The symphony from the men's restroom was little more than distant elevator music echoing through the fluorescent lighting and perfectly polished tiles. Oscar was just about finished with his impromptu crafting project—turning the cuff links Max had lent him into buttons on the fly—literally.

He was pretty impressed with how good it looked and, for a brief moment, even considered that he could have been a tailor in another life. Until he stepped out of the stall and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror—he wasn't a tailor. He knew that lifestyle would never satisfy him. It was too neat and tidy for his taste, just like this restroom and these people. The further he slipped out of his world and into Max's, the less in control he felt.

He stared into the mirror another long minute before the restroom door opened, and he decided that he'd better get back to check on Max.

When he drew back the curtain to the box, Max was alone, with an ankle resting across his knee, and his fingers tapping his thigh in a rhythm that mismatched the orchestra.

"Sorry about that, Oz," Max said, glancing up at the punk with those big, dark eyes. "You good?"

"No, yeah, I'm good," Oscar replied, but his tone and the way his fingers combed through his dark hair suggested otherwise. "I'm just a little bored, so I think I'm gonna dip. You chill?"

"Yeah, of course," Max said, though he didn't sound entirely convincing either. Then, he suddenly pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the brightly-lit musicians on the stage. "I guess I don't really have to stay for the whole thing..." He tucked his phone back into his pocket. "Mind if I tag along?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of Oscar's mouth. "I ain't gonna stop you," he said as his hands found his pockets and he ducked back through the curtain. "You drive?"

"Gladly," Max purred as he followed, practically on Oscar's heels.

"...Tryna chase a feelin', but we'll never feel it, ridin' on the last train home..."

The echo-y lyrics filled the sleek cab of Max's ride, along with a guitar that sounded as lonely and defeated as the vocalist it accompanied. It had rained while they were inside the theater, and now the dark asphalt of the city streets were streaked with colors, mirroring the street lights and neon and LED signs from every place they passed.

"Dyin' in our sleep, we're living out a dream. We only make it out alone...

Max had a lump in his throat. He couldn't label what he was feeling. It was something straddling the edge of excitement for what he felt like could be between him and Oz and a festering fear...of what it would do to him if Oz decided that there wasn't a future with him in it.

He thought of how easily Carter had assumed and dismissed Oz as someone on Max's payroll, rather than a possible partner... about the way Carter'd squeezed the space just above Max's knee before getting up and seeing himself out...

Was this fucking stupid? Was he trying to step too far out of his lane? He glanced at Oscar's handsome face, half-hidden by moving shadows.

"...I just keep on hopin' that you call me. You say you wanna see me, but you can't right now..."

The thumping bass was loud enough to raddle Max's ribcage. Way too loud for them to have a conversation, anyway, and for a moment, Max was tempted to keep it that way. Then decided, 'No. Fuck that.'

"So, what are we feelin'?" Max asked, tone upbeat, after turning the music down. "Dancing? Booze? ...Privacy?"

For a minute, Oscar thought about telling Max about his debt with the gang, but it passed as quickly as it came. "How about we hit the casino?"

A grin appeared on Max's face. "Feelin' lucky, punk?"

The rest of the night became a blur of lights, drinking, and fun that was punctuated by Oscar losing every single cent on him. Luckily, he had Max there, who quickly helped him forget all about that, and the alcohol helped him forget everything else. At least until the thick curtains to their hotel room were pulled aside to let in the sun, sending Oscar's head pounding angrily.

"Morning, sunshine," said Max as he strolled over to the bed that Oscar was laying the wrong way across.

"Did we...?" Oscar groaned out the question as he hid his eyes behind his forearm.

"Heh. Nah... You were pretty smashed," Max replied as he sat down in one of the large arm chairs.

Suddenly, Oscar sat up straight. "Shit! What time is it?"

"Hm?" Max tilted the fancy watch on his wrist. "Three thirty-ish. Why?"

"FU-" the rest of the curse was cut off as Oscar face-planted into one of the fluffy white pillows; his subsequent growls muffled as well, until he came up for air.

"Did you miss something? We can check out whenever, and I can always drop you off before the party."

"No I—Wait, what party?" Oscar wondered.

"Jesus, you were hammered," Max teased. "You really don't remember? Carter invited us to his house party. It's tonight. It's not really a formal affair necessarily, but I could spot you some clothes if you wan-"

"Wait. Us?" Oscar wondered as he got up and headed to the bathroom, but left the door open so he could still hear Max.

"He thinks you're my bodyguard... I should have corrected him," Max trailed off, as he heard the faucet turn on in the restroom and assumed that Oz hadn't heard him.

"Nah. It's cool, I don't mind guarding your body," Oscar said in a suggestive tone as he emerged and winked at Max before picking up his phone and seeing all the missed messages and calls from Charley. He'd make it up to him, but he didn't want to talk to him just yet.

Pulling passed the gate and into the long drive preceding Carter Davenport's house wasn't unlike rolling into the Casino Oscar and Max had hit up the night before. The array of cars and people alone, gave the impression of all the glitz and glam that'd be on display before they'd even made it inside.

But unlike the casino, Oscar figured there probably weren't any stupid slot machines or rigged tables, waiting to take him for everything he had, nestled somewhere in one of the wealthy prick's four separate living rooms... Or at least he didn't see any once Max had handed his keys off to a valet and they'd made their way inside.

Max wove them through groups of Instagram models, and influencers, trust fund babies, and who knew who else. It seemed that Carter had invited half the city. "Let's hit up the bar first," Max suggested. "Pretty sure I'm gonna want a drink."

"Sure, but why did you come in the first place?" He didn't get the feeling that Max wanted to be here or that he even liked this Carter guy.

Pausing, Max spun so that he could face Oz, throwing an arm over his shoulder as he did. "Are you up to date on politics at all?" he wondered, only loud enough that Oz could hear him.

"I know who the president is, what else is there to know?" Oscar said dismissively.

Max chuffed and rolled his eyes despite the smirk on his face. "Davenport is looking very, very, likely to be Kingsport's next major."

"And that's why you care..." Oscar said with a small nod before adding. "Well, I ain't voting for him."

Max snickered. "Do you vote at all?" he wondered, spotting a bar, where a girl with heavy makeup and huge tits was mixing drinks. "Anyway, yeah. My job could definitely get a lot fucking harder if I piss him off... Things like keeping your 'buddy's' accidental death from becoming a media frenzy, or really even being investigated at all, for instance," Max murmured. "It takes more than money. As you know..."

"Ok, first of all, he wasn't my buddy, and secondly, voting is for people dumb enough to think it matters."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Carter's voice interjected before Max turned to see the smug looking man standing beside them. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd been informed the moment that they'd arrived and had already been stalking them for several minutes. "There are several here who share your lack of...confidence, within our political system. There are a great many things I'd change, if given the chance."

Laughing, Max patted Oz's shoulder. "I think you mean things you will change, when you're in office," he said, eyeing Carter as he moved to stand beside Oscar, rather than in front of him. "But who wants to talk about work at a party?" Max added, before plucking one of the freshly made drinks off the bartop. "I came for some fun."

"When you love what you do, life is a party, my friend," Carter said with a chuckle and caught the roll of Oscar's eyes. "I see you don't agree?"

Oscar huffed. "I mean, whatever floats your boat."

"Do you like boats? I have three," Carter replied as he fixed his attention squarely on Oscar. "Or are bikes more your style?"

Max nearly choked on his mouthful of mimosa. Every alarm bell in existence had gone off in his head all at once. He internally screamed at himself to think of something. Anything. Anything to say or do to get Carter's attention off of Oz. Max knew a look of appraisal when he saw one. And Oz was one court he was absolutely not wanting to let anyone else play in.

He coughed suddenly, unceremoniously ending up with half his drink on himself, as if he'd clumsily missed his own lips. "God damn," he rasped, forcing out a few more fake chuffs before making a show of looking disappointedly at his shirt. "Son of a bitch." Max gave Carter a helpless look, the bridge of his nose turning red. "Would you mind, uhm...showing me somewhere I can clean up? ...That was fucking stupid," he muttered for effect.

The look on Carter's face was somewhere between shocked and disappointed as well, as he pointed them towards a washroom near the garage.

"Just catch one of the house keepers, they probably have some stain remover." Carter called after them in a helpful tone.

"Great. Thanks," Max replied, all but rushing Oz along with him. "Let's just go outside. I think I've got another shirt in the car," he said under his breath.

Just as they stepped outside, and Max flagged down one of the valets, a hand clapped onto Oscar's shoulder.

"Ho-hooolyyy shit," laughed an unmistakable baritone. "Oscar? Man, it's been a minute." Mikey Sholtz said, just before another guy, equally as large, headed over to join them with an un-lit cigarette between his lips.

"Lil' Ozzy? No way..." Leo said, flicking back the head of his lighter. "Who the hell are you here with?"

"I'm not that little! And that's what I should be asking—how the hell do you guys know Davenport?" Oscar wondered, with genuine curiosity.

Leo cackled. "Know him? Yer fuckin' kidding, right? I'm here as security. These brats pay a fortune for guys who look like they could pummel their friends' teeth out and feed 'em to 'em... Which brings me back to why in the hell are you here?" he jeered, smoke billowing out of his grinning mouth.

"You know there was a ride this morning, right?" Mikey asked, looking far more reserved and tamed than Leo.

"Are you judging a book by its cover?" Oscar's tone rode the line between amused and mildly offended without being either before grimacing slightly at the mentioning of the ride. "I know I--" Suddenly he trailed off, as he looked out into the herd of parked cars and saw it. "You've got to be shitting me... Is that a Bugatti?"

Mikey ignored his question. "Charley was about steaming from his ears when you didn't show... Vik told him you wouldn't."

Leo watched Oz, seemingly transfixed by the car. He glanced at Mikey before taking another drag. "Looks like a Bugatti Chiron," Leo said. "If I had to guess... Might be a Divo."

"Yeah, well I'm about to prove them both wrong..." Oscar stated as the gears turned behind eyes.

So! What do y'all think of Carter Davenport so far~? 👀

Shout out to LLSanders !  Thanks so much for your support!!