hot. 

"My turn," You say quietly. He looks down at you and smiles as you speak. "What's your favourite song?"

He laughs softly. "Call me biased, but probably destroya." 

You hum, not recognising the name. Party stays silent, watching you as you stretch out on him. You're tired, so you don't realise your tank top riding up and revealing your prominent rib cage.

"K/j/n?" He says. You look up at him again, eyes tired. He looks at your ribs, running his hand over them lightly before pulling your top down for you. "You need to eat more."

You nod and curl into him, just wanting to sleep. He smiles at you and runs his hand through your hair.

"You're beautiful." He whispers. But you don't hear him, already asleep curled up on his lap.