A/N: AU drabble about Dirk and Roxy's platonic relationship. Title from 400 Lux by Lorde.
Your rusty old bike carries you down many a narrow path way. It clicks and creaks with your weight plus a basket full of chilled beer bottles. The ancient spokes between the equally ancient wheels rattle with every movement and you feel your brain beginning to crack from the repeated noise flying in and out of your ears. Your eyes train on a trickle of condensation breaking the mist on the surface of one of the bottles, you leave droplets of water on the dried out summer pavements that you cycle over. Watery red sunlight casts itself over everything like a blanket and you blink away the motes of dust that float through your vision.
Roxy is waiting for you sat on the wall outside her house, legs kicked up on the recycling box and picking lint off of her cat sweater. There's an old cassette player on the floor beside her, playing a bunch of her favourite summer songs that she'd taped. She grins when she sees you wheeling your bike over, ratty converse kicking the wheels when it gets stuck on the curb. You greet her with a fist-bump and she sits on the front of the bike whilst you pedal down to the old skate-park.
No one comes here anymore and the two of you find it's a great place to just sit around and drink till you're red in the face. You sit on the floor beside the largest ramp, leaning on the peeling red plastic and opening your beer bottles on the seat clamp of your bike. You flick the bottle caps and see who can get theirs the farthest. Yours hits a tree a couple yards away and Roxy's flies somewhere out of sight; you call it a draw and knock back your first beer in near silence.
You open your second bottle by the time the sun is dipping just below the horizon – Roxy's at the bottom of her third by now.
When the sun has set and stars begin to dust the sky Roxy's a mess. She stumbles around in the moonlight when you tell her you should be getting back, and you feel irresponsible letting her walk by herself. You let her sit on your bike and you wheel it down the street half the speed that you'd rode down here.
It's gone midnight when you reach her house and she wobbles into the hallway and leans on the wall, wishing you a , "Goodniiiiiiiight Dirky." Before she hiccups and almost falls over again. You ask if she'll be alright by herself and she nods with a pearly white grin.
You cycle home in pitch darkness, hoping maybe you'll be hit by a car that you won't see. You know going out drinking each weekend like this is a terrible idea, because Roxy's fighting an addiction, and you just want to taste alcohol without regretting it in the morning.
But you know you won't stop.