Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.


November 11
9:08 p.m.

"Sup, fucker? You're out of beer!" Ben hollered from the kitchen.

"That's because you drank it all last night. You owe me," I groaned as I rubbed my eyes, cursing the fact that I fell asleep. Blinking a few times, I walked into the kitchen and opened a cabinet to grab a bottle of cheap scotch. "Here."

"Nice," he commended. "You know tonight has to be epic, right?"

"The last time you said that you wound up in jail and Jasper broke his arm. Maybe reaching levels of epicness for your last night in Austin is a stretch."

Ben scoffed, borderline pouted. "You want my last night to be a failure? I have to leave my mark, man."

"You've lived here your entire life, dude. You choose tonight to leave your mark?" I questioned with a laugh.

"Better late than never." He shrugged, giving me a devious grin and...fuck, I hated that grin. It was the same grin he shot my way before we snuck out of the house to get high when we were sixteen. The same grin that lit up his face when he handed Jasper and me our fake ID's freshman year in college. The same stupid grin he had when he was sitting in the back of a cop car last year after trying to buy coke from, as he puts it, an "unreliable source".

"I'm legitimately nervous right now." I ran a hand over my face, noting that I needed to shave, then glanced at the clock. "Where's Jasper? Are we meeting him somewhere?"

"Nah," Ben replied before chugging the scotch straight from the bottle. "He's not answering, but I think we need to start the night off at The Cellar."

"Jasper hates that place."

"Jasper's a fag."

"Good one," I snorted and resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"He doesn't like it because there aren't enough gay dudes there for him."

"But," I pointed out, "there are plenty of straight girls for you at the gay bars he likes to hang out at. Compromise, my friend."

Ben handed me the bottle of scotch and I took a lengthy swig as he whined. "I can't go to Rain anymore."

"Because?"

"Because the gays love me. I get hit on nonstop. And that place is too fucking upscale."

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Right."

"I'm a hipster, Edward," Ben said with a dramatic sigh. "I need canned beer, sarcasm and preferably an outdoor patio."

"Hipsters generally don't refer to themselves as 'hipsters', do they?"

Ben shrugged. "Can I borrow one of your ties?"

"Yeah, but it's not from a thrift store. Won't that go against your hipster ways?"

"It's fine. This cardigan is from J Crew, anyway," he yelled as he walked down the hall towards my room. "After I figure out how to tie this fucker, we're doing shots then heading out!"

I sat back on the couch and dropped my head into my hands. A few minutes later, I grabbed my hooded jacket and keys and waited for Ben by the front door.

"On a scale from one to Michael Cera, how hipster do I look?" Ben asked seriously.

"Don't ever ask me that again."


A/N: This story has no real point and zero angst. However, it will have banter & awkward moments. It will take place over a 12-hour period. My apologies if I offend any hipsters.

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