𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐎𝐙𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐌. He'd spent what felt like an eternity staring at the contents of the package until the surge of vomit that had threatened to make an appearance finally won over, and he'd gagged violently after looking at a photo of Letitia beside her mother on their front porch. How the person had even gotten all the photos without anyone noticing, he had no idea, but there was no doubt in his mind who was behind it.

It was a warning. A creepy, terrifying warning.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to tell Letitia about it. She had come over to pick him up, just like she said, and by then, Scout had gathered all the pictures while trying not to look in them into the envelope they came in, stuffing it into the bottom of his backpack and throwing away the small cardboard box in the trash in hopes of forgetting about the whole thing entirely, if only for a few hours. She'd been so excited at the prospect of them playing again, playing as a band in public, that he did his best to act normal when the time came. It wouldn't be the first time he'd plastered on a smile to fool people.

But that was just what killed him. He didn't want to fool his best friend, especially when it was his fault that she'd been dragged into this whole mess to begin with. It wasn't her fault that Scout insisted they go to Night Vale all because of a stupid curiosity he couldn't seem to let go of. And look where that had gotten them. No, he would keep the photos a secret for now — only for tonight. After that, he would come clean. Of all people, she deserved to know; she was the camera's focus, not him.

Aside from being scared shitless, Scout had a feeling that the crackling energy that seemed to dominate his body — just kidding, a third option easily could have been the bean burrito he forced down for lunch — was excitement. The No Doze Cafe was a hipster joint that attracted a diverse crowd, based on current populous mingling around them as they waited for their turn. Not quite out of town but certainly out of the way, the blond was surprised more people didn't find their way inside; it was impossible to miss the huge, carved out storefront sign alone. A dark shaded oval consisted of the coffee shop's name written in what looked like a child trying to write in bubble letters for the first time, a string of Z's emanating from the Z in the title. No one said people in Hawkins were creative.

The atmosphere inside was electric, and part of Scout was surprised to find it so. Apart from the traditional white suburbs and picture-perfect house with the white picket fence, rarely does Hawkins find excuses for such a crowd to congregate, especially before the early mornings hours when the drunks and the punks and the bastards emerge from whatever hellhole they lived in like bats during the day, as if the town was New York City and not the middle of nowhere, Indiana. Regardless, at night, when the place was no longer pumping with music for easy listening, the air seemed to swirl with aromatic dreams of prospective musicians, hoping some manager might have stopped by on their way to some undoubtedly much cooler city on the American map. And if not, well, at least it was somewhere else to be when everywhere else seemed like a curse.

Normally, the coffee shop was clustered and close, nearly to the point of being uncomfortably crowded with a stranger as it took too much effort to make the trek from your seat to the counter, so many tables and so little room. But tonight, the entire space was open air, the tables and chairs and the one little oddly stained couch that was their pride and joy were all pushed to the sides to make room for the slightly raised platform they'd somehow managed to squeeze in, big enough for a small band, maybe three people max. People stood a respectful distance apart from the "stage", sipping from mugs emitting swirls of steam that disappeared into the humid air. Despite the December weather, not a single door or window was left open, leaving Scout to wish that he'd worn something different.

"You nervous?" a voice at his shoulder asked, and Scout was forced to push aside everything clouding his mind in favor of answering, hoping his voice didn't seem too much like a practiced version of his own.

"Mmh? Yeah. Yeah, kind of, what about you?"

Oblivious, the brown-skinned girl studied the DJ on stage, hurriedly untangling his equipment as the crowd grew restless, narrowing her eyes at a couple near the front that decided it was funny to toss a cupful of iced coffee at the boy. He couldn't have been older than them — hell, they probably went to school with him — but as much as Scout hated the negative reaction directed toward him, he was in no mood to step in. Letitia, on the other hand, had something else in mind entirely.

"Hey." he said, grabbing her forearm as she took a step to intervene, thankful for perfect timing, "We're up." The look she threw at him probably would have been enough to melt someone's face off, but they'd been friends long enough that he'd learned to hold her death stare. "Look, you can knock that guy later, okay? It's our turn. Can't keep the good people waiting, right?"

"Good people," she scoffed, smoothing her knee-length skirt as she glared at the couple one more time, "Right. Come on, I'm way too pumped to let a couple assholes ruin my night."

"Right," the blond agreed, and he followed her lead as they moved through the crowd toward the now-empty stage, the previous act having disappeared God knows where. Gone, hopefully. The guy didn't need to stick around where he wasn't wanted. Had the morning's events never happened. Scout would be just as upset as Tisha, although a little less violent about punishing whoever decided it would be funny to torture a high schooler. He was always more passive than she was about things like that — here he was, proving that point, at a Battle of the Bands competition instead of freaking out even more about the stalker they had on their hands.

Tonight. He would let them have this just for tonight. Their fun would last and their excitement would die down, and then he would be serious and do the right thing. That was the plan.

Taking his seat at the drum set already on stage — who it belonged to or where they had gotten it, he didn't know, nor care for that matter, it was there and it wasn't broken, which was all that mattered — Scout reached for the tan colored sticks the previous occupant had left on the floor, picking them up and fingering their smooth surface while Letitia tuned her electric guitar, giving him a moment to examine his instrument. For a bit of animal skin stretched over a wooden cylinder, it looked pretty great, if he was being honest. It wasn't even in the worst shape like you see with most drums, but this one seemed alright, from the minimally chipped paint to the brand new microphone positioned perfectly in front of him. With one glance at his best friend, they each gave the tiniest nod, and began to play.

Music filled the air without effort, like waves filling holes in beach sand; the sound rushing in and around every person in the room. Some reacted to the slow, dulcet melody of the song, while others continued to chat in hushed voices before quieting down to listen, speaking to them in some manner. It was far from a lively tempo, allowing Scout to relax and play his part without worrying about missing a cue or messing up. Despite rehearsing for the entirety of the afternoon — although part of it was certainly spent just talking and missing Julian — Scout found himself really listening to the song once more, the lyrics of Late Last Night crooning in his ears as he followed Letitia's singing and sang back up himself.

Despite everything that had happened, he felt a smile beginning to form. His other best friend might not have been present, but it was enough that he was still here, living in the music they played together. If they were lucky, maybe even their small duo could even be heard three states over.

And just like that, it was over. The best four minutes Scout had in a long time; all that was left was to soak rest his hands in his lap and hope they weren't too shitty to be booed off stage like some other people had been. But instead of being met with hostility, however, a thundering of applause burst out after a tense moment of silence. People were yelling and shouting and clapping so hard it was a miracle their hands didn't fall off, and now he was grinning, looking over at Letitia as if to say, "Can you believe it?" before standing up and making his way over to her side, slipping his hand in hers and taking a bow, a slew of uncontrolled giggles escaping his lips as he took in the cheering. This... this was a feeling he could get used to, all right.

If only it lasted longer.

But for now, the applause was deafening and the response overwhelming, and he just stood there, alongside his best friend, soaking in the attention for as long as he could. The beauty of a band, after all, was in part that it took more than oneself to create such a thing — the beauty that exists in the living moment.

○ ○ ○

"We were actually good!" Scout exclaimed afterwards as the two made their way to a brightly lit ice cream parlor nearby, still shaking with excitement fifteen minutes later. "Is it just me, or are you also like, tingling, cause I can't tell if it's from playing or being super nervous — "

"If you're tingling in weird places, dude, that's on you," Letitia replied with a snort, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. If there was anything that he loved to see, it was his best friend looking so happy, a spring in her step to rival an athlete's. "I forgot how good it feels to play in front of other people, you know?"

"I get it," he mused, tugging open the door and letting her step in first, hardly even wincing against the brightly colored lights, too much into his emotional high. "Hey, could you, um — "

"No problem," she hummed, taking the money he started to offer into her hand and bouncing over to the counter to order for the both of them, leaving the blond to stand back and survey their choice of tables while he waited. In the end, he chose a small booth a ways away from the door, enough room for the two of them and their backpacks but probably not much more.

He didn't understand how he was so calm. He had always been pretty anxious, and saying public speaking was far from his forte was a huge understatement, and yet, there he was, singing and playing onstage like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was; after all, he'd heard music being described as the language of the soul, and maybe whoever said it was right — a musician played the language in such a way that the stars in the heavens all seemed to shine a little brighter in that moment. Feeling the vibrations, getting carried away by its emotional rides and highs... if there ever was a perfect feeling, that was it.

Slinging his backpack off his shoulder and getting comfortable in his seat, Scout found himself reliving every moment of their performance, as if searching for another shot of the validation he'd felt in the moment; the way the crowd swayed, the glow of the cheap LED lights on them, illuminating even the tiniest details. And although he hadn't noticed it before, looking back, he could have sworn he remembered seeing a familiar mullet in the crowd that disappeared before he could take a second look. Thinking nothing of it, he shook his head as if to get rid of the memory, and turned his attention to an approaching Letitia.

"Here you go," she sang, setting down a plastic cup with a ridiculous amount of ice cream in front of him before schooching in to sit down, throwing his change at his face once she was settled.

For a few minutes, they simply dug into their ice cream and sampled one another's, talking with their mouths full and doubling over with laughter when they got a brain freeze until Scout's stomach began to hurt from laughing so hard. They weren't the only ones in the shop, but their mindless conversation and joking around filled the air as if they were, and for those few minutes, they could do nothing wrong. Everything was good.

But all good things must come to an end.

"Oh God, I can't even breathe," Scout wheezed, pushing the empty container away from him on the table and gripping his side, leaning back against the booth's vinyl cushions, "Tisha, you have literally killed me, I can't, I'm sorry. I'm deceased. Just bury me with a truckload of dulce de leche and I'll forgive you."

"Coward," Letitia said, giggling, nudging his shoulder, "At least be more original and go for something else, you know? You've been eating the same kind of ice cream for years and you never try anything else, there's no fun in that. Where's your sense of adventure, Boy Scout?"

The blond grumbled in response, not truly upset but feeling like playing the part just the same, seizing his bright red plastic spoon and tossed it at her face, erupting into a fit of uncontrollable giggles again when it bounced harmlessly off the bow headband positioned just so in her curly hair. The throw was light and sloppy and not very threatening, but the brown-skinned girl reacted as if she'd been shot, flopping back and acting as if her guts were spilling out of that very second and blood were leaking all over the place.

It was quiet for a while, after the girl had sat up, both of them deep in thought, staring at different random places within the ice cream parlor as if peering through a looking glass to another world entirely, their eyebrows scrunched and their eyes squinted. Finally, Letitia spared a glance in the blond's direction, licking her lips before she spoke.

"You know," she began. A pause, then a sigh. "I wish I could tell him. You know, say we played again and how it felt just as great as playing with him, even if he's not here. Do you think he found a new band, forgot all about us?"

"I don't know," Scout answered honestly, "Julian's not one for not playing with other people, remember? Just wasn't his thing. He always needed to be a part of something, cause otherwise it just felt — "

"Useless," she finished, nodding. Letitia, with her curly hair pulled back away from her face and her skinny jeans with the mysterious stain on the knee, looked about as thoughtful as the blond felt. Neither of them said anything after that, the girl pursing her lips in thought, as distant as ten miles away, as if the foot of space between them was a chasm with a bottomless pit.

Then, the girl looked over at him almost as if dazedly, offering a small smile. "Sorry, I..." — she gave pause at the way he waited for her to speak, moving his hand and positioning it under his chin like a living rendition of The Thinker. "I like this." she explained poorly, waving a hand at the space between them to indicate the two of them. "We should do it more often."

There was no hesitation in Scout's answer. "Yeah, totally," he replied immediately, his eyes shining even brighter at the prospect of feeling like this even more often. "We have plenty of songs, too, nothing's stopping us..." His face fell slightly as he considered it. "...Except maybe for the lack of places we can actually play at. I doubt the No Doze is gonna hold Battle of the Bands a lot."

"Who knows?" Letitia challenged, "They might. And it's not like we have to stay in town to play, you know? Hawkins isn't the only place in the world looking for two dastardly handsome musicians — we might actually find some place cool. Doesn't have to be here."

At her mention of going out of town, just like that, Scout's fear returned in full swing. Night Vale was one of those places, he thought — out of town and fairly easy to access, if you didn't count the possible murder that happened there. Sure... seemed like a brilliant place to play.

To the boy's surprise, the brown-skinned girl pushed herself up from the booth and began clearing up her trash, her cheeks tinted pink as ever. "Well..." Letitia said, clearly expecting him to follow her lead, "You ever gonna get up? My curfew's soon, and my parents are NOT gonna be happy if they find out I was playing rock band with my boyfriend all night." At that, she winked in his direction, and he couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride home?"

Seeing as how his methods of transportation were, like always, stretched thin, the blond couldn't pass up a free ride home. Scout wasn't exactly sure what caused his friend to jump up and want to leave so suddenly (especially when it seemed they were sharing a moment, but it was whatever, they had plenty of those) but before he even got the chance to question it, he found himself hurrying to clear his own garbage from the table as well, only to knock over both of their backpacks in the effort.

"I got it," Letitia offered, crouching down to pick them up, about to zip up the blond's open pouch when the corner of a black-and-white piece of paper caught her eye, reaching over to tug it free as Scout's heart nearly stopped when he remembered — He'd kept the photographs in there!

Shit! No!" he exclaimed, louder than he intended, and his raised voices resulted in a handful of heads turning in their direction, curious. "Um, no, it's okay, I got it — "

"You have a bunch of trash in your hands, Scout, it's all good," she scoffed, giving him a weird look, "Just let m — "

Before he could stop her, before he could do anything, really, much less, dump everything in his hands and grab his backpack, she tugged the photo paper free, and was now face to face with a disturbing picture of herself, her features slightly blurred.

Nothing. Letitia said nothing as she stared at it, her hand trembling, the film scrunching in her grip. Scout blinked, his heart in his throat, waiting — but for what, he didn't know.

When she did finally speak, her voice was pale, shaken. A mere imitation of her own, it quivered with what easily could have been a hundred things — fear, anger, revulsion, the list could go on forever. "What the fuck is this?"

As much as Scout wanted to explain, desperately wanted to pour out everything that happened after their phone call that morning, for some reason, when he opened his mouth, nothing came out, and instead he stood there, like a foolish gaping fish.

When he gave her nothing, she did what was expected: wrenching open the rest of the zipper and digging through the rest of his things, ignoring his half-winded protests, pulling out photograph after photograph until it looked as if she too felt the urge to throw up. Seizing a handful in her fist, she stood up, using the vinyl cushion beside her as help, and it was not lost on him the brief moment of vertigo she seemed to experience as she did so. The thought of hurting his best friend made him shiver — no, the possibility that she might think he took those photos is even worse — but before he can react, Letitia was right there to demand answers.

"What the fuck is this, Scout?"

Now, instead of his name in her voice sounding like it always does — a comfort, a friendly piece of familiarity — it sounded like a threat, as if she were ready to shove those photographs down his throat if he didn't find it in himself to answer her. He couldn't blame her. She was angry, and hurt, and rightfully so — whatever decision he made in thought of what was best for her was bullshit. He wasn't Letitia. He couldn't speak for her, not when it wasn't even him who was the center of the pictures.

Again, when he stood there, stuttering with no explanation, Letitia did the only logical thing: she shoved the photos into Scout's chest and stormed out of the shop, leaving the blond to stammer to no one in particular as patrons craned their necks to catch a glance at whatever made that girl so angry. With shame and humiliation and regret brewing within his entire being, he knelt down and shoved the rest of the photographs in his backpack, zipping it up entirely this time before hurrying after her, the trash in his hands now completely forgotten, rushing to catch up with her.

"Letitia! Tisha, wait! I-I can explain!"

Letitia didn't turn around, nor did she acknowledge him. From where he was, it looked like she was making her way back to the cafe parking lot, her arms wrapped protectively around her body as she walked against the freezing night air. For a moment, Scout was convinced she hadn't heard him at all. But then, almost like she was deciding whether or not to give him the satisfaction of an explanation, she stopped and turned on her heel, bringing her arms up to rest on top of her head, tears brimming in her eyes.

"You can explain what, Scout?" she demanded, her shrill voice cutting through the quiet night air, "What the fuck were the photos, huh? Why the fuck do you have-have creepy, stalker pictures of me wherever I go? Did you take those? Huh? Why aren't you answering me?!"

"Of course I didn't take those photos!" Scout exclaimed, part of him hurt that she would think that — but then again, it was what it looked like. "I was gonna tell you, I found them this morning, someone sent them to me--"

"You found out this morning? 'You were gonna tell me?'" she yelled, bellowing, nearly, and he was reminded of just how loud his friend's voice could reach, "We've been hanging out all fucking day, Scout, and you-you never even thought to mention it?! How hard can it be? 'Oh, by the way, Letitia, I have a shit ton of creepy pictures some stalker took of you, do you still wanna go out later?' See? Doesn't seem too hard, does it!"

"I didn't know how to tell you!" he cried, angry, desperate tears leaking out despite his best efforts to stay calm. Although it was dark and they were at least a few meters apart, he could tell she was crying too. In that moment, he wanted nothing more to go back in time to that morning when he first got the photos, to pick the phone right back up and call her and ask to meet to show her something and that he was sorry because they were best friends, and best friends didn't hide things from each other, and certainly not something of this magnitude —

"So explain, Scout," she said coldly, stepping toward him, her face stone cold save for the two lines of tears streaking down her face, her eyes narrowed and beginning to look red, "You said you have an explanation? So explain."

This time, his voice thankfully worked just fine, and somehow he found it in him to explain everything. Hanging up from their phone call to answer the door only to find the package at his feet. Opening the envelope and finding all the photographs inside. The warning. Everything.

When he was finished (he couldn't seem to add enough apologies), he was completely out of breath, partly from talking so quickly, partly from his stupid decision not to bring a sweatshirt or anything other than a short-sleeved shirt to begin with. All that's left to keep him warm was his bone-chilling fear — and the freezing December weather was already doing a good job of that — and his pink t-shirt, his gold chain necklace clinging to the chilled sweat on his neck like glue. Still, Letitia looked — no, glared — at him as if expecting something more, but he had nothing else to give.

When she seemed to understand that, the girl turned on her heel and began to walk away, determined not to stay for another second, her expression not changing a bit. Anger and hurt and disgust, all mixed with a special seasoning of betrayal. They all stung, and Scout had merely made it worse.

"Wait!" Scout found himself calling, feeling imminent, physical pain stabbing at his chest and his stomach and his throat as he struggled to make himself heard against the sudden gust of wind that seemingly came from nowhere. "Please! I'm sorry! Ple — "

But he was cut off by the gunning of an engine, none other than her very own Beetle pulling out of the parking space and speeding out of the parking lot with a cloud of smoke to rival a dozen heavy smokers. All the words he wished he said are now stuck — whether it be because there was no one to say it to, or because he couldn't force any words out. Either way, the silence made his blood run cold, knowing it was useless to tense against the shaking of his limbs but doing it instantly all the same.

And there he stood for a long time, shivering against the cold and the regret of his decision.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

We've finally gotten to their argument! Actually I'm a bit hesitant to call it thay because Scout really is in the wrong despite having good intentions and hopefully future chapters will really drive that home. Given that I've already prewritten quite a few chapters (reaching up and giving myself a pat on the back hehe) I can safely say that while Letitia will appear, their friendship isn't gonna even begin to mend itself until *drum roll* chapter 17! Yeah, I know, it's a while, but I wanted it to be realistic and reasonable - but that also means we're gonna see some more one on one time with Steve!!

Thanks for reading!