At least that’s what I think it is. Outrageously obscure. Girls Frontline is crossing over with Railway Girl Project so her design borrows from CRH380A. The historical rifle was manufactured from railway iron.
Kent’s had the Stanley Cup held over his head for nearly 30 minutes now, and he doesn’t want to admit that his arms are really sore. The day’s been a haze of adrenaline, not even 72 hours after the the final and he’s still buzzing on the thrill of winning, amplified by the crowd lining the Las Vegas streets, cheering. Black and red confetti falls from a parking garage, and from his spot on the back of his Ferrari, bits of it stick in his hair, catch to his jersey. His mom and sister are in the back with him, properly seated on the seats and waving meekly to the crowd, and Bitty’s up front, driving. He can’t stop smiling.
“Hey, Bits,” Kent calls, his voice barely carrying over the sounds of the victory parade. “Slow up a sec.”
He barely gives Bitty enough time to tap the breaks before he’s shuffling past his mom and jumping off the side of the car. Troy and his family are in the truck ahead, so Kent runs up to them and passes the cup off to his alternate captain. They share grins, Troy’s face red from the sun and beaming, and Kent reaches up to slap him on the shoulder before heading to the barricades to see the fans. He bounces between each side of the street like a pinball, signing hats and taking selfies. If he could stay longer and chat with everyone, he would, but one of the police guards keeps shooing him along.
It’s the need for water that has him running back to his car, and Bitty’s driving slow enough that he can vault over the door and into the passenger seat, earning himself a chorus of “watch yourself!” from everyone inside.
“Having fun out there?” Bitty asks, smile tugging at his lips. He’s still trying to be disappointed that the first time Kent’s let him drive the Ferrari is in the slow moving parade, but Kent can see how much he’s enjoying being out here. Kent grabs a bottle hiding in the shade under the dash, just barely cold.
“It’s fucking amazing, babe.” He looks out at the crowd again, waving, then backwards to where more of his teammates are in their own cars, laughing. Winning this cup feels just as good as the first, and the one after that. It’s heaven. “I didn’t think I could ever be this happy.”
“I did,” Bitty says, quiet enough Kent almost doesn’t hear it. When Kent feels the urge to lean across the console and kiss him, he doesn’t stem it. It’s not much of a kiss, with Bitty facing the road again, but he plants his lips on Bitty’s cheek with a loud smack. Instead of pulling back and playing it off for a laugh, Kent keeps his forehead resting on Bitty’s temple, smells the synthetic coconut of Bitty’s sunscreen. He peppers a few more kisses across his cheekbone, down his jawline, before finally pulling back. Bitty’s even redder now, his fingers clutching tight at the steering wheel like he could float away.
i feel so much bitterness in my heart towards all the people who i told to watch the get down and who told me they had lots of tv to catch up on and that they’d “get around to it” like honestly i blame y'all but i’m trying to be chill about it it’s whatever nbd not like netflix’s best original tv show or anything cool cool cool cool cool cool cool no doubt no doubt