Indelible

Tommy's apartment makes Rhiannon want to scratch her skin off. The walls are stained with a dark red substance she doesn't even want to try to identify, there's random holes in his dirty carpeting, take out boxes line the scuffed countertops with food that's probably been sitting out for days judging by the rancid smell coming from them. She can practically feel the roaches that have probably infested by now crawling on her skin.

She doesn't understand how Chandler seems so comfortable, casually leaning against the worn leather couch, nursing a cold beer. She barely stops herself from rolling her eyes when he laughs way too hard at a joke that's not even remotely funny.

Tommy sits beside Landon, and Ben and Sean sit on the dusty coffee table, because there isn't enough room for all of them. Sean had offered Rhiannon a seat on his lap with a drunken smirk on his face and Rhiannon politely - at least as politely as she could manage - declined. They pass a blunt around, the smoke thickening the air, and make crude jokes that would send any church-goer into a coma.

Tommy, Ben and Sean are all in their early twenties. To Rhiannon they're all the same, constantly wearing plain hoodies and basketball shorts, messy hair that looks like it's never seen a brush. They make dumb, misogynistic jokes that no one but themselves find funny, and are probably unemployed. Rhiannon thinks it's weird that Chandler hangs out with them when they're both only 18.

The only one she doesn't completely loathe is Landon. Mainly because he's closest in age to her and Chandler at 19 years old. He's got blonde hair and calm blue eyes, and he's quiet like Chandler is. He's somehow more mature than all of them, despite being the second youngest. She doesn't mind him.

Tommy leans his head back against the couch to look at Rhiannon. A wolfish grin spreads across his face that makes Rhiannon recoil.

He holds it out to her. "You want a hit?"

She presses her lips into a thin line, annoyed. "No."

He's been playing this game with her since she got there. He offers her weed, knowing she'll refuse then teases her for being no fun, then laughs his ass off. Rhiannon can't understand why he finds this so funny, she can't tell if it's because he's high or just an idiot.

"Tommy, knock it off," Landon chastises, "she's said no like 10 times already."

"Yeah, leave her alone," Chandler adds. He wraps his arms around Rhiannon's waist and pulls her a little closer. To Rhiannon it feels more like a shield than an embrace but she doesn't mind at all, anything to get farther away from these creeps.

Truthfully, Chandler isn't as comfortable as he's trying to let on. Tommy's apartment is too hot and it makes him feel suffocated and itchy. Their laughs are loud and make his anxiety spike. He can feel the dull beginning of a headache behind his eyes. Rhiannon being there makes it better, the feeling of her skin under his fingertips helps him breathe a little easier. Rhiannon knows this, otherwise she would've been gone already. He knows she would never leave him alone with them.

He can sense her discomfort, which is why he says, "Alright I think we're gonna head out now." He immediately sees relief fill her eyes, replacing the unease that was just there.

Rhiannon's already heading for the door before Chandler can say goodbye, narrowing her eyes in disgust when she hears a slurred I'll miss you Rhiannon from Sean.

Chandler rushes a quick goodbye before shutting the door and jogging to keep up with Rhiannon's quick purposeful strides. That purpose being to get the hell out of that place.

"Sorry," he mutters sheepishly, trailing behind her as she speed walks to the car, fumbling with his keys.

She frowns, crossing her arms and leans against the car, waiting for him to unlock it. "I hate it there."

He sighs. "I know, I'm sorry," he feels guilty, because he knows it's selfish - to drag her with him, knowing she won't refuse despite her annoyance.

She lowers herself into the car and leans her head back against the seats, now it's her turn to sigh, her breath fogging in the cold February air. "It's fine."

The leather seat is cold against the back of her thighs and the car smells like cigarettes from Chandler's habitual smoking.

Chandler had only started smoking because of his older brother Chris. He had made it look so cool, the way he'd casually pull out his lighter, the smoke curling around him as if it were part of his very being, each exhale drifting lazily into the air. Chandler thought he made everything look cool, he'd always looked up to him.

Truthfully, Chandler has stolen most of his style from his older brother, from the baggy jeans he wears to the various piercings in his ears and the blonde highlights in his brown hair. Rhiannon never teased him for it like his brother's friends might've. She didn't see him as trying to imitate his brother. She thought he wore the style like it was his own, not like he was borrowing it from someone else.

He inches closer to her face until their noses are brushing. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Hmm..." she ponders the question, "you could buy me lunch."

He chuckles, "I was thinking more like a kiss."

She shrugs. "I guess that works too."

He takes her face in his hands and slowly presses his lips against hers, knowing she doesn't like when he rushes. His hands find her waist, pulling her closer. When her arms slip around his neck, he takes it as permission to keep going.

He likes kissing Rhiannon, likes running his hands through her wavy brown hair, he likes the way she smells. She had told him the name of her body lotion once, Champagne something, Chandler can't remember. He knows he likes it though.

He keeps his eyes open when he kisses her, even though Rhiannon thinks its weird, preferring to see her face, every pretty eyelash, every freckle. He wants to study every plane of her face until he can see it in his dreams.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her even closer until his chest is touching hers. It's not enough for him though, he wants her closer, he wants every inch of her skin on his, wants to inject her into his veins once he can't get any closer.

He feels a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back and he immediately obliges, taking his arms off her - reluctantly - and sits back in his seat.

"Sorry," he says breathlessly, running a hand through his hair.

"It's okay," she breathes, "I'm just...not ready for..that was kinda too much."

Chandler nods. "No, right yeah, I wasn't gonna...I'm sorry."

She manages a small smile. "It's okay."

Something hangs heavy in the air between them, unspoken but palpable. It's not tension, exactly, but something close - a fragile understanding that neither of them wants to put into words. Chandler shifts in his seat, the faint echo of her touch still lingering on his chest. He doesn't know what to say to make the moment feel less delicate, but the way her small smile softens her face tells him he hasn't completely ruined the moment.

He takes a deep breath and fills the silence before it gets too awkward. "You still want me to buy you lunch?"

"Yes, please."