WASHINGTON STATE SNAKES

Naitiri left the stadium among the first, tossing a quiet “See you tonight” over her shoulder – a farewell so faint it was unlikely anyone heard it. With a confident stride, she headed toward the Rolls-Royce waiting for her, where her personal driver stood by. “Miss Mecento,” Ray greeted with a nod, opening the car door. Naitiri paused, glancing at her driver. “If I ask you, yet again, to stop addressing me by my family name, you’ll ignore me, won’t you?” The two had been inseparable for five years now, and Ray never once addressed her informally – a habit that sometimes irritated her. “You know…” “The rules forbid it. Yes, yes, yes. I’ve heard it a thousand times,” Naitiri waved her hand dismissively and slid into the sleek black car. The door clicked shut behind her. The brown leather interior was immaculate as always. If anyone knew how many weapons were stashed in various hidden compartments, they’d think twice about calling the car “fine.” Ray settled into the driver’s seat, checked the rearview mirror to ensure all was well with his passenger, and pulled away, heading toward the dormitory. Naitiri wanted to drop off the rest of her belongings in her room first. Ray glanced at her every three minutes like clockwork – because “the rules.” Naitiri appreciated having Ray as her bodyguard. Over the years, he had become the friend she lacked. Despite being a grown man with a family and countless responsibilities, he always found time to be there when she needed him. He listened to her chatter, let her complain about her father, and never once betrayed her confidence to Mathias Mecento, even when she spoke critically about him. “How was your first meeting with the new team?” Ray asked. She smiled at him. “They’re… not like anyone I went to school with. Most of them are wild, headstrong, even aggressive at times. But I think that’s just surface-level. Their behavior is unfamiliar to me, but there’s something in them that I admire. Something I never had. Freedom.” Ray’s kind, understanding gaze met hers in the rearview mirror. He understood better than anyone what Naitiri had endured under her family’s watchful eye for so many years. “Have you found any potential friends yet?” Naitiri chuckled softly. “I think I’ve already made some enemies, but I hope tonight will smooth things over.” “There’s a party planned, I take it?” Ray raised a questioning eyebrow. “Yes, at the dorm. And I was thinking, once we arrive, you can carry the boxes to my room while I take my car and head to the store. Before you object, let me remind you that I’m well-versed in handling weapons and can take care of myself. Besides, we’re not in New York. I doubt anyone here would think of kidnapping a capo’s daughter,” she said, a note of desperation in her voice. She longed for some solitude before diving into the whirlwind of university life. “And don’t forget — you need to finish your move too. Your wife and little Tom must be waiting for you.” Ray had followed Naitiri to her new city. Finding a new bodyguard was an option, but neither of them wanted that. After five years, they were too used to each other. “And your apartment is just around the corner from the dorms,” she added. Ray considered her words in silence for a long moment. “Fine, but at the first sign of trouble, call me instead of reaching for your weapon. You’ll scare the students.” By then, the car had pulled up to the dormitory — a tall building on campus where the Snakes had been given the entire fifteenth floor. Naitiri liked how much the University of Washington respected its athletes. She stepped out of the car before Ray could open the door for her, catching his wounded look. “You know I don’t like that,” she said. “But– ” “Don’t start,” she interrupted, her eyes fixed on the building. Ray glanced at it too, dropping his objections. “Fifteenth floor, room 369. And don’t forget, you’re just the driver. Don’t spill the beans about your other position, or I’ll be bombarded with questions on day one,” she reminded him. “Insulting, Ms. Mecento,” Ray said theatrically, drawing a rare smile from her. “Didn’t even try to. All right, I’m off. Enjoy your time with your family,” Naitiri said sincerely. “And have fun at your party. Be careful,” Ray replied, heading to the trunk to retrieve her boxes. He stopped, turning back to her. “I’m glad you managed to get out of New York,” he said warmly. “So am I.” With the same confident stride, her heels clicking against the pavement, Naitiri headed to her car — a pristine white Range Rover parked near the dormitory. A luxury vehicle like that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows here. The University of Washington seemed to collect the gems of American society. Unlocking the car, Naitiri opened the trunk, pulled out a box, and quickly swapped her heels for white Dior sneakers. Settling into the driver’s seat, she exhaled in relief. At last, she was alone. Mecento hit the road with Harry Styles’Watermelon Sugarplaying on the stereo, her mood instantly lifted. In the store, Naitiri filled her cart with fine wines, ignoring the price tags. She added cheese and Swiss chocolate, smirking at the thought of whether her teammates would appreciate such refined treats. Probably not, but who knows? At the checkout, as the cashier scanned her items, Naitiri realized a glaring oversight. “May I see your ID?” the cashier asked. Damn it. Back in New York, she always shopped at places where her family’s reputation made IDs unnecessary. Here, things were different. “You know… I must’ve left it at home. Can we work something out?” Naitiri tried with an awkward smile, but the cashier’s stern gaze shot her down. “You think I'm a fool? No ID, no alcohol!” Flustered, Naitiri was about to call Ray for help when a familiar voice spoke up behind her. “Excuse me, I asked her to buy all this. Here’s my ID.” Turning, Naitiri saw a red-haired girl she’d nearly clashed with that morning. Now she looked fresher and far less intimidating, her green eyes warm and kind. The cashier eyed them both suspiciously but continued scanning the wine. Addams added a pack of Irish beer to the belt, and Mecento slid it with her purchases. “I’ll pay,” Naitiri offered. “I never doubted it,” Irida smirked. After paying for everything, they left the store carrying two full paper bags. “Thanks, you really saved me,” Naitiri said gratefully. “Don’t mention it. You’re lucky this is the only store nearby that sells my favorite beer,” Irida replied, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “But the coach said no smoking,” Naitiri said, surprised. Irida shot her a bemused look. “He also said no alcohol in the dorms. Yet here you are, hauling it back, aren’t you?” “Touche,” Naitiri admitted with a genuine smile, her first all day. Turning to the Redhead, who had already lit her cigarette and was leaning against the hood of her G-Wagon, she said, “Sorry about being rude this morning. It was uncalled for. You looked fine — it’s just that I sometimes have trouble holding back my sharp tongue.” Irida studied the new defender with interest, realizing Naitiri wasn’t just some dumb rich girl. She smiled widely, blowing out a puff of smoke. “Don’t worry about it. Did you see how I shoved Heart today? Nowthat’strouble holding back. Your comment about me looking homeless? Fair point. Probably smelled like it too.” As Irida laughed, Naitiri couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps the Redhead wasn’t as wild as she’d initially thought. Tossing the bags into her trunk, Naitiri got behind the wheel and headed back to the dorm.

***

An improvised bar was set up near the window, between Ice and Storm's rooms. Darcy was arranging the bottles, placing the stronger alcohol on the floor and leaving lighter drinks on the table to start the evening off. When the door to the block opened slightly, Darcy assumed it was Ice and Storm returning. However, a girl with large bags stepped in instead. Ah, right, the one who swore she wouldn't drink their booze and promised to bring her own. What was her name again? Naitiri? Darcy gave her a quick once-over. Who even dresses like that to attend a "dump" party? Isn't she a littletooclean? Taking in the surroundings, Naitiri stepped inside. The block was drastically different from her own: the walls were adorned with bright graffitis, and glowing LED strips lined the ceiling. Williams held out his hands for her bags, slightly surprising Naitiri. Without hesitation, she handed them over. “Thanks. There’s wine and some food,” she said, shaking off the lingering weight from carrying them. “Food?” Darcy repeated, not waiting for a reply, and nodded toward the bar, gesturing for her to follow. Darcy placed the bags on the white table beside the bar and peeked inside. As expected, one of them contained expensive alcohol. But why bring that here? Ice never bought a cheap booze, but this was on a whole nother level. Whatever. The rich have their quirks, Darcy decided. Looking into the second bag, he found cheese. His eyebrows shot up. “Cheese? Seriously?” he smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching. Naitiri frowned, clearly not understanding what was so odd. “What’s strange about that? Wine is usually paired with cheese or chocolate. Besides, once everyone gets tipsy enough, they won’t even notice what they’re eating. Cheese is no worse than chips — it just kills you slower.” Darcy ignored her lecture on cheese’s merits over chips. Clearly, they were from completely different worlds, making mutual understanding impossible. Not that Darcy ever had much patience for people like her. These brunch-loving, Pilates-on-weekends types irritated him to no end. He resumed pulling bottles out of the other bag, his eyes widening as he recognized a bottle of outrageously expensive French wine. At the restaurant where he used to work part-time, this kind of wine was kept under lock and ordered only on rare occasions. She’s completely out of her mind to bring this here, he thought. “A bit much for a party in adump, don’t you think?” he asked sarcastically, throwing her word back at her. “Pardon me,Your Highness, but we don’t have crystal glasses here. Château Margaux has never known plastic cups,” he quipped, setting the bottle aside and continuing to unpack. Naitiri held back her irritation. She’d already realized there was no point in expecting anything different from Williams, so she forced a strained smile. “Her Majestyhas glasses in her room, so don’t worry. But I think my favorite wine can survive a plastic cup. Don’t write me off as a spoiled fool,” she said, her eyes wide as she looked straight at Darcy. “Uh-huh,” he replied dryly. Not spoiled? Yeah, right, Darcy thought, continuing to unload the alcohol. Once finished, he folded the empty bag and stuffed it under the table, ignoring the food entirely. Leaning on the smooth surface with his hands, he squinted at her. “So, what’ll you start with?” Darcy asked, nodding toward the wine. Naitiri observed him with interest. His red hair was surprisingly fitting, and the tattoo on his right arm caught her eye. “I think Château Margaux is ready to leave the bottle after being mentioned so many times. Just don’t spike it with meth; I’d rather not pass out within the first half hour of your party,” she said seriously, not joking in the slightest. She had seen too many instances in her family’s clubs and casinos where drugs were slipped into girls’ drinks. The memory made her cringe. Darcy had already reached for the bottle but froze just inches from it. Her words made him frown, his expression twisting as if he’d just been punched in the stomach. Darcy snatched the bottle and placed it closer to himself. “Who the fuck do you think I am?” he asked, grabbing a corkscrew and twirling it between his fingers. Popping the cork, Darcy stepped behind the bar. Despite his earlier jab about plastic cups, he pulled out a glass one. He poured less than half and slid it toward the girl with two fingers. “Right now, you’re just the guy who poured me too little wine,” she remarked, taking a sip. Sure, that’s how wine was served, but seriously – who follows the rules in a dorm? “At this rate, you’ll have to refill often. We’re not in a restaurant. Fill it up, Darcy,” she said seriously, sliding the glass back to him. Naitiri knew this wine well, having often drunk it at home. A few full glasses wouldn’t get her too drunk – unless she mixed it with something else. In that case, it would be troublesome. A drunk Naitiri was a chatty Naitiri, and the last thing she wanted was to spill anything she shouldn’t. Unpleasant memories resurfaced: a man lying on the marble floor of an apartment, his terrified, frozen eyes staring up, and a gun in her hand. Quickly grabbing the glass before Darcy could refill it, she took a few gulps and set it back down, hoping her face didn’t betray her thoughts. Her gaze fell on his tattoo. Dozens of eyes seemed to spread across his arm, flowing into one another. Darcy had gotten it after an incident that spiraled out of control. He and his friends had found themselves in a shootout they hadn’t even been involved in. That day could’ve been his last, but the tattoo symbolized not the shootout itself but the moment he’d been forced to shoot an innocent person. Then came juvie, followed by the eyes — dozens of them: judgment, hatred, disdain, and finally light. “Interesting tattoo. Does it mean something, or did you just get it randomly?” she asked. “Just random,” Darcy lied to avoid further questions. Naitiri sensed there was more to it but wasn’t in a position to press for answers. “Well, so it be,” she said, letting it go. Darcy poured her more wine this time, filling the glass past halfway, then loosely corked the bottle and set it aside. He picked up his half-finished beer and returned to what he’d been doing before. Soft electronic music from Storm’s playlist played through the speakers, providing a low-key backdrop. Taking a swig of beer, Darcy leaned over the table, propping himself up on his elbows as he scrolled through the playlist. "Can I ask you to play a song for me?" It seemed the Snakes weren't known for their punctuality, and the real fun would start later. For now, Naitiri could enjoy the relative quiet and her favorite wine. Darcy exhaled tiredly, pressing his lips together. Who even invited her here? And what was she about to request — Justin Bieber? "Depends on the request," Darcy replied curtly, glancing at her. "Settembre – Amandoti," Naitiri said, naming the song. The title sounded strange to Darcy, and the artist was unfamiliar. He typed it into the search bar, inevitably getting it wrong. After several attempts, he finally managed to input the correct combination of letters. The opening melody intrigued him; he was even surprised by the good choice. But the mood soured when the lyrics started. What the fuck? Darcy scrolled down the app page, hoping he’d clicked on the wrong song, but it was the same everywhere — it was now playing from the speakers. What evenisthis language? He squinted at the screen and Googled briefly to figure out that it was Italian. With a clearly skeptical look, he glanced at Naitiri as if to say,"Seriously?"In his mind, this is exactly what people who listened to this kind of music looked like. He prayed none of the Snakes would walk in now; he didn’t feel like explaining why he’d replaced their usual playlist with something likethis. "Thanks, I won't bother you with my presence anymore," Naitiri said quietly with a smile. She took her glass and wandered off to admire the graffiti on the walls. Lost in thought, she hummed the song softly under her breath. Her mind drifted to Italy, to a heated argument with her father who refused to let her roam the streets of Naples. That argument had been far more intense than even the sweltering weather there. Naitiri doubted she could ever fit into the Snakes’ group. But she wanted to change that feeling. Meanwhile, Darcy climbed onto the windowsill and lit a cigarette. At that moment, Storm and Ice returned to the room. The surprise on their faces was evident. Within seconds, they exchanged glances and broke into sly grins. "Cherry, been watching The Godfather again?" Ice called out loudly, raising his voice over the music. Storm burst out laughing and jumped on the joke. "So, what are you now? Don Darcy Corleone?" Darcy rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut it," he tried to wave them off. "No, no, you need a cigar instead of that cigarette," Ice teased, not letting up. The absurdity of the situation even got a chuckle out of Darcy. He mimicked that iconic scene from the movie. "Shove it up your ass, man," he laughed, taking another drag from his cigarette and washing the taste down with a sip of beer. Naitiri turned at the boys’ exclamations and cringed for what felt like the tenth time in ten minutes at yet another mention of The Godfather. Storm and Ice approached Darcy, swapping out their empty beer bottles for fresh ones from the box. "Cherry, there’s a lot we don’t know about you. What’s with the playlist edits?" Ice teased. "Oh, for fuck's sake. I wanted to listen to it, so I played it. It's almost over; I’ll switch it back," Darcy muttered. "No, no, no," Storm interjected. "This is my domain. You stick to the drinks." Darcy shrugged. He didn’t really feel like managing the music, especially if someone wasn’t happy with it. Storm was more assertive about these things and was better at brushing off requests. Havers flipped through his endless playlists, a sly grin spreading across his face. That smile usually meant nothing good. To everyone’s surprise, he queued up50 Cent – In Da Club. "Oh, so we’re havingrealmusic tonight?" Ice exclaimed in mock outrage. Storm, dancing slightly to the beat with his feet and shoulders, shook his head in refusal, his grin growing wider. At the other end of the block, a door opened. Cain and Amor stumbled into the room, instantly recognizing the familiar words and rhythm. Maniae started dancing lightly, smiling and singing along. After briefly greeting Naitiri, the guys headed to the bar, placing two packs of beer on the table and immediately grabbing a bottle each. Storm noticed Amor’s sharp-edged glasses in a red frame with the words“Kiss me”written on them in white marker and smirked, promising to steal them later. Cain and Amor dropped into beanbag chairs, clinked their bottle necks together, and Cain, catching Naitiri’s gaze, motioned with his eyes to the spot beside them. She had no choice but to join them; otherwise, this party threatened to go down as the dullest of her life. “Tell me you’re more talkative than those three. I feel like I’ve landed on another planet,” she said, and the feeling wasn’t far from the truth. Both guys glanced at the trio by the window, accidentally meeting Darcy’s eyes in the process. “They seem pretty talkative to me,” Amor replied, turning back to Naitiri and gesturing with his thumb at the guys, who were animatedly chatting among themselves. “We’re all from the same planet here. Nepo-babies, right?” “Except Storm and Darcy,” Cain corrected, having long since studied all the files on the Snakes team. “Why them?” Naitiri asked curiously. Cain ran his free fingers along the cold glass of his bottle, tapping it lightly as he pondered whether to share this with Naitiri. But looking at her, it wasn’t hard to guess that if she wanted to, she’d dig up the information herself. Cain shrugged. Amor, not wanting to hear unpleasant details from others’ lives again, tried to distract himself by watching the changing images from the projector. “Well, I don’t know everything, but Storm’s father is in prison on multiple charges. No one knows where Darcy’s father is, and his mother, before she died in a fire, was a hooker in some shady neighborhood in Chicago. What happened to him after her death, no one knows. But now he’s here.” Seeing the guys differently now, Naitiri glanced at the trio by the bar again, taking a big sip of her favorite drink. They were cheerfully discussing something. With each passing second, they seemed less like idiots, but time would tell. One thing Naitiri was certain of again: the human soul is a dark forest, and it’s not wise to delve in uninvited. “All right. Let’s not dig through someone else’s dirty laundry — it’s not polite. I have a question that’s bothering me much more. As far as I’ve heard, your parents are from France, right? Do you speak French well?” she asked Amor. He looked up, lifted his glasses, and winked at Naitiri, replying: “Yeah, they say I have a charming accent,” Amor purred in French and added, “I'm bilingual.” “And where are you from?” Cain asked. Naitiri decided to kill two birds with one stone. “My family is from Sicily, but unlike my brother and sister, I was born in New York,” the girl said in that disgusting French accent that had always been her weakness, and then added in Italian, ”I also know Italian very well.I'm like you, only Italian,” the girl smiled broadly at Amor. Amor’s mouth stretched into a smile as he tried to decipher what she had said. He took off his glasses and perched them atop his head. “Your family is from Sicily, but you were born in New York,” Amor said confidently. “The rest I didn’t catch.” Naitiri snapped her fingers in confirmation and turned her gaze to Cain, who didn’t understand any of it and alternated his gaze between them. “You’re American, right?” “I am. My family’s from America, but I have Swiss roots,” Cain answered. Naitiri smiled, and when Manor mentioned Switzerland, she nearly spilled her wine. “Yes, in eastern Sicily, there’s a town called Taormina where my family lived before moving to America. But I visit there often — or rather, I used to. I’m not sure how it’ll be now,” she said, briefly recalling Mount Etna and the Ionian Sea. “As for you, Cain, I’ve got a surprise. I doubt it’ll appeal to your Swiss roots, but there are a couple of bars of Swiss chocolate near Darcy,” she added, pointing with her finger toward the bar counter. Next through the door was Killian. Since the meeting, he still hadn’t returned to the dorm. As usual, he’d been sitting by Lake Barcroft, smoking and trying to reach his brother. Mike ignored every offer of help, responding only with impersonal emojis. Two years ago, Killian had sworn to get Mike out of Vegas. Another failed attempt had left him in a foul mood, stuck in an endless loop of thoughts about his brother. “Could you move out of the way?” came a familiar, annoyed voice from behind him. Morgan turned slowly to see Addams standing in the hallway, one hand on her hip and a beer in the other. She looked refreshed, apparently having caught up on sleep. Irida wore simple gray baggy jeans and a cropped black long-sleeve top. At the moment, only one of her tattoos was visible — the one that stretched along her ribs. Killian froze, just standing there and staring blankly at Irida. “Did you go deaf, Morgan? A line’s going to form behind you soon,” Irida snapped, clearly running out of patience. Blinking a couple of times, he silently walked over, swiped her beer, and headed deeper into the block. “Don’t start right away– ” Killian began, but it was too late. A cascade of fiery red hair rushed past him. “Stooooooorm!” Addams shouted as she ran up to Havers. “Let me put on a song.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Irida, not again,” Storm yelled back in the same tone. Irida tilted her head. “Yes again, Stormy. I’ll ask for one song you all won’t like, and then I’ll leave you alone until I’m drunk as a skunk. Promise,” she declared, placing a hand on her heart. “Okay, okay, bro. Five minutes, and I’ll queue it up. What do you want?” Storm sighed, blowing hair out of his face. “Thanks, bro,” Irida said, pausing to listen to the music currently playing. The choice was obvious. “Nelly Furtado –Say it Right,” she said with a wide grin, confident this time her pick wouldn’t be too bad. “Fire. That one’s on the house,” Storm said, adding the track to the queue. “Well, wait for me to bug you again,” Irida winked and went off to reclaim her beer from Killian. “Deal, Squirrel,” Storm saluted her before finishing the last of his beer in one go. “Redhead Tornado,” Morgan muttered under his breath as he headed toward the guys.

***

Meanwhile, the evening for the three guys in Block 306 took on a new color with the presence of two girls from 326th and conversations over good pizza. Together, they decided to head out to their initiation ceremony with the same group. The music next door was blasting, one track after another, but they kept chatting animatedly, paying no mind to the noise. Krenaria answered a few of Mala’s questions about the daily routine and shared brief details about their living arrangements since they were now roommates. Heart was seated between Nev and Mala, listening to Marco’s story. Her asymmetrical light denim skirt revealed a tanned leg, and her taupe-colored top showed off tattoos on her right arm – a lily and a snake that wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet. Her long hair was partially styled in a French braid. Even while having fun, Nev knew he wouldn’t stay in the neighboring block all night. In a couple of hours, sleep would overtake him, and he’d crash onto his mattress, sinking into its softness until the following afternoon. He was wearing a fitted black top with a small collar and sleeves that ended midway down his biceps, paired with simple black joggers. A braided leather bracelet adorned his wrist, a gift from his sister on his last birthday. Black ear gauges complemented his look. His hair was tied into a loose, low bun, which, by the end of the party, would likely be too messy to salvage. His white sneakers stood out against his otherwise dark ensemble. Tallon and Marco were lounging in bean bag chairs across from the girls. Marco had his legs resting on Tallon’s lap, wearing a mischievous grin as he recounted the time Tallon had attempted a few Spanish phrases to impress both Marco and his parents. "Perdón," Tallon said with an exaggeratedly sad expression. "I’ll never speak your hot ass language again!" He felt a bit embarrassed, but the awkwardness quickly passed, and his flushed cheeks returned to their normal hue. Marco threw his head back and laughed heartily. “You’re actually really good at it,” Marco reassured him after calming down. Leaning over, he gave Tallon a quick peck on the cheek. “What do your parents do, Marco?” Mala asked, pulling her legs up to her chest and hugging them. Marco resumed his previous position. “They’re winemakers,” he said easily, then suddenly remembered something. “Oh, right! We brought some wine from home. Remind me to grab it,” he said, pointing at Tallon. Tallon glanced at him and nodded. Nev shot them both a sly look. While he enjoyed good drinks, his preference leaned toward stronger ones. “No Kentucky whiskey this time?” Nev asked rhetorically, tilting his head. Tallon shrugged, laughing. He had treated the group to that more than once last year. “You haven’t even tried this one yet,” Tallon assured them, looking at each of them in turn. “Our own Dionysus, saving us from drought,” Nev teased, pressing his palms to his cheeks. Marco struck a mock pose, fingers under his chin, lips pouted, and eyelashes fluttering as if to say,Yes, that’s me. “I’d love to try it!” Mala exclaimed. Marco smiled at her, then suddenly remembered something else and waved his hands animatedly. “You should have seen what happened at the airport! My mom decided to sneak another bottle into our luggage without telling us. And guess what? We didn’t register it, so they wouldn’t let it through. In the end, we just drank it ourselves before the flight – two liters!” Marco said, gesturing wildly as he shared the story. Tallon’s eyebrows shot up at the mention. He hadn’t expected such antics from Mrs. Selveira. Listening to Marco recount the tale, Tallon threw his head back against the bean bag and burst into laughter. “You should’ve seen us during the flight,” Tallon added, raising his head. “You should’ve seen me when I picked you up from the airport!” Nev interjected. “We were already sober!” Tallon protested, throwing up his hands. The long flight had left them exhausted, and while the alcohol had initially hit hard, by the time they arrived in Washington, they were more tired than tipsy. “Yeah, sure,” Krenaria chuckled. Nev had sent her video messages from both the airport and the car. Tallon snorted at her, pulling Marco’s legs closer to him. “Not true! We were sleepy, not drunk,” Marco defended them. Mala quietly watched the group, listening to their playful banter, feeling grateful she’d managed to blend into such a close-knit circle of friends. The jingling of bracelets drew their attention as Tallon glanced at the face of his vintage watch. The time was nearing 10:30 PM. “All right, moths,” Tallon said, standing up. “Time to fly toward the bright lights of booze and dancing.” Marco waited for Tallon to walk ahead, then playfully slapped him on the ass before darting off to their room to fetch the wine. Tallon took a deep breath, turning back with a mischievous look, but Marco was already gone, retreating with the speed of a bullet. Laughing aloud, Tallon followed Nev, Krenaria, and Mala, who were already leading the way. Holding the bottles high above his head, Marco sprinted into the hallway, quickly catching up to the rest of the group. Tallon was dressed in a loose, cropped cream-colored shirt with a graphic blurred print and beige low-rise jeans. A red carabiner on the first belt loop held a chain that reached halfway down his thigh. Grinning, he tugged the door handle and swung it open for the others with a flourish. Together with Mala, Krenaria headed toward the makeshift bar, where she spotted Killian. “Hey, Vegas,” she saluted him with a smirk. Killian was quietly sipping whiskey, occasionally glancing toward Irida as the noise around them grew louder. “You’re late, Heart,” he muttered into his glass. His mood hadn’t lifted since his brother’s message. Neither alcohol nor the booming music seemed to help. “Princess not in the mood?” Krenaria asked, her tone devoid of mockery. She didn’t expect an answer – her question was more rhetorical – but his sour expression made her press her lips together. It was clear he wasn’t about to share his troubles. “The princess wishes to forget himself and drown in whiskey. Care to help?” Killian finally turned to her, shaking his glass in the air as if offering a toast. His expression remained distant. Without hesitation, Krenaria dragged a large bottle of gin to the counter and turned to Darcy. “A tribute,” she chuckled, leaning on the bar with both elbows. “Can you make me one of your signature strawberry daiquiris?” Darcy took the gin, scratched the back of his head, and surveyed the meticulously sorted bottles before him. With a nod, he spun a jigger in his fingers and asked Mala what she wanted while retrieving syrup and lemon juice. “Can you mix me a Cuba Libre?” Mala requested. Darcy raised an eyebrow at the unexpected order but merely hummed in acknowledgment and got to work. Killian hoped Krenaria wouldn’t pry further. She knew better than to expect meaningful answers from him, especially when it came to family — a sensitive subject for both of them. They avoided it whenever possible. As Killian mulled over his thoughts, a flash of red hair streaked past, its owner clearly having downed more than a few beers. Watching her, he couldn’t help but smirk. Krenaria followed his gaze, rolled her eyes, but remained silent. It was all over his face, yet how Irida herself remained oblivious was a mystery to everyone. Krenaria had no intention of intervening in their unspoken "marital games." Suddenly, Killian realized he was drinking too slowly. He asked Darcy for three shots of tequila, which were promptly lined up before him alongside salt and lime wedges. Mixing whiskey and tequila was undoubtedly a terrible idea, but Killian was determined to forget everything by morning. “It’s not exactly the college way to pace yourself at a party, right?” he quipped, glancing at Krenaria before downing the shots in quick succession, his face contorting. “If I start doing something stupid, make sure to record it for posterity,” he rasped. “You can count on me,” she grinned back. Killian stared at a single point, waiting for the buzz to hit. Finally, he uttered one sacred word: “Smoking.” “Go ahead, champ,” Krenaria said with a nod toward the window. Meanwhile, Nev noticed an open spot next to Amor, Cain, and Naitiri. Without hesitation, he made his way over and sat down. He seemed to have synced vibes with Amor tonight, both dressed in head-to-toe black, though Amor's platinum-white hair added a pop of brightness to his look. "Well, hello again, greenhorns," Nev teased with a sly grin, eyeing the group. Amor smirked at his arrival, lowering the red-framed sunglasses perched on his head to reveal the bold words scrawled in white marker:Kiss Me.Nev tilted his head, lips quirking at the corners. Without thinking, he took the gesture at face value. Gently placing a hand on Amor's neck, he leaned in, their lips brushing together briefly, his eyes staying open. Right on cue, the room exploded with the bass-heavy chorus of Katy Perry’s track. Across the room, Marco grabbed Tallon’s arm, practically squealing. Darcy, meanwhile, barely raised an eyebrow, his expression as neutral as ever. That is, until his gaze locked onto Ice, who was glaring daggers at the pair. Storm, catching sight of the scene, broke into a devilish grin. Stretching out his arm, he pointed directly at Amor. "THE GLASSES WORK!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the party noise. Amor simply shrugged and grinned back, moving the glasses back to his head. He glanced at Cain, who had frozen mid-conversation, hands suspended in the air as if his train of thought had been utterly derailed. Across the room, Mala and Krenaria both turned toward the commotion. Mala giggled, but the array of emotions flickering across Krenaria's face silenced her. She seemed on the verge of saying something but held her tongue, though her sharp glance at Nev didn’t go unnoticed. Mala exchanged a look with her, while Darcy, ever the picture of calm, remained unfazed. Eveline, who had just walked into the party, froze in her tracks, visibly stunned. She stood there for a few seconds, processing what she’d just witnessed. Her heart skipped a beat — whether out of annoyance or intrigue, she wasn’t sure. Without a word, she pivoted toward the bar, clearly in need of a drink. Nev, brushing off the room's reaction with a shrug, leaned back in his chair like nothing had happened. About five minutes later, Darcy finished mixing drinks and slid them across the bar to Mala and Krenaria. Mala raised her glass with a smile. "To new beginnings," she said cheerfully, clinking glasses with Heart. “To new beginnings,” Krenaria echoed, though her voice was more subdued. Then they turned attention to the room. Krenaria let her eyes drift over the familiar walls, covered in Tallon’s doodles and graffiti. Mala, on the other hand, soaked in every detail with wide-eyed curiosity. Arrea’s head popped into the doorway, and moments later, Corbin followed suit. Instead of staying with her, he veered toward the bar, joining Mala and Krenaria. Arrea, radiant in her green tank top, strutted past the beanbags, stopping near Storm, who looked more amused than anyone else in the room. "Did Coach give everyone a day off or something? What’s up with the freaked-out expressions?" Storm, busy selecting the next track on his laptop — a pulsing club remix — glanced up at her, beer bottle in hand. "Nev smooched Amor," he said with a laugh, nodding toward the corner of the room. The smug satisfaction in his tone was enough to make Arrea roll her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a reluctant smile. Without asking, she took the bottle from Storm’s hands and took a sip, her eyes briefly gliding from the captain to either the girl with pink hair, who almost seemed to deserve the title “Princess Bubblegum,” or to the wall adorned with graffiti. Storm gently touched her chin, tilting her face up to look into her eyes. From her dilated pupils, he could tell that Molly was already kicking in. The girl blinked innocently. Storm himself couldn’t drink alcohol that evening due to the pills he had taken, as mixing them with alcohol made him feel like a near corpse. He knew some of his acquaintances had no issue mixing opiates with alcohol, though. He released Arrea’s chin, still smiling. “How’s it feel?” he asked, turning his attention back to his laptop. Arrea smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Better than ever,” she immediately responded, a little louder than usual, so her voice could be heard over the music. Narrowing her eyes, Wong leaned a bit closer to the laptop. Well, no, that's no good. Arrea reached out with her fingers to skip to the next track. Storm slid his palm under hers and removed it, glancing at the girl. He seemed so serious that a guilty smile kept trying to creep onto her lips. Storm took the "cobra" from his pocket, clicking it threateningly near Arrea’s face. “Does Stormy want to make me a new piercing?” Arrea asked with a wide smile, lifting her head slightly and pressing her bottom lip against the stapler. Her fingers tried again to bypass Storm’s hand and reach the touchpad. He slightly loosened his grip so the anti-stapler could open its "mouth" wider. And, when Arrea’s lip was already between the two fangs, he gently squeezed, using his other hand to pull her fingers away from the laptop. Arrea didn’t tense up, but a small wave of goosebumps ran down her stomach. Even though her lip was clenched between the anti-stapler’s teeth, it stretched into a mischievous smile. “Don't you fucking have shit to do?” Darcy asked, having been watching them the whole time, as he mixed vodka with some juice in his glass. Storm released his grip and hid the “stapler” back in his pocket. “Later,” he said with a smile, returning to his laptop, where he started another remix. Arrea turned her attention to Darcy, who took a sip from his glass. “Cherry,” she began, narrowing her eyes, running her forked tongue along her bottom lip, tasting a phantom trace of metal. She didn’t continue. Now Arrea herself looked like a cobra. She ordered a Manhattan from him, swinging her leg to the new track. Despite the lack of orders, Darcy continued mixing and pouring drinks ahead of time based on requests that had already been made. He didn’t want to dedicate the whole evening to bartending, but what else would he be doing? He didn’t feel like socializing, and the people he could talk to were already standing nearby. The rest didn’t interest him. Darcy glanced once more at his teammates and felt nothing but emptiness. Nothing in them sparked any emotion, not even a trace, other than boredom. Ice fully shared Darcy's disinterest. However, one girl caught more attention than the others. Why had Mala teamed up with Krenaria? She even joined thefaggoty lagoon. Mala seemed like a friendly girl; Ice bet that she was one of those people who tried to see the good in everyone. Perhaps that’s what attracted people. Amor returned with drinks in his hands, handing one to Cain and keeping the other for himself. As he sat back down, Amor deliberately moved closer to Nev so that he could hear him even over the heavy bass of the music. “Hey, do you guys have a group chat?” he asked, pulling out his phone from the back pocket of his black jeans. Nev raised his eyes from the dimmed screen of his phone and looked closely at Amor, then at his device. “Interesting way to ask for my number,” Nev remarked, tilting his head slightly. He spoke loud enough for Amor to hear him over the music, but not so loudly that everyone around would overhear. Amor smirked only with one corner of his mouth, and twirled his phone in his hand, pressing it against his knee. His eyes never left Nev’s movements. “I don’t need your number. I already know where to find you if I want to see you,” Amor replied, not hiding his smile. “Alright, maniac, I’ll take note of that,” Nev replied, twisting Amor’s last name in an exaggeratedly serious but wary tone, narrowing his dark eyebrows. For a while, he stared at the blond guy’s face, meeting his light eyes, and after about twenty seconds, he couldn’t hold back anymore and smiled back at Amor, showing dimples on his cheeks. “Yeah, we have a chat. It’s usually pure chaos, but I doubt that will impress you,” he raised his eyebrows and continued. “I’ll need your number anyway, handsome. I can’t add you to the chat out of thin air.” Amor wasn’t sure he’d visit the chat often, as he always preferred face-to-face communication over messaging, and could disappear from the network for days. He could only be found on social media, but even there, direct messages rarely caught his attention. “Interesting way to ask for my number,” Amor repeated Nev’s words and extended his hand to add his number to the captain’s contacts. “Oh, don’t be impressed, I already know where to find you,” Nev winked and handed his phone to Amor. He watched as Amor typed on the screen. He entered his number and looked up at Nev, thinking of a name for his contact. After a moment’s thought, Amor saved himself under “My Lord Bosie” and returned the phone, hoping Nev would get the reference to the biography of Alfred Douglas, which was closely intertwined with Oscar Wilde's story. Bresset smiled, clearly amused by the reference Amor left. “Thank you,my lord,” Nev said, stressing the last two words with a smile that grew wider. In a couple of quick motions, he added Amor’s contact to the group chat. “You can add Cain, and we’ll bring the others in later,” he said, straightening his legs. “See you in a minute.” Irida was finishing her third bottle of Guinness, chatting with Naitiri, and occasionally glancing at the others around her. “So, your parents are lawyers, and you decided to follow in their footsteps?” Naitiri asked her. Though their first meeting didn’t go well, the two girls were now talking comfortably and trying to fix the awkwardness from the earlier meeting. Irida smiled sweetly as she remembered her parents. “Yeah. I know it seems like I was forced into it, but I’m really passionate about the idea of one day speaking in a courtroom,” the Redhead enthusiastically shared. Mecento pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “Mine is the opposite. Everyone in my family finished law school, so I didn’t have a choice. But... at least I didn’t stay in New York,” a barely noticeable smile flickered on the blonde’s lips. Irida laughed. “‘At least not in New York’? What’s wrong with the ‘Big Apple’? There’s a million opportunities, especially if you’ve got money. By the way, does your whole family work in the field?” The fact that everyone in the family had a law degree slightly confused the Redhead. It was strange, but at the same time, admirable. Almost like a family business. Naitiri took a sip of wine, finishing her second glass and thinking about her answer. The slight drunkenness was slowly settling in. “Yeah. They’re all lawyers,” she answered confidently, almost telling the truth. In reality, only Kristian, her older brother, was actually practicing law – mainly criminal law. Mostly to help the family cover up their crimes and get away with anything. Naitiri’s mother, Elena, was a “simple” housewife. It was hard to apply that word to the Mecento family, but that’s how it looked from the outside. In reality, besides law school, she also graduated in economics and managed the clan’s accounting, with Naitiri’s older sister Alessia helping her. This couldn’t really be called full-time work, as most of the tasks were done by trusted individuals, but still, the female side of the Mecento family played a role. Their main task was to stay close to the Capo, chin held high, and stay quiet. “Wow. That’s... interesting. Hey, mind if I step away for a second? Don’t leave, alright? You turned out to be a really pleasant person, Naitiri,” Irida said to Mecento as she headed toward the bar. Naitiri raised her glass in agreement. It was unlikely she’d get a chance to talk to anyone else. People were having fun around them. Irida was swaying to the music. Approaching Killian from behind, she gently placed her hand on his back. He flinched in surprise, turning his head toward the girl, meeting her green eyes. Since Morgan had arrived at the party, he had either been drinking here or smoking by the window, only managing to talk briefly with Krenaria. “Shit, Redhead. Fuck are you trying to scare me for?” Killian spat. His voice didn’t sound drunk. “How many drinks you’ve had? Planning to repeat my yesterday experience?” she asked, looking at the five empty tequila shot glasses. He must be completely smashed by now. And it wasn’t even midnight yet. “None of your damn business,” Killian replied, not even knowing why he was speaking so harshly to her. “Ugh, how prickly,” Addams said carelessly. Killian’s attitude didn’t bother her one bit. “Morgan, I’ve seen you like this maybe twice in a year. And it seems like our friendship gives me the right to worry about your well-being. But if you want to just sit here and glare at everyone, I won’t stop you,” she raised her hands, as if surrendering. Morgan. Friendship. If only this Redhead Tornado knew how much he didn’t want that friendship. “Let’s do it like this. I’m in a shit mood because of family stuff I don’t want to talk about. I’ll keep staring at everyone for a bit, but then I’ll pull myself together. Have fun, Rid. I’m fine,” Killian smiled weakly. It felt like Williams was pouring him water instead of tequila, because he hadn’t felt the carefree, drunken euphoria. Or maybe it was time to stop spending nights in bars, and his body would start processing alcohol properly again. Suddenly, two slim arms wrapped around his shoulders, hugging him. Pressing her cheek against Morgan’s cheek, Addams hung on the guy. “Tell me you know that I’m here to listen,” Irida said. Hugs had never been difficult for her. She liked supporting people who mattered to her. Morgan froze for a few seconds, then replied briefly: “I know.” He would bereallyembarrassed if a simple hug made his dick hard right now. But the girl's closeness made Morgan at least breathe faster. A few minutes later, when Nev returned to his seat, there were claps and a loud whistle from the bar. Everyone turned toward the sound. Storm had grabbed attention by turning down the music. “Let’s play truth or dare?” he asked loudly. Darcy got serious and glanced at his friend. He didn’t like the idea. He poured himself a shot of vodka and knocked it back in one go. Playing truth or dare with a sober head was almost a death sentence. Ice shared the same opinion, so he immediately grabbed an absinthe-based cocktail from the bar. Truth or dare usually ended either in great fun or a collapse, leading to a different game. What it would lead to today, Nev could only guess, but the fact that it would help them get to know each other better and integrate the newcomers into the group was undeniable. About five minutes later, everyone was seated. Storm suggested using an empty beer bottle for the game. It was time to decide who would spin first.