“That was pretty good boba, thanks.”

Bella hums in agreement and bumps into Roxy as they walk down the street. Roxy shoves her fists in her pockets and leans into her.

“We only have like,” Bell squints at the street sign at the corner. “two blocks to go. You excited, kid?” She grins wolfishly at Roxy.

“Yeah!” Roxy’s over-enthusiastic answer makes Bell laugh. Diane smirks at her, a softness forming around the edges. Her purple hair is blown by the cold wind and her glittery bronze eyelids crease from the severity of it. Diane is beautiful. It’s an undisputed fact, in Roxy’s mind.

“We’ll be there if you’re scared.” Diane reaches out and takes Roxy’s hand in her own.

The street they’re walking on is filled with narrow stores, all filled to the brim with random items. Roxy notices a sunglasses stand in the doorway of a bong shop.

“Hey Diane! Are you lookin’ to buy today?”

A short man standing in the doorway of a shop addresses Diane, gesturing for her to come in.

“Nah, thanks though.”

Roxy looks at Diane questioningly. “Weed?”

“He gets me my juul pods. Bells gets me my bud.” Diane nods to Bella, who’s throwing up made-up gang signs. Roxy looks a little closer and sees her AirPods. Of course. She’s probably listening to Brockhampton, Roxy decides, which isn’t really out of the ordinary.

“I’ve never been a nicotine fan. I’ve done XTC a few times, and did Special K once or twice, but I’m really more of a weed and alcohol person.”

Diane raises an eyebrow at Roxy. “Mixing substances? Regularly? Roxy, you bad girl.” Roxy, caught off guard, wheezes at this until she snorts. It’s like a lawnmower warming up but twice as amusing.

“I’ve always wanted to do shrooms,” Diane continues, “but right when I decided I was gonna do it, poof -“ She snaps her fingers. “- no one’s sellin’ ‘em anymore. It’s criminal.” She huffs and tightly crosses her arms across her torso.

“I mean,” Roxy starts, still laughing a bit. “it’d literally be criminal if they did have it.”

“Oh shut up, you fucking suburbanite.” There’s no malice in the words, and she pushes her arm against Roxy’s side.

Bella darts in front of the two of them and ducks into a shop with a big sign reading PAINLESS PIERCING OVER 21. Roxy doesn't believe a single word of it. Diane places a comforting hand on Roxy’s elbow and guides her inside. They have to walk through the door sideways to get in.

A man of about forty greets them from behind a counter of jewelry and bongs, a smile-less endeavor.

“What do you want?”

Diane looks to Roxy for a moment. She catches Diane’s eyes. She’s unsure, worried, even, and it makes Roxy feel that much warmer.

“Uh, nipple piercings, please.” Roxy manages to say. They’re brought into the back of the narrow shop and led into a small room covered in mirrors and pictures of piercings.

Bella, who is still laughing at Roxy’s awkwardness with the man, knocks into Diane’s shoulder before slinking to the side of the small room.

A large padded chair sits in the back of the room, surrounded by a stool and a tall cabinet filled with what she can only assume is supplies for body modifications. She looks at the chair, then at Diane, then back to the chair.

“Should I..?” She asks, unsure of what to do. Roxy was usually very self-assured, but with her nerves getting to her and her unfamiliar surroundings, she was feeling much less confident. Diane seems to sense this, and takes Roxy’s hand, guiding her to the chair.

She sits down in the chair and shimmies her jacket off. The angle is weird, almost uncomfortable for her back. The fluorescent tubes throughout the shop make Roxy feel like she’s in a shitty coming of age film, or maybe a halfway decent porno from the 70s. They’re bright enough to give anyone a headache. But Diane slides behind her and cradles her jaw with feather-light fingers and all of her worries melt away.

Bell, pressed against a mirror-clad wall, lightly smacks Diane on the arm. “Bitch, he isn’t even here yet.”

As if scripted, the man from before come in the room. “Lift up your shirt.” He wastes no time, yanking open one of the drawers and starting to set up a table next to Roxy’s chair. The metal odds and ends rattle and clang in the plastic drawers.

Gingerly, Roxy lifts up her dark blue chenille sweater. Diane rubs small, comforting circles into her jaw and she can’t help but lean into her touch.

The moment is brought back to reality, slightly, by the sound of the man (the piercer? probably) spraying his needles with disinfectant out of an old Windex bottle. That should be worrying, right?

Numbing gel is applied to Roxy’s soon to be pierced chest with a q-tip. “Piercings hurt if you think about them.” Getting increasingly tense, she looks up at Diane. She is one thousand percent thinking about them.

“So, what shows are you watching?” Diane asks.

The piercer clamps Roxy’s left nipple and she winces. “Um,” she says. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth. “I really like Killing Eve.” Her words spill out in a rush and hurried fashion and pool at her feet. The pain from the clamp is unexpected and unwelcome. Roxy debates running out of the narrow shop with her top up and her dignity forever tarnished, but something’s telling her to stay.

“What’s that about?” Diane keeps her voice smoother than velour and ten times as soft.

Roxy looks back up to Diane and tries to find the words. “One of them is an assassin.” She croaks. “It’s -“ A needle pierces into her and her words die in her throat.

“It’s? It’s what, babe?” Diane asks again.

“It’s pretty fucking gay.” She says. Roxy lets out a breathy laugh. For someone who’s never found trouble talking, the strain of keeping this conversation with Diane was excruciating.

Bella pushes herself off of the wall and holds her hand. Her thumb brushes over Roxy’s knuckles and taps in random numbers and intervals. Just random scraps of Morse code, saying “It’s okay” and other little silent amenities.

“Well,” Diane starts as the clamp switches nipples. Roxy’s pain is more than obvious to her, especially with the way her face is scrunching up. “I just started watching Breaking Bad.”

“‘s good?” Roxy slurs out. The piercer either doesn’t hear her fear or, more likely, doesn’t care, because the second needle goes in anyways.

“Oh, it’s so good.”

“Aren’t you a few years too late on that one, Di?” Bella asks, shooting Roxy a smirk.

Diane only responds with a roll of her eyes, her gentle ministrations on Roxy occupying her. The man slides the jewelry into her, secures it, and mutters something about paying up front. Roxy fumbles but manages to pull her sweater back down.

“Y’know,” Roxy says, “that really wasn’t a good angle for seeing my boobs for the first time. I promise I’m hot.” Her half nervous, half elated laughter bounced on the mirrored walls of the tiny room. Bell chuckles and helps pull her up from the chair. She picks her bomber back up and slides into it.