"I'm rolling another," Cat announced to the group, sitting with her back hunched to prevent the weather from getting in her way "If the fucking wind will let me."
"Pah, you're just soft. I grew up rollin' em outside," David teased.
"Back in my day," Marko mocked with a grin.
"We had to do all of our narcotics outside!" Paul joined in with a bark of laughter "What, walls hadn't been invented yet, David?"
David took the teasing in good humour, and Tara briefly wondered how old he was. The boys all looked about the same age, but she'd always been terrible at gauging that kind of stuff. They had to be at least close to each-other in age though, right? Her assumption that they'd all met in school (with the exception of Cat) suddenly challenged, she'd been about to ask when Cat spoke up.
"Any takers?" she asked, gesturing to the battered magazine in her lap, which served as a makeshift joint rolling station.
"How the fuck aren't you dead yet?" Tara asked half-jokingly from where she sat on the cooler "I've had less than you and I don't think I could walk if you offered me ten grand."
"How do you get to Carnegie Hall?" the Brit looked up from her handiwork with a grin.
Tara tilted her head in confusion.
"Practise!" Dwayne responded for her with an eye-roll that told Tara this was far from the first time he'd heard it.
"Hey, if I can't get fucked up on Devil's Night, when can I?" the girl defended.
"Halloween," David suggested.
"Or any night after, like we always freakin' do," Paul snickered "Should've brought a pipe, babe. S'easier."
"Pipes make my throat feel like shit," Cat disagreed, shaking her head.
A very pointed, very exasperated, look from David stopped whatever mentally scarring remark Paul had been ready to shoot back in return.
"Paul. Buddy. Would it kill you to remember, before you open your mouth, that she might be your girl, but she's our sister? The fewer mental images I have to deal with, the better."
The blond said nothing in return to David's words, but simply mimicked locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key. Tara muffled a laugh, tugging her hoodie tighter around herself. She rarely wore a leather jacket around the Lost Boys, childishly aware of not wanting to look like some bizarre hanger-on to their tailcoats.
Happy for any excuse to party, the gang had embraced Tara's new job prospects with open arms and promptly began scouting Santa Carla for a party venue. It was a pretty nice, mild, night and so they settled on the cliffs beside the cave – the Lost Boys' "backyard", as they called it. The night was shaping up to be a great one and Tara was on cloud nine. To think she'd woken up certain that the day would be terrible. The one hiccup was…Dwayne. Well, more like her goddamn brain when it came to him.
She'd been happy to peg up her childish romantic thoughts concerning him to tiredness and a lack of sobriety. Hell, who didn't get sappy when they were less than sober and already half asleep? It was only natural for her mind to wander to sentimentality, and for the guy who she'd been sleeping with to be the focus of that. Who else was there around here for her to manifest that towards? The guys from the comic book store? One of the other Lost Boys? No. It was all very logical, and very easily explained away.
What none of that helped (and neither did the weed) was the paranoia. Paranoia that she was acting differently towards him because of all of the overthinking, paranoia that he was noticing the change in her behaviour – if it was there – and acting differently…Paranoia that she was being overly paranoid. Second guessing herself wasn't something that Tara did often, and she didn't intend to start now, but when every action was preceded by the thought of "Is this how I normally act? What would I usually do?" it was hard not to act differently, damn it.
When she'd told them her news, she hadn't expected a great deal of joy from the others. Sure, they were good people, but sitting back and congratulating each-other on career opportunities seemed distinctly un-Lost Boy. Then she told them, and suddenly Cat was hugging her whilst she gushed about how great the whole thing was, and how she knew Tara had what it took to go far. The moment had warmed Tara, and made her feel guilty for how she'd judged the girl for crap like her decision to leave university for this life. But the Brit was short, and as she'd been hugging her and singing congratulations, she'd noticed David and Dwayne share a pointed look. At least, she thought she had.
Since then, things had been normal. Sure, Dwayne seemed a little quiet, but he was always quiet. The only difference that she was sure she could pinpoint was a certain distractedness. Dwayne always seemed so focused, so thoughtful and so interested. It was intense, sure, but also flattering to feel like what she was saying mattered so much. Tonight? Well, tonight he just seemed thoughtful. But that didn't have to be down to her. Hell, if anything it was painfully selfish for her assume it was, or to get her panties in a twist just because he didn't seem "fully present" around her on that one night. What she was left asking was why it was getting to her so much, which brought her right back to the start of her entire dilemma. One glorious, mind-twisting cycle that she'd completely had enough of.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
She hadn't even noticed the subject of her musings standing right in front of her until he spoke.
"They're worth a twenty, at least," she replied lightly, standing so he could grab a drink from the cooler.
"I'll write an IOU," he sank to the ground beside the cooler, sitting on his jacket and seemingly unbothered by the cool night air.
The Who's "The Seeker" was blaring from the speakers, so she ended up joining him on the ground so they'd be able to hear each other.
"For somebody who's celebrating, you look like you've got a lot on your mind," he commented curiously.
"Honestly, I'm relieved," she admitted, clinking her bottle against his "Up 'til now it's been just…getting by until my "big break" came along, and shitting myself over the fact that it might never come along. Hell, artists are a dime a dozen back home and suddenly this opportunity lands in my lap without me even knowing about it? Or – or fighting tooth and nail for it? It doesn't feel real. I'm waiting for something to go tits up, put me in my place."
"Your place?" he snorted incredulously "And where d'you think that is, exactly?"
"Sure as hell not near any kind of success," she muttered.
"Not with that attitude," he replied, more seriously than she expected before leaning closer and lowering his voice so only she'd be able to hear him "You wanna know what'll separate all those oh-so-talented artists over in NYC into 'successful' and 'unsuccessful' – provided you buy into the bullshit average definition of the word?"
"Enlighten me," she blinked in surprise at the serious turn the conversation was taken, and received an only half-amused.
"Belief. You walk around thinking that life's out to get you and sooner or later something's gonna kick you up the ass, then it will. You'll make it happen by having that shit in your head so often that you bring it on yourself. You think Axl Rose thought he'd never amount to a thing? Hell no."
"Can I ask you something else?" she asked thoughtfully.
"'Course."
"What's your definition of success? If the average definition is bullshit."
"Doing what you want, where you want, when you want, with whoever you want, as much as you want," he said it as though it were obvious.
What a very Lost Boy definition, Tara thought to herself wryly, but couldn't disagree with anything he'd said. What was the alternative definition? Wealth? She'd rather live in a dumpster with the freedom to do what she wanted, than in a mansion following somebody else's rules. That was how she'd found herself in Santa Carla in the first place, after all.
"How old are you, Dwayne?" she asked, tilting her head.
It seemed like something she should've known before she fell into bed with him, but it didn't bother her too much.
"Uh, twenty-five," he blinked "Why?"
"You're very wise. You must be an old soul," she joked, nudging her shoulder against his.
Regardless of how she joked, his words really had reassured her. He was right. If she went into the interview the next morning certain she'd fail, she'd hardly give a good impression. Who wanted to take on someone who didn't even trust themselves to do a good job? Her art was good, and she was a fast learner. What could go wrong?
Struck by impulse, she pressed a kiss to his cheek "Thank you. You're a star."
One corner of his lips twitched upwards, and if Tara didn't know him quite well, she'd accuse him of almost looking bashful. Then she realised what he definitely did look – tired.
"Are you alright? You look exhausted," she couldn't resist asking.
"Calling me old and exhausted in under a minute, doll?" he gracefully evaded the question.
"I'll be relying on my charisma to get me through tomorrow," she responded dryly "And I also called you wise, so it's all balanced out. Now answer me."
"Tell me how hot I am and I'll call it even."
"You're insufferable."
"Now I need two more compliments, see?"
Tara gave an exasperated laugh and buried her face in her hands in an effort to hide how amused she really was.
"I'm fine. Long day at work."
"Are you sure you'll all be fine to hang out tomorrow night? You seem to work every day. Can't be healthy."
"Soon you'll know our pain," he snorted "Cat would never forgive us. Don't tell her I told you, but you actually got her excited for this costume thing. And have you ever known us to pass up a party?"
"Sleep all day, party all night!" Marko hollered from the other side of the speakers.
"Never grow old, never die," she heard Paul mutter wistfully to Cat from where they sat a few feet away.
"Sleep all day? Your bosses must love you," Tara snickered, shrugging off the motto – any kind of house motto she ever heard always was a little over the top.
What else would they choose? "Work as a mechanic, drink booze, eventually grow up and get a career"? It didn't quite have the same ring. Although she wondered if Cat's wrist tattoos with the Lost Boys' slogan would no longer suit her when she hit forty. She couldn't quite imagine the girl ever looking like a proper, "corporate" adult. As if to prove her point, Cat began to brandish a newly rolled joint above her head "My kingdom for a lighter, guys!"
What would push Cat to leave the cave, in the end? Tara wondered. Probably if she decided to have a kid with Paul. Or if they broke up. Somehow Tara didn't see that happening though.
"It's already our kingdom," David corrected his sister with a smirk, throwing one in her direction.
It certainly seemed to be. Tara couldn't ignore the relief that had settled through her that she now had something more secure than a place to stay and a job from a relative to keep her in Santa Carla. She was beginning to feel at home.
The night passed quickly and pleasantly, and she was disappointed when it began to reach around 2am and she knew she should leave soon – she didn't want to be exhausted during her first meeting with her potential boss and mentor. Her spirits were lifted, however, when Dwayne tugged on the sleeve of her sweater to catch her attention.
"So how 'bout we go really celebrate your new career?" his voice was soft and deep…and then he stepped back, tone lightening "Y'know, before it gets past my bedtime – I'm all old and exhausted, after all."
"I feel like a little trespassing," she said, feigning lightness as though there was no want building within her.
"Why not your place? We got away with it last time," he suggested "I don't really feel like getting caught with my ass out by some angry security guard."
Tara hesitated a little, but then her eyes met his and she shrugged – even if her aunt suspected, she was very liberal for a guardian.
As long as Tara didn't flaunt it obnoxiously and at least made the effort to be discreet, she doubted her aunt would be too pissed if she heard anything suspicious "Fair point. C'mon."
Tara could barely remember the climb up to her room. One moment they were climbing off the bike, and the next they were inside and Dwayne's hands were on her. Pushing his jacket from his shoulders, she allowed him to pull back to tug her hoodie off, throwing it to the other side of the room, before doing the same with her sweater, leaving her in the tank top she had on underneath. He backed her up against her desk, and then lifted her up onto it, his hands under her thighs.
Tara jumped a little when he lifted her, flailing to shift her balance, sending her back knocking into a pile of books that she'd forgotten to put away. When the books were sent clattering down to the ground, Tara froze, planting a hand over Dwayne's mouth even though she was the one who was giggling. He mumbled something beneath her hand as she listened intently for movement next door.
"Huh?" she murmured absentmindedly.
He licked her hand and she stifled a yelp of surprise, yanking her hand away "I said, I think we're good."
"Think you could've said it without drooling all over me, Hannibal Lecter?" she wiped her hand against his chest with a mock-grimace that she doubted he could see very well in the darkness.
"You're not into cannibalism?" he gave a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to her jawline, hands moving from her thighs to her hips and squeezing.
"Not today, nah," she relaxed again, slowly grinding her hips against his.
"Damn, had you pegged all wrong," one hand snaked up her back to pull on her hair, forcing her head back as his lips moved down her neck.
"Are you?" she kept up the jest, despite her words becoming breathier.
"Something like that."
Before she could come up with a witty response, Tara's bedroom door was swinging open and light was flooding the room. Dwayne, she thanked god for his quick reflexes, was an arm's length away from her in the blink of an eye, whilst Tara still fought confusion and her eyes' struggle to adjust to the light. No matter how much distance the Lost Boy put between the two of them, her brain was already registering that there was no way in hell it could look good. She still sat on her desk, dishevelled and likely reeking of alcohol, if not worse. The man she'd previously been in the pitch darkness in her bedroom with was also visibly flushed, and naked from the waist up without his jacket on. There was no bluffing through the situation, so she knew the best thing to do was to just be honest with her aunt. Except it wasn't her aunt standing in the doorway.
Dwayne looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there in that moment, as her apoplectic father's gaze darted between them, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Staring dumbly, Tara did nothing, as though if she stayed still, he would vanish and this would all be some terrible nightmare. Before any of them could do anything, a fourth party was barrelling into the room and towards her. Tara only just had the presence of mind to push herself from the desk and wrap her arms around her little sister as she hurled herself at her. Now she knew what the bad feeling had meant.
A/N: Quick note just because I know I mentioned ages in this chapter. At some point when I started the first fic I took the year the actors were born and subtracted it from the year the movie came out to work out the rough ages that the boys might've been when they were turned. I know it's suggested in the movie/novel adaptation that they're teenagers, but I really never saw it that way (it actually surprised me when I finally realised it was meant to be that way, years after falling in love with the movie) because they reaaaally don't look like teenagers…thankfully ;)
So according to my notes, Dwayne would be 25, Paul 24, Marko 22, and David 21. They might be a little off depending on the actual months they were born, but like I said, rough estimate.