Tyrant

(𝟸𝟶) 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜

"You want to go inside that thing?"

Weylin Cirillo, the insane, reckless Terminator throws me an incredulous look. "Of course I do. We do—yourself included." He says simply with a finger pointed at me, and I scan the abandoned, wrecked building that reads Treehouse Toys, its logo half toppling off the building.

"That's dangerous." I protest with a sidelong glance at Darcio, whose luminous eyes appear to be already planning an elaborate journey inside the demolished shop—great.

"Sister, where's your sense of adventure? What's the worst that could happen?" Astrid whines, and I gesture a satin-clad arm to the building. 

"It could fall on top of us. It looks very unstable." I explain with genuine worry, and Bruno pretends to stroke his nonexistent beard in deep thought. "She's right. It could fall and crush us." He taps his chin. "But do we care?"

Light laughter echoes into the night air, and I can't help but crack a small smile at this unity floating around us like a beautiful, never ending river. "Come on, Phoenix. If anything happens, I'll take the blame." Riona chimes lightly, and Astrid nods in agreement with a grin. "But nothing will happen." She adds with a sly look.

"I'll hold you to that, Riona." Darcio remarks with a grin, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

I sigh, contemplating. Goodness, just have some fun, Phoenix, you boring human being.

This is rare—so enjoy it.

"Fine. I'll go in." I declare defeatedly, trying to convince my paranoid self, and Riona whoops, throwing a hand in the air. Weylin, a smile tattooed to his face, bumps my arm comically, then pulls out a single cigarette from his pocket—a small lighter follows.

I raise my brows, but the rest don't appear to be dismayed. Especially Astrid, who is staring at Treehouse Toys as if wondering from where to enter the building—the shattered windows or the beat down sliding doors.

"You smoke?" I question curiously, not taking Weylin to be the smoker type—he didn't reek of ashes when he had cloaked me in his arms.

Weylin merely nods as he inhales the toxic fumes of the cigar. "I do, only when we go out—never in the Base." He playfully rolls his eyes. "Raeyan's queenly ass doesn't allow it."

"She doesn't want the Base to smell like a nicotine warehouse, idiot." Bruno crosses his arms as Astrid and Riona chuckle—a retort spins in Weylin's eyes. "You're not any better off yourself, Brother. You were so desperate for some booze once that you chugged fifteen-year aged alcohol from an abandoned convenience store." Weylin taunts, earning muffled laughs from the two female rebels.

"Whatever, man." Bruno mutters and stalks away from us, casually throwing his arms over Riona and Astrid's shoulders—they accept the gesture with fiendish grins.

And then I look, really look, at the five rebels in front of me, conversing and planning and grinning, and something swoops deep into the center of my heart, momentarily stunning me into silence.

This is friendship.

Something I hadn't experienced in a long, long time.

I meet Darcio's vigilant eyes, hooded yet tinged with that glint of mischief, and find a challenge awaiting me in those white irises, all wrapped up and waiting to be unraveled. 

Thank you Raeyan, for finding and bringing me here.

I stare up to the few stars blinking above, and capture the magical scene in my head. And thank you, dying stars, for guiding me to that crushed car in the dump.