They weren't waiting long before one of their drivers arrived at the restaurant parking lot to collect Elise, but Max still felt better waiting with her just to be safe. Then he strode over to Oscar, who was sitting astride his bobber–which was essentially a stock Harley that had been stripped down in a particular way, from what Max understood. He'd never really gotten super into bikes, but goddamn if Oscar didn't look good on it.

Its bare-bones profile had all the grungy appeal of its owner. Oscar wasn't at all what most of society would find handsome or sexy at first glance unless they were the type who hung out at HotTopic a lot as preteens. But to Max, Oscar's thin, pale, tattooed figure and punk-cut hair was perfect. His piercings, his clothes, the thick dark layer of eyeliner framing crystal blue eyes... Everything about Oz looked uniquely and unapologetically him. And to Max, that was hot as fuck.

This came as quite a startling realization as Max stared at the man he considered his realest friend, backlit by the last rays of the dying sun. When had he gone from wanting to get high and party with Oz to wanting to run a hand through that nearly black hair and give it a tug? When had he started imagining sitting on that red plaid-covered lap or having Oscar on him?

Max shook his head and cleared his throat. "So, where to?" There weren't actually many real beaches to speak of on the west side of the bay. That area was Commerce City, the commercial district of Kingsport, and was south of Golden Heights, where they currently were. But there were plenty of docks where they could spend a secluded evening, provided the tide didn't bring the water in too far.

"I think I know a place," Oscar said with a smile.

Where he took them was about as far south as Oscar had ever been to an old docking station that had been abandoned decades ago. The old dock was guarded by an ancient-looking brick building, likely an old warehouse, with broken windows and boarded-up doors. The only paint was from graffiti covering every inch of the reachable surface. The drive leading up to it ended in a large chain link fence with some rusted signs that warned against trespassing and professed private property. But from the amount of overgrown vegetation breaking through the cracked asphalt, Oscar was sure that whoever owned this patch of land had long forgotten about it.

He walked his bike over to the side of the fence that was obscured by bushes, and where it appeared, someone had already detached enough of the fence from its frame that Oscar could slide it aside like a curtain. He tucked his bike just on the other side, just out of view should anyone drive past. Even if they had, all they would've spotted was Max's car, which was a far more enticing prospect than a mostly hidden custom bike, if someone really intended to screw with their shit.

It was pretty dark as they made their way down the path to the abandoned building, so Max pulled out his phone to use the flashlight mostly to avoid losing his footing in his sleek dress shoes.

"If it wasn't for the waves and the crickets, it'd be really quiet out here," Max noted appreciatively. He wanted to say something else, but he wasn't sure what. In a weird spin of events, he now felt like he had to be more careful with what came out of his mouth now than he had to before, or else he might come off like too much of a 'rich prick' rather than Oscar's friend again...and that shit had hurt. As stupid as it felt to acknowledge it, it had. "I forgot to ask if you even had any herb on you..."

He patted the bag over his shoulder. "Always. Only one bottle of whiskey, though..." he hadn't been expecting company.

Oscar bent down to grab a stick. His boots crunched the gravel and rocks beneath the thick soles; even a nail would have had a hard time posing a risk. They passed by the building, on the side that looked like it used to be a trucking bay, and down a set of cement stairs to the dock. The wooden parts had crumbled into the water a long time ago, but the cement bit was still standing, and Oscar strode right out to the end of it.

Everything was pitch black except for the city in the distance and the specks of light reflecting off the water's surface. He'd been breaking branches and picking up old pieces of wood the whole walk out there, and now dumped the fruit of his efforts into an old metal barrel before grabbing a small can of lighter fluid and his Zippo out of his bag.

After nearly draining the entire bottle, the fire took hold inside the barrel, offering some decent light illuminating a set of eclectic chairs, empty bottles, and plenty of other trash left by visitors long past.

"Used to come down here a lot when I was younger."

"How much younger?" Max teased as he brushed off one of the dingy plastic chairs, hoping it wouldn't crack under him as he eased his weight onto it.

Oscar didn't even break a beat as he was pulling out the bag of herb and a bottle of alcohol to flip off Max in return.

"Like before I went to juvie, younger," he said, passing Max the fresh spliff and lighter before plopping down in an old camping chair beside him. "You can't be that much older."

Max tilted his head. He'd never actually put that much thought into it. They were so similar in a lot of ways that he'd just sort of assumed that they were about the same age. He knew Oz was at least twenty-one. He'd seen him carded in clubs and bars. Oscar was a hair shorter than him; what shoes each of them was wearing usually made the difference, and while Max had a little more meat on him, he would guess that Oscar weighed a little more. Oz was kind of like his dad's Dobermans in that way. Nothing but bone and sleek, lean muscle if his occasionally bare arms were any indication. "How old are you?" Max wondered around the stub in his mouth as he lit it.

"Twenty-one," Oscar replied as he cracked open the bottle of Jack. "What are you, like twenty-three? Twenty-five?" Max couldn't be older than that, but he definitely had the bone structure of someone older, a far cry from some college soy boy.

A plume of skunky smoke left Max's mouth, made only partly visible when the light from their little hobo fire caught the fleeting wisps of it. "Twenty-nine," he said, trying to choke back a cough.

"Fuck off," Oscar scoffed as he squinted at his friend, taking in the details of his handsome face more carefully. Maybe it was the fact that Oscar was so accustomed to the hardened and world-weary faces he saw every day around him, but Max didn't look that old, in his opinion. Then again, he knew several people looked decades older than they were just because of the lives they'd lived, so why wouldn't the opposite be equally as likely?

His appraising gaze shifted into a slight smirk as he offered the bottle in return for the blunt. "So, how's this going to work exactly? Ya know, us being friends and all?"

Max took the bottle, his inquisitive expression melting into a relaxed smirk as he stretched his legs. "It can work the same way it always has," he answered easily. "We don't have to change anything, Oz. I'd only brought up the trip because I thought you might enjoy it, and it was something I could do for us... I mean, I'm always drinking your booze and smoking your green...Just wanted to do something nice for you. And those servers at the restaurant...well, Elise forgot where she was. She shouldn't have introduced herself like that, but she doesn't get out as much as I do, and she wanted to meet you," he explained before taking a pull from the bottle. "One of my actual friends...not just another of the rich pricks I'm around the rest of the time." He grimaced briefly before swallowing down the harsh liquid. It wasn't smooth in the slightest. It was cheap garbage, and that was just what Max wanted right now.

"Heh, when you say it like that, it sounds like I was the prick... But that's kind of my point—when you got nothing, everything is worth something. But everything suddenly becomes worthless when you can just do anything." Oscar looked thoughtfully out into the dark waves. "Sorry about what I said earlier... It would be cool, not going to lie."

"No, man, that's the thing, though," Max said, vaguely motioning as if he could actually outline the abstract concept they were getting at with his fingers. "This is worth something..." His amber eyes found Oscar's in the dark, the dancing shadows playing with the planes of the little punk's handsome face. "You can't just buy what we have. This kinda bond, I mean. Especially when you're born into a family like mine."

Smoke seethed out between Oscar's teeth when he laughed. "Listen to this sentimental bullshit..." he jeered warmly as he shook his head, but something mischievous sparked behind Oscar's eyes.

Fueled by liquid courage, he stood, blunt still in hand, as he strode over to Max and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. In one swift motion, he'd grabbed him by his infuriatingly flawless dress shirt and pulled him forward, locking lips with him and exhaling the smoke from his lungs into their kiss. Could he have asked first? Sure, but that would have been long and awkward, and Oscar wondered what he could get away with.

The once-white plastic chair's legs put in a valiant effort, bending violently just before producing a loud-

"SNAP!"

Max dropped backward, landing hard enough to draw a grunt out of him and flinging whiskey high into the air. Before he could even clearly process what had happened, he was gasping for breath and blinking up at Oz, who was still seated on him but had planted his hands on either side of Max's head to catch himself and keep them from knocking each other's teeth out.

The stretch of silence that followed felt like it lasted as long as the fall before Max began to howl with laughter. "Jesus, fuck!" He had to wipe tears from his eyes.

"Fuck!" Oscar scrambled on all fours to snatch the bottle before it rolled into the water but was a hair too slow. He collapsed in disappointment on his chest as he watched the few sad bubbles break the surface as his bottle disappeared into the depths. Max was right. "This night is fucked..." he mumbled.

Max was grateful he couldn't watch them going down in third person, like a classic film. If there had been the addition of dramatic music and slow-motion doves flapping into the sky, he would've literally died laughing, right there–with a sore head and in his ruined suit.

Once Max got his giggles under control, he got up and grabbed Oscar by the arm, yanking him around to face him. "Forget about the Jack," he whispered hoarsely, cupping Oscar's face and pulling him into a deep kiss.

...And if this was any indication of how their romance was going to kick off, then at least for the moment, neither of them seemed to care.

Is them pursuing a romantic relationship an even worse idea than a biker punk and a mafia prince trying to be BFF's?

Have you ever had a romantic moment sabotaged?

T A  T  (Nick and I have had a few... xDD)