Lorcan - POV (Homecoming party)

This fucking shirt is itchy. Every time he slightly moves it drags against his skin like tiny little ants. More than once Lorcan thought of ripping off the sleeves. Have these uptight mannequin-looking rich fucks get a load of that.

It wasn't only that. The whole suit was too big. When Sally had asked him — nah — had told him he needed to come he couldn't actually say no. Not to that guy. It was even worse to have to ask him if he had a spare suit.

His granny probably had his dad's old clothes somewhere but that man was like a solid brick wall. Lorcan at least almost fits into this suit, with any of his dad's shit he would've been dragging the bottom of his pants on the floor.

Still, he didn't look that shit. Just stupid. And on top of that he had to be around these damn people who either didn't know who he was or sneered at his clothes. The last thing he wants is to be stuck in this hell. Even the people who he doesn't even know the name of he hates. He hates how hot the room is, he hates the champagne, he hates the little tiny meat on crackers on the trays.

But he hates something more than everyone else. Well, someone.

That's what makes all this so fucking stupid and unbearable to him. He has to endure all this and see them? What karma is he paying? He really thought he wouldn't have to ever see them again. Fuck, they could rot in a straitjacket all their damn life for all he cared.

They probably got more annoying too. Or maybe they got a lobotomy, which... if only he's so lucky.

Course at least dealing with them meant he wouldn't have to stay in this house with these boring motherfuckers. Crowny he knows, Crowny he can deal with.

A part of him, a tiny little part shoved deep into his head wonders what they'll look like? Are they the same? Will they try to be nice to him? Yuck. If he can't tell Crowny to die and have them either laugh or tell him to die then his night will officially go from bad to awful.

So as his eyes fly to the parlor doors he braces himself for what he sees as they step out from behind the wall.

They're wearing some fancy-shmancy clothes. Typical. Always wanting to draw attention to how their "looks." He rolls his eyes.

They also look totally fucking lost. Lorcan wants to grin. He feels the familiar muscles in his face clench, harden and slide against each other to create the expression he has always reserved for them.

A look that tells them to make no damn mistake. He hasn't changed. So if they wanna be the Bigger Person they can fuck off cause it doesn't matter if it's two years or twenty, he's not forgetting.

Their eyes meet his and he can't read the expression in them as they look away. Hey, maybe they're scared. He finds that idea gives him a pleasant warm feeling. He doesn't look away, like a hawk he makes sure the full heat of his angry eyes penetrates deep into their stupid face.

He grips the champagne glass, watching with increasing disgust as Sally guides them around the room. Like they're someone important. Like they matter. Pffftttttttt. The only one is this family who could do this shit right and look good while doing it was Orla.

He would be awestruck as he would watch he mingle with people. She looked so graceful. Like her skin was radiating the sun out. When she smiled at him, it made him feel like there was no one else in the world but them two.

While Crowny looks like a flopping cold fish from the deepest parts of hell surrounded by demons. HA! He forces himself to keep that same sullen air, but his chest jerks with inner laughter as he watches how they're forced to play nice with their own kind.

Before he really knew Crowny he thought that rich people were just born with the ability to speak solely to each other and only be able to tolerate one another. That's why he thought they hung out with each other but seeing Crowny confirms what he always knew...

They suck and not even their own people can stand to smell their shit.

Heh, turns out this night ain't so bad for Lorcan. But after the fourth time he watches them try and fail to respond to a question like Sally would he grows bored and sighs annoyedly. He needs to talk to the idiot but he doesn't want to have to risk getting the attention of the vultures. The ones who know his family history will immediately pounce when they hear his last name.

So he stands there in the corner, gripping his glass and glaring all the while at their nemesis. He almost goes up to them when they finally detangle themself and sit on the couch but as he steps forward who else does he see but another pain in the ass?

He leans back against the wall and glares as he sees the pretty boy try to use his — Lorcan doesn't even know what it is he does — thing to make them go all starry-eyed like he does with everyone. Lorcan can't see their face from this angle but he sees that Imre barely lasts there long enough and goes back to his other friend, the scary one.

Crowny looks around, not noticing him in the dark corner. They get up and slide out of the room without notice. Lorcan looks around too. He sets down his champagne glass and briskly walks to the the exit.

He catches Sally's eyes but he ignores what he sees in them.