Pierre duPont - Fatty

[ Blackstone Manor - Brandon's Room ]

Steam billowed around Brandon as he stepped out of the shower, water droplets tracing the contours of his chiseled torso. The mirror, fogged from the heat, offered a blurred reflection of his new, unfamiliar body.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed another to dry his hair.

As he sat down at the dresser, his eyes caught a glint of gold. A phone, its case a solid slab of the precious metal, lay forgotten on the side.

'This must be my phone,' he mused.

'The kid must have left it behind when he ran off to play rebel without a cause.'

He plugged it in, watching as the screen lit up with life.

The moment it powered on, a cacophony of dings filled the room.

* Ding... *

* Ding... *

* Ding... *

Notifications flooded the screen: [99+ Messages Unread]

Brandon chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair.

"Heh, loads of catching up to do."

Just then, a new notification popped up.

 [ Fatty ] Calling ... 

The name triggered a flood of memories, not his own, yet vivid as day.

Fatty. Pierre du Pont. One of his childhood friends. Images of a chubby, well-dressed boy flashed through his mind. Laughter echoed in his ears, remnants of shared jokes and secret handshakes.

Brandon's lips curled into a smile as he swiped to answer the video call.

" YOU INCONSIDERATE BASTARD!!! "

Pierre's face filled the screen, his cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and relief.

"A whole year, B! A YEAR without a word! Do you have any idea—"

His voice cracked, betraying the depth of his concern.

Brandon winced, holding the phone at arm's length.

"Whoa, easy there, Fatty."

Pierre's expression softened, his brow furrowing with concern.

"A-Are you alright, B? What happened?"

"Had a bit of an accident," Brandon shrugged, his face a mask of nonchalance.

"But I'm okay now."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.

Pierre's eyes darted across the screen, studying Brandon's face.

"We'll talk more when we meet," Pierre said finally, his chin lifting.

"There's a private auction on my yacht this afternoon. Most of the gang will be there."

His lip curled slightly.

"Some new-money, too."

Brandon nodded, catching the flash of disdain in Pierre's eyes.

"Sounds good. I'll be there."

"No, no," Pierre waved his hand dismissively.

"We're meeting now. Come to my car dealership."

Brandon opened his mouth to protest, but Pierre cut him off.

"I won't take no for an answer, B. See you in thirty."

The call ended abruptly, leaving Brandon staring at his reflection in the black screen.

Brandon stood up, ready to get changed for his impromptu meeting with Pierre. Just as he reached for a shirt, the door burst open.

*THUD!*

The door flew open with a bang, revealing Bailey, her silver hair disheveled and eyes wild with excitement.

"B!" she exclaimed, practically vibrating with energy.

"You've broken the internet! That balcony performance—it's gone viral!

She waved her phone frantically, nearly dropping it in her enthusiasm.

"My twitter page is blowing up! Everyone's talking about your—"

Her words cut off abruptly as Brandon's towel, loosened by his sudden movement, slipped to the floor.

Time seemed to slow. Bailey's eyes dropped, widened, then snapped back up to Brandon's face. Her cheeks blazed crimson, the color spreading to the tips of her ears.

"I... uh... I..." she stammered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Brandon stood frozen, mortification etched across his features.

"NGAHHHH~!"

Bailey let out a piercing shriek and bolted from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Left alone, Brandon looked up at the ceiling, letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

"Really?" he muttered to no one in particular.

"The embarrassing moments just won't stop huh? What's next, universe?"

He shook his head, chuckling despite himself at the absurdity of it all as he made his way to get dressed.

'Wait, did she say twitter? Guess Elon hasn't bought it yet... Who knows if he even exists here'

Brandon's mind wandered as he stepped into the walk-in closet, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

One wall was a monochrome army of identical black and white T-shirts, standing at attention. Opposite, a regimented line-up of formal suits in fifty shades of corporate boredom - greys and navies as far as the eye could see.

He ran his hand along the plain fabric, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Seriously? Did this kid live in a black and white movie?"

His fingers brushed past a Gucci logo, and he whistled low.

"Damn, at least he had expensive taste. But all this money and not an ounce of style?"

Brandon pulled out a crisp white shirt, holding it up to his chest.

"Wells, I guess simplicity never shouts? Or makes a sound... Sigh..."

He tossed the shirt back and moved to the suits, flipping through them with growing exasperation.

"Armani, Tom Ford, Brioni..."

Sighing, he leaned against the wall, surveying the monochromatic wasteland before him.

"Welp, looks like we've got some serious shopping to do. Can't be a superstar dressed like Mark Zuckerberg."

Brandon slipped on a plain white T-shirt and jeans, then laced up a pair of white Air Force Ones. He made his way to Bailey's room, thankful it was right next to his. The last thing he needed was another trek through the mansion's labyrinth.

He knocked on the door, his knuckles barely grazing the wood when Bailey's voice called out, "Come in."

The door swung open, and Brandon stepped into what felt like the bridge of a sci-fi spaceship. His jaw went slack as he took in the sight: a command center of technology dominated the room, six giant monitors fused into a seamless array of flickering data and pulsing lights.

"Holy sh—" he began, but Bailey's stutter snapped him back to reality.

"I-Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice small.

Brandon turned to find her perched on a plush leather computer chair, cheeks still flushed. She avoided his gaze, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

"Uh, yeah," Brandon said, clearing his throat.

"I'm meeting Pierre at his car dealership. Just... not sure how to get there."

Bailey's brow furrowed with concern.

"Your memory loss... is it that bad?"

Before Brandon could respond, she pressed a button on her desk and spoke into an intercom.

"Arthur, B needs a ride to Pierre's dealership."

Arthur's voice crackled through the speaker,

"The car will be out in the lobby in two minutes."

"Thanks, and I'm doing fine… I think…" Brandon said, unsure himself.

Bailey nodded them swiveled her chair back towards her impressive array of computer screens.

One monitor displayed her social media page, flooded with notifications and comments about Brandon's impromptu performance. The remaining screens were a maze of code, lines upon lines of green text scrolling endlessly.

She seemed to have forgotten Brandon's presence entirely, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she immersed herself in her digital world.

Brandon stood awkwardly in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He cleared his throat.

"Uhh..." he called out, his voice tinged with awkwardness.

Bailey spun around, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before rolling dramatically.

She let out a small sigh, pushed herself up from her chair, and crossed the room in a few quick strides.

Without a word, she grabbed Brandon's hand, her small fingers wrapping around his.

The sudden contact sent a jolt through him, but before he could react, Bailey was already pulling him out of the room and down the hallway.

As they walked, Bailey's voice broke the silence.

"I'll give you a house tour as soon as you get back," she said, her tone a mix of exasperation and fondness.

"Can't have you getting lost in your own home again, can we?"