#where they map out a plan of every grocery store in Auradon from least to most convenient

[thebluestbluewords]

places where you shouldn’t be (where you could be anyway)

“This was a mistake.” Carlos says under his breath. “We’re gonna die here, right? This is where it ends.”

“Yeah,” Jay agrees, equally quietly. “Biggest mistake we’ve made in a while. Nice knowing you, but we’re not getting out of this one.” 

Their cart squeals as Evie navigates them smoothly around a turn. 

It’s fine. They’re all fine and great and surviving, thriving adults. 

Who totally know how to do grocery shopping. 

“Do we even have money for this?” 

Jay shrugs. “Dude. I don’t know. I didn’t even bring a wallet.” 

“What’s in your pockets?” 

Jay’s wearing a jacket with at least six hidden pockets. It’s one of the most honest, upstanding items of clothing he owns. “Nothing. Literally. It’s like, physically painful.” 

“Take some gum or something,” Carlos says, flicking a silver wrapper at Jay’s head. It falls on the floor. It’s a testament to the way that respectable Auradon adults seem to gloss over the VKs when they’re not actively shouting that nobody in the store even blinks an eye at them. “Nobody's gonna care about that. It’ll keep your hands busy if there’s something to fidget with, yeah?” 

“I can’t.” 

Carlos shoves the gum into his mouth. “Why the fuck not?” 

“Dude. We’re being good. I have to keep being good, or we’re gonna get shipped back and the girls would never forgive us. Do you want that on your conscience? Me being shipped back to the isle forever because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself in the fuckin’ grocery store?” 

“Nobody’s gonna care.” Carlos points out. He’s wearing a jacket that’s more rips than fabric, and the four of them are the only people in the store not wearing pastels. “The cameras only cover the door and the health food display. Stores like this bake a certain amount of loss into their profit margins. They don’t give a shit if we take some gum.” 

Jay shoves his hands in his pockets. There’s tiny little cheese rounds in the side cooler they’re walking past, and they would fit so neatly in his hand. 

He could fit like seven of them in his pocket without blinking.  “Nope. I’m not doing it.” 

“I’ll start moving my shit to your pockets.” Carlos says, chomping his gum so aggressively that one of the adults who’s pushing a cart in the opposite direction almost looks at them. “I’m gonna run out of space.” 

Jay twirls a bottle opening keychain around his finger before tossing it back on the shelf. “You wouldn’t.” 

“Mine’re gonna be full before we get halfway through. You’ve got a lot more space.” 

“Yeah,” Jay says, still casually, slouching so that they’re shoulder to shoulder. “Because I’m not fucking four feet tall, and I’m not wearing skinny jeans.” 

“You’re just jealous of my incredible calves.” Carlos says, shoulder-checking him towards the side of the aisle. The subsequent noise is a great cover for the transfer between their pockets,  not that they need it. They’re a polished ducking team, and the plastic-wrapped candy bars don’t even crinkle. 

Evie’s going to kill them both.