zimbits au wherein a run in with the lax bros leads to a run in with jack
Eric’s walking down the street, latte in one hand and phone in the other, only a very little bit lost on his spontaneous scenic detour to the library. He’s halfway through composing a tweet when several air-horns blast in his direction at once.
He swears, jumps about a mile out of his skin, and drops both his coffee and his phone.
The coffee, sadly, goes up before it comes down, and manages to splash all over his front before spilling across his shoes too. He quickly retrieves his phone from the pavement before it’s similarly attacked by the travelling coffee, and checks it over for damage. He sighs out when he sees it’s only a little scratched on the side of the case, and presses a palm to his chest to try and calm the furious beating of his heart.
He looks over to the house across the way, out of which several, men—actually, boys, Eric’s going to call them after that stunt—are laughing at him, and high-fiving each other. Eric flushes and screws his lips together, telling himself not to cry in front of them, not to give them the satisfaction.
Eric looks behind him to see a moustached man flipping the bird to the boys in the house across the street.
“Fuck off to your basement of inadequacy and wine coolers, you absolute shitfuckers.”
The boys don’t take his advice, but rather, blast their air-horns again which causes Eric to hunch up his shoulders.
“Hey, brah, you alright?” The man walks up to Eric and looks him over. “Shit, dude. They got you good.”
Eric sighs out, trying to keep his composure. “It’s alright. Thanks for telling them off.”
“Fucking LAX bros. I live for telling them off. Come on inside and I’ll help you clean up.”