Chapter 9: Breezey
When Fandango picks Tyler Breeze up from practice, he knows there's something really wrong with his best bud. His blonde hair is a mop, matted down and frizzed up in some places... Breeze always has soft, silky locks tied neatly into a ponytail or tucked delicately behind his ears. And the bruise... There's a really big, purple bruise on the left side of his face. Breeze can try to hide it with the hood of his red sweatshirt, but Fandango can clearly see it.
Seeing Breeze's painfully straight face, Fandango tries to smile to get him to lighten up a bit. "Hey, man," he says.
Breeze smiles half heartedly as he pulls himself into the passenger seat of his red Ferrari. "Hi," he mutters.
Fandango just watches him stare out the windshield mirror. He's not happy, or asking what strip mall they're hitting up after tonight's practice. It's really unlike him... Something had to have happened to make him this damp.
"How'd practice go on your end?" Fandango asks him, wondering if he got into a spat with someone, and that's why he's acting so down.
Breeze doesn't look at him. "Fine."
Fandango sits forward to look at Breeze's face, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You okay, man?" he asks.
Breeze sighs heavily, nodding, turning away from him.
This isn't right... He doesn't even act this way when he gets in a fight with someone. "You sure?" Fandango tries again. "You're really quiet." He tries to wrap an arm around Breeze's shoulders so he'll lean against him... He always does when he's feeling upset. But Breeze doesn't budge δΈ€ he's stiff.
"'M fine," Breeze insists.
Fandango sighs, starting the heat in the car. "Alright. Sure thing," he says. "You wanna... Grab drinks or something? Go out to the mall after that? I know that makes you forget everything that's bothering you when you're stressing out over what style jeans go with your tee."
Uncharacteristically, Breeze shakes his head. "No," he says, voice low to a whisper. "I'm tired. I just wanna go back to the hotel tonight."
At this point, Fandango can't ignore it anymore. This isn't the sassy, happy-go-lucky Tyler Breeze Fandango knows so well. Looking for new jeans is always the solution to everything with Breeze, no matter how awful the fight was. Fandango shakes his head, sighing heavily. "Alright, Ty, what is wrong?" he asks firmly, letting his best friend know that he can't hide anything. Fandango reaches over and pulls the hood from Breeze's head to reveal his battered up face. "Your hair is a mess, and I know you always brush it after practice. And what the hell is that bruise on your face? It's like that fight Styles had against Lesnar all over again." He grabs Breeze's shoulders and forces him to look right into his eyes. "Please, Ty-Ty. Please, there's something wrong with you, and it's so unlike you not to tell me. You're kind of scaring me, dude."
In a sudden burst of anger, Breeze shoves Fandango off of him, nearly collapsing him against the window. "Shut the hell up, Curtiss!" he cries, tears coming to his eyes as his lip puckers. "I told you, I'm fine! Nothing's wrong, okay?" He pulls his hood back over his head, hiding his hair, then rests against the window to hide his bruised face, staring out as tears run down his cheeks. "Just go back to the hotel. I'm tired. I wanna go to bed."
Feeling his heart break knowing that it's so bad Breeze won't budge, Fandango gets the car started and drives to the hotel so Breeze can turn in for the night.
Who is this? And who took his Breezey?
