The lower one's level of brightness, the more potential for even a mere second of extra battery life, and a second could mean the difference between knowing of an event at the exact moment said happening occurred, and knowing much later, due to the time-consuming concept of phone chargers. That being said, Bubba had left his phone brightness at the lowest possible setting, and his screen was so dim he practically needed to squint just to even catch a glimpse of what was on display.

And squinting was not such an attractive expression at all.

But then again, neither was stress in general, and Bubba was spending his days wound tight enough to amaze even the most extreme BDSM enthusiasts. (Speaking metaphorically of course.) All the stress mixed with the constant squinting, and dabbed with a lack of decent sleep and lack of Marshall, made for a very shoddy emotional and physical state.

Angel, not being quite as incompetent as he was so often credited to be, was 100 percent sure that something was up. Even if he was not sure exactly what that something was. He lay with his head in the other boy's lap, staring up at the miraculously clean ceiling with the sort of intensity that gave him a bit of a headache, and deepened the frown wrinkles resting upon his jagged toothpick face, folded to follow suit with the scrawny child's complex facial movements.

"You won't stop looking at your phone," he whined, finally addressing the elephant in the room. (Not the actual, literal pink porcelain elephant however, that had been removed from its particular wooden shelf where it regularly sat, and in its place was a clean and dust-free surface void of any pleasant knick-knacks or gifts.)

"Just what exactly are you waiting for your phone to do, perform the Macarena? Your staring is weirding me out," Angel added, watching the blank canvas of artificial sky as a hawk might eye its prey.

Bubba sighed, releasing air like hectic helium from a pinpricked balloon, he smiled despite his eyes not joining in on the act. He squinted to check his phone once more, holding it angled on his left side so as not to block Angel's line of vision. He saw the screen. But still there was nothing worth seeing.

"Don't concern yourself with it, alright?"

"Well whoever he is, that you're expecting to reach out to you, I'm sure he's not worth it anyways," the grumpy teen quipped, rolling over and burying his face where the back of his head previously was. As usual, he was completely inconsiderate and oblivious to his surroundings. The "prince" nudged him, and he glared but followed command.

"You assume it's a romantic or sexual pursuit? You think that's all my life is about?"

Angel, now standing, scratched at his scrawny chin with a single bony finger. It was awkward seeing him perform even the most mundane of tasks, like his bones were too weak for any sort of movement and the hinges meant to guide every action were creaky, as if every action was beyond possible, and if it did not result in collapse, it should be treated as a godly miracle.

"Well let's see, it's either a dumb boy, or…"

And thus begins The Guessing Game. A certain something that (due to his choice in friends), the currently brightly clad teen had grown to be quite skilled at.

"It's getting late Angel, you should probably get going."

In truth it was barely past twelve pm, just a little over the socially acceptable time for meal outings. It was still fairly bright outside, because of this early hour; the sky was still seasoned with serendipitous sprinkles of sunshine.

"It's your dad, isn't it?"

"Could you talk any louder please darling, I don't think they quite got the message in China."

"Yikes," Angel replied, scrunching up his face so that the bony bits all squished together to form a smaller, more pixelated picture, "you're a bit mean when I'm right."

"And I'm nice when you're wrong? I don't want to talk about it okay, these aren't things you need to hear."

Angel stuck his tongue out. He yanked a book out roughly from one tightly packed wooden shelf, allowing several titles to fall to the floor. His grimy fingers fumbling over clean-cut creamy sheets caused Bubba to wince.

To distract himself from the human mess and its manifestation, as well as to tame the bats in his rib cage, he checked his phone again.

Angel, being Angel, ended up taking the entire mysterious situation personally, yet another time one of his few friends took a firm stance against him

"You always treat me like a big dumb baby, you can tell me things, you know."

Bubba hesitantly set his phone down, atop the baby skin soft comforter. It seemed conveniently to refuse release for a moment, but Bubba persisted. Face down this time, he forced the screen to stare at the same bed sheet Nothing that guest bodies grew accustomed to.

"Because you totally tell me things."

"I mean, I never hide anything, unlike some people." Angel slapped the book pages together furiously as they turned, and Bubba was quite certain that if the trend continued he would rip something irreplaceable.

Bubba was back on his phone, trying his hardest to very quietly exit this conversation before things got too heated.

But Angel wasn't having it.

"Ask me anything, pretty boy. Got nothing secret from my bro."

Bubba cringed at the poor grammar and the usage of bro, tensing a little involuntarily, a turtle retreating to its porcelain shell.

"Angel, you know for a fact that you do not want me to do that."

But some people just don't know when or how to back down and Angeline was one of those types of people, a tiny creature of stubborn, unapologetic rage.

"Try me."

There comes a time when one must ultimately choose how they want a particular ending to play out based on their role in said scenario, and this is surely where the whole "think before you speak" phrase must have originated from, some dumbass struggling with the concept of honesty (and lack thereof) and how it overlaps the notion of human relationships.

On both sides, neither child was completely open about their situations although much was inferred. As a matter of fact, just the other day when Angel had been caught snooping, the whole ordeal was finalized with the simple exchange of locker combinations, no interrogation or explanations required.

"Next time you want to snoop around, do yourself a favor and don't get caught," Bubba had advised, and that was the end of that.

Obviously there were still secrets on both ends, silently protected on daily basis, hot liquids bubbling and boiling just beneath a thin layer of Friendship Crust.

One would think that amount of delicacy would forever remain cherished and held sacred regardless, but when thrown a lighter, sometimes the only thing Bubba knew how to manage was watching the world burn.

"Alright," the prince responded, standing up at last so as to gather the abandoned novels off of the floor before any more damage was done to their anatomies. He returned them to their wooden homes as he spoke, avoiding eye contact, which was quite unlike him.

"When's the last time you ate? And I mean 'ate' as in it was not immediately proceeded by vomiting."

A slight twitch in the living human skeleton that had had the audacity to invite itself over to begin with, but it was everything.

"Fuck you," Angel spat, glaring loud daggers with the pools of dark in his eyes and speaking venom with his saliva.

Very intentionally, Bubba had brushed over one of the two topics not to be spoken of, and the corresponding second would have surely followed.

It would have, that is, if not for the resounding, interruptive "ding!" that sliced through the current ambiance like a diamond blade through hot butter.

The "ding" that originated approximately four inches away from the bottom left corner of Bubba's plush pastel mattress.

Exactly where Bubba had left his dimly lit cell phone.

Another ding. Then another. Then five on top of each screen lit up like rapid-fire lightning, splashing its light downward onto the thick layer of blanketing.

Yes, I still exist. I can hardly believe it either. You all have been so sweet about everything, hell I had this shit half typed for about a month actually I just figured it was bad and no one wanted to read it. But judging by the fact I keep getting comments about an update, I figured maybe I could make an effort. (I went over it of course, I'm tryna take your critiques to heart while juggling everything else so I apologize if I left something out that anyone gave advice on.)

So here it is, the chapter that brushes over another character that no one gives a shit about except me. He is my son and I love all my children so you will have to deal, also Bubba needs his own real friend so he's not just emo and scary all the time. Marshall doesn't quite count yet.

Also, in between I have been writing a bunch of side stuff for this that I forget to add, like flashbacks and whatnot, so that might help if I want to refurbish some of that to help with weekly updates. Heh. Refurbish. I like that word.

-Writer (Ily all)