Even so, the space breathed a kind of comforting order: the soft hum of the server racks Nick insisted on keeping, the neon glow filtering through the windows, and the steam of coffee mingling with the metallic scent of late-night air.

Outside, the city pulsed in a language they no longer spoke.

That morning — or night, time inside no longer obeyed clocks — Elera walked into the office and froze at the door.

In the middle of the room stood a new desk — sleek and wide — with two curved high-end monitors, an articulated laptop mount, and an ergonomic chair that looked like it had been stolen from a spaceship.

The whole setup probably cost more than a year of rent in her old apartment.

She let out a low whistle.

— You’ve got to be kidding me, Nick… — she said, approaching slowly, as if the chair might bite — This thing probably costs a kidney on the black market.

Nick looked up from his tablet, wearing that blasé expression that barely hid amusement.

— Three, depending on the country.

Elera spun the chair lightly with a finger, impressed.

— Holy shit. — She looked at him — Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?

Nick gave a short laugh, typing something in the air before replying:

— I’m not rich. I just like comfort.

— Comfort is hot coffee and stable Wi-Fi, not a seven-thousand-dollar chair and a monitor that stares back at me.

— You say that now. Give it a week and you’ll want to marry that chair.

Elera tried not to laugh and failed miserably. She spun once more, sat down, tested the recline, and sighed in pure contentment.

— Okay, fine. I admit it. I’m never leaving this chair again.

Nick raised an eyebrow.

— Is that a compliment or a confession?

— A warning. — She spun again, childlike — Because if I disappear, it’s because I eloped with the chair to some South American island.

Nick finally laughed, a real laugh, the kind that changed the whole room when it happened.

Elera had noticed that early on, the way he smiled without showing his teeth, the brief seconds when his tired eyes came alive.

— Speaking of disappearing... I need money to disappear comfortably and safely, so... — she said, reclining and opening a terminal — when do I start getting paid?

— Was just about to bring that up. — He leaned back on the couch — You’ll be paid in crypto.

Elera stopped typing.

— Crypto?

— It’s safer. Harder to trace.

She chuckled, resting her chin on her hand.

— That’s exactly what someone laundering money would say.

Nick didn’t answer right away. The silence lasted just a second, but enough for her to glance up. He smirked, a cynical sort of pride flickering in his eyes.

— In a way… — he said finally — I am.

Elera looked at him, half-laughing, half-trying to figure out if he was joking.

He wasn’t.

— Okay. — She exhaled — I don’t want to know.

— Smart choice.

From upstairs, Noah watched.

The staircase leading to the upper floor was almost invisible in the dimness when the lights were off, but Elera had started to recognize his presence without seeing him — the weight of his gaze, the way the air seemed to thicken.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face half-lit by the blue reflection of the monitors.

She only noticed him when the reflection on the screen flickered — like an image glitching for a millisecond before stabilizing.

Elera pretended not to notice. Since she’d arrived, she had learned Noah kept his own hours — his own absences. He slept during the day — or what she thought was sleep — and when he was awake, the whole apartment seemed to adapt to him.

The lights dimmed.

The sounds quieted.

The world contracted until it fit inside his shadow.

She tried to ignore it, but a part of her stayed on alert whenever he was near.

It wasn’t fear. It was something else, an involuntary awareness, as if her body understood before her mind that there was something about him that defied reason.

She went back to typing, the click of the keys filling the air.

Nick watched her for a few seconds, a faint smile tugging at his lips, before returning to his tablet. There was something in her lightness he seemed to want to protect, as if he knew the world around them was about to swallow it whole.

— You’re going to spoil me, you know — she said — after this, every other place is going to feel like a basement with bad Wi-Fi.

Nick smiled without looking up.

— That’s the idea. I want you to feel safe enough to stay.

Elera peered over her monitor.

— Sometimes it feels more like a pretty prison than a home. But then I remember I hate going out and I hate people, so this is basically my personal paradise.

— It’s a safe home. — He paused — But you can leave anytime. Just adjust your smartwatch’s geolocation.

She leaned back, thoughtful.

— That’s the most high-tech way I’ve ever heard someone say, “You’re free, but I’m still watching you.”

Nick shrugged.

— Call it preventive paranoia.

She laughed again.

— Okay, preventive paranoia. Love the euphemism.

Noah descended the stairs slowly, almost soundless. Elera noticed him in the screen’s reflection before she heard him. He crossed the office without a word.

Nick returned to his work, and soon the sound of typing became an awkward attempt to fill the tension.

Noah passed through the room, vanishing down the hall as if the apartment had swallowed him whole.

Only after he was gone did Elera exhale realizing she’d been holding her breath and think that maybe she’d been right about the pretty prison, the locked doors, and how sometimes comfort was just another word for control.

But for now, she only smiled faintly and murmured to herself:

— Okay, preventive paranoia.

Then she went back to typing, while outside, the city pulsed in silence and Nick’s duplex remained the only place where she still felt invisible enough to dare to exist.

[────────── ✦ ─────────]

The night smelled of rain and iron.

Noah waited beneath the broken arch of a bridge, eyes fixed on the fog that swallowed the riverbank. The reflection of city lights trembled on the water like a slow, uneven breath. The wind carried the scent of earth and dried blood — a scent only a Gangrel could wear.

She already knew he would come.

The prince didn’t send messengers for this kind of task.

When Joakim wanted something forgotten, he sent Noah.

He heard her before he saw her — light steps, but with the weight of someone unafraid of the ground. The woman emerged from the shadows, her hair tangled and plastered to her dirty skin. Her eyes shimmered with a golden, feline gleam. She wore a torn coat, her body marked — some wounds fresh, others old, more beast than human.

— Sent the prince’s dog, did he? — she said with a grin that was almost a snarl — I thought he was too scared to get his hands dirty with pack blood.

— Penny, right? — he asked, voice calm, almost polite.

— Penny. The prince wants me in ashes. — She bared her short fangs — Sends the Camarilla’s errand boy to clean it up. How much do they pay you to sell your soul, Ventrue?

— My soul — he said — is irrelevant. The problem is your blood.

She frowned.

— And yours is better than mine, is that it?

He simply took a step forward, his long coat parting slightly to reveal the empty holster at his thigh. He didn’t need weapons for this. She caught the gesture and laughed.

— So that’s how it’s going to be… no mercy, no trial. — She lifted her chin, her pupils dilating until her eyes were almost black — That’s how the civilized kill their beasts.

— You broke two Traditions — said Noah, voice low, cold, trembling in a way even he didn’t notice — Embraced without permission. Then made another, and let her burn.

— I tried to teach her to run from the sun… — her voice cracked, fangs flashing as she clenched her jaw — But she was weak. Too weak for this curse. I won’t kneel for that.

Silence fell like a weight between them.

Noah drew a slow breath, a habit he no longer needed, but one that still reminded him he had once been human.

Then she attacked.

A blur of muscle and claws. The impact threw him against the concrete wall, cracking it. Her claws tore his coat, and black blood trickled down his collarbone. 

He countered with precision, grabbing her throat and driving her to the ground but she shifted. Her flesh rippled, her eyes glowed, and her skin grew a thin layer of coarse fur. A roar cut through the tunnel.

She hurled him aside as if he weighed nothing. Noah turned midair and landed silently. When she came again, he sidestepped — claws slicing air, striking concrete, sparking. He caught her wrist, twisted, and heard the sharp snap of bone.

The Gangrel girl didn’t scream. She laughed.

— You’re a beast too, aren’t you, hunter? — she growled — You just wear a prettier collar.

Noah’s eyes locked on hers. Penny lunged again with all the raw instinct of her clan. 

The ground trembled when she struck his chest. Noah stepped back half a pace, just enough, and countered. A blow to her midsection, right below the ribs. Another to her throat. Precise. Surgical.

She roared, spat dark blood, and came again. He waited, not with haste, but with calculation.

His style was different: no brutality, only authority. He fought like someone signing a death sentence.

Penny twisted, her claws shredding concrete, her body quivering with strain. Her eyes were pure fury and his, unflinching. Every time she advanced, he redirected her, broke a joint, stripped her of motion.

She was wild.

He was inevitable.

For an instant, she managed to grab his coat and slam him into the wall. Her claws tore through the fabric and into his shoulder, and then she sink her teeth on his flesh.

He didn’t cry out. He only looked at her — and in that look, she saw something unexpected: pity.

— Why do you fight if you’re already dead? — he asked.

— Because I can still smell the rain, damn you. And you, what do you feel?

She came for the last strike, all her strength driven by despair.

Noah intercepted with brutal precision, his forearm coiled around her neck, and he twisted hard. The crack of bone was sharp and final.

Her body stayed still for a second — eyes open, still defiant. Then she fell to her knees and collapsed, gaze lost to nothing.

Noah stood in silence. His hands still raised, steady. The rain began to fall harder, washing the blood away.

He knelt, closed her eyes with two fingers. An old gesture. Respectful.

He glanced around and picked up a fallen iron rod from the ground.

He drove it through the woman’s chest, the certainty he needed to ensure she would not rise again.

What had once been a body turned into a heap of ashes, as if the very act of piercing her heart had reduced the creature to something only fire could purify.

The rain hammered down when Noah pulled his phone from his pocket. 

The screen lit up: JOAKIM. He exhaled and answered.

— Is it done? — the prince’s calm, deep voice.

— It’s done. — Noah’s tone was short, exact.

— And the body?

— Gone. No witnesses. — He glanced at the river, where dark water carried what was left of her.

A pause, only the rain on the line.

— Good — said Joakim at last. — Balance demands sacrifice.

Noah looked down at his hand, blood mixing with rain as it ran between his fingers.

— Sometimes balance only demands silence.

A quiet sigh from the other end , almost a restrained laugh.

— I always knew you understood silence, Noah.

The line went dead.

Noah slipped the phone into his pocket and looked at the river one last time before turning back into the rain.

The downpour thickened, washing blood from his coat but not from his conscience. As he walked, the sound of water on concrete echoed like footsteps behind him, light, as if something still followed.

Maybe it was only the echo. Maybe it was her Beast, still waiting in the dark.

[────────── ✦ ─────────]

The rain wilted against the haven’s glass when the door creaked and he entered. Noah moved slowly, each step calculated as always,but this time the entire room seemed to hold its breath with him.

His coat was torn at the sleeves; the shirt beneath was ripped, dark stains drying into crusts. A jagged bite mark showed on his left shoulder, still wet. Claws had scored deep lines along his ribs, red as maps. Two bruised grooves marked his neck, his knuckles were swollen and blackened, skin split where he’d grabbed and broken. He breathed shallowly but didn’t falter.

Nick, in the corner, dropped his laptop and took two exaggerated steps forward. He approached slowly, wearing that crooked grin, like someone afraid to disturb the dead.

— Holy shit — he muttered — That hunt really did some damage.

Noah didn’t smile. He looked at Nick as though through smoke, dry, eyes heavy with fatigue. When he spoke, his voice was low, dragging, the kind that cut more for what it didn’t say.

— It was supposed to be clean. But she… — He paused. A short, bitter laugh — A fucking Gangrel. She knew she was going to die but wanted to leave her mark.

The words landed and stayed. There was anger there, but not the blind kind. The anger of someone who’d done his duty and found, along with it, a mirror, and in that mirror, something that hurt.

— Where’s your friend? — Noah growled, eyes flicking across the room. He didn’t want witnesses, least of all her.

— She’s asleep, thank God… — Nick murmured, then added — Man, you look like you went through a gang blender.

Noah looked at his knuckles, the torn skin. He clenched his fist briefly, then let it drop.

— She wanted to keep something of mine — he murmured, almost to himself — A mark, a story. Thought dying like that would make me another monster. Thought it would break me.

Nick felt the weight of it. He didn’t need Noah to say how much it gnawed at him, how every ounce of discipline that spilled blood came with a price.

Chapter 1

Sunday - 08:00 AM 

The sound of the constant downpour that was cascading from the sky did nothing to muffle the groan that was leaving your lips. Your arm completely lost in your huge bag trying to fish out the keys to the tattoo parlor. 

A strong gust of wind made your umbrella slip from your grip, tilting slightly exposing your freshly washed hair to the cold droplets. 

“Be damned the day I chose to become a tattoo artist” you muttered under your breath, your mind catapulting to your warm, cozy bed you had to leave at an ungodly hour. 

That sentence had been circulating your mind for 3 months, since you’ve been accepted as the apprentice at “Hidden Stories Tattoo Studio.”

The most gruelling 3 months of your life. Weekends, festivities and rest days ceased to exist the moment you signed your papers. 

At the moment your main tasks were linked to the maintenance of the parlor: sweeping and scrubbing the floors, setting up and breaking down stations for resident or senior artists, answering phone calls and running errands for everyone. 

That was all you did, 8 hours a day, 7 days a week. As tough as it sounded, you found your ways to have little happy moments in between the different chores. One of those was the fact that, most Sundays, artists came in very late, during the first afternoon hours, so that gave you a chance to have the shop to yourself, blast some music on the speakers and get started at your own pace. 

The studio greeted you still in the shadows, dim light filtering through the big windows it had. A strong scent of disinfectant hit your nose, mixing with the taste of your hot coffee you just bought from the shop across the street. 

“Well, first things first… music” you said to yourself. 

The first notes from Arctic Monkeys’s third album Humbug started playing, filling the room. “That’s better” you hummed satisfied with your choice. 

Too engrossed in your tasks, your perception of time slipped away from you. You were midway through setting up the very last station for the day when your stomach growled aggressively. Picking up your phone, you saw that it was almost 1 o’clock. 

Lunch time. 

Now, you’ve been so efficient today, that maybe you could take a few hours off just to go home, eat something warm and hearty, considering the weather, and then go back for the closing shift once the artists finished their work. Moreover, the very first appointment of the day was booked for 3:30, so that gave you plenty of time to just have some rest before picking your shift back up.  

Once the last few things on your to do list were finished, you made your way towards the door. 

Your hand was just getting to the handle, already tasting the warm soup you decided to prepare, when the heavy metal barged open. 

A damp gust of wind sprayed in your face making you stumble, colliding straight into a slim frame. 

Nick. 

Your friend was soaking wet. His dark hoodie was plastered on his shoulders, his long raven hair stuck to his face, droplets falling onto the clean floor tiles you just spent hours cleaning. 

Your expression turned into one that resembled a deer caught in the headlights. Nick’s icy gaze moved between your face, the duffle bag on one hand and the keys you were gripping on the other. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth, dry, stern. His jaw clenched. 

“I just finished prep” you stammered, your voice so little compared to his. “The first intake is at 3:30, I was going to grab some…” 

Nick’s expression was, for a lack of better word, mocking. “Oh” he scoffed “Silly me, I must’ve written the shop's opening hours wrong then” he pointed at the little sign stuck on the door. “The shop opens at 1. Whether there are clients or not. Whether there are artists or not. You don’t leave the parlor unattended. You should know better, Y/N.” 

Hot flushes crept up your neck, your cheeks burned turning into a crimson colour. 

He was right, I should've known better. After all, he has been my sponsor for this very spot. I couldn’t let him down, at least not during the very first months and because of a futile reason. 

Before you could say anything more, you caught movement behind Nick’s frame. A second boy stepped out of the rain. He was taller than Nick, sporting a beanie on his head. He promptly took it off, shaking his head, like a dog, to try and get rid of the excess water on his long hair. 

Well, you thought, there they go, my long hours of work, out the window.

“C’mon, Nick,” the boy chimed in while taking off his black jean jacket “Cut her some slack… Don’t you see she’s about to cry?” His gaze locked in yours, a clear smirk on his face. He clearly had caught the tailend of your lecture from Nick.  

The first few seconds were a bit confusing. That face looked familiar, he wasn’t a complete stranger. 

It was his tattoos on his hands that gave him away. You rolled your eyes, annoyance starting to bubble into your stomach. 

Your mind took you immediately back to that cramped, loud, sweaty living room. The heavy riffs of the guitar were shaking the tiny house, bouncing from wall to wall. 

You were pushed up against the wall near one of the windows, a paper cup in your hand filled with a weird concoction Nick made.

You were listening to one of the girls slurring about how much she hated her boyfriend for a reason that you still couldn’t understand. You were there just to get a bit of fresh air since the air was getting heavier and thicker. It must’ve felt like an invitation to talk.

Scanning the room to get a valid excuse to escape, you found Nicholas’ eyes looking right at you. 

Thank God! you thought. 

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you….” you screamed in that girl’s ear. She just nodded eagerly, lifting her cup as a sign of recognition. 

You didn’t even wait for that interaction to finish before beelining straight to your friend. 

“Didn’t you see I was in a very sticky situation?” you shouted hoping to be heard above the music. 

Nick smiled amused by your annoyance. “I thought you were having fun” he teased, bringing his mouth near your ear just to communicate better. “Seeing that tortured expression made me realize that you still haven’t suffered through enough party meltdowns to have a sufficient exit strategy.”  

You groaned 

“And as  the self - proclaimed almighty god of parties you should be the one to inflict punishments as you wish?” you shot back. 

He laughed loudly, clutching his stomach. 

“As your older friend it is my duty to make you experience the best AND the worst of parties” he said half paying attention to you. You saw his gaze flicking between your frame and something behind you. A grin spread on his face. 

“There you are,” Nick said, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving you the input to turn around “Noah, this is Y/N.” 

Noah had never been the party type. There was something about large crowds that made him feel a bit uneasy. He had a lot of friends, sure. And he was sociable enough. But that was in a context in which he was comfortable, rehearsing in someone’s garage, lounging in someone’s house. And not to mention - with people he knew. He couldn’t believe Nick had managed to drag him along to some random house party. He really wasn’t looking forward to being ”the weird guy” in the corner all evening. Noah didn’t know why, but he was no good with strangers. And with drunk strangers? Even worse. 

Nick really owes me for this one, Noah thought to himself, standing in a corner of the overcrowded living room with a drink in his hand. He wasn’t too sure what it was, he only knew that it burned like hell going down. Which he took as a good sign, it probably has a high alcohol content.

He took another sip and scanned the room. No one he knew. There were a bunch of people that looked vaguely familiar but no one that he had actually talked to before. Where even was Nick? Noah huffed to himself, already in a bad mood. 

Just as he was about to pull his phone out of his pocket he heard a familiar laugh. Following the sound, he ended up in the kitchen. Nick was talking to a girl he had never met before. So why was Nick talking to her like he’d known her forever? 

Nick looked up as Noah approached, giving him that signature grin that usually meant that he was about to volunteer Noah for something. 

”There you are,” Nick said. ”Noah, this is Y/N.” 

You turned around to face him. Cute, he thought. Not in a dramatic, earth-shattering kind of way. But… definitely cute. 

Noah extended a hand to you, which you took. He couldn’t avoid noticing how small your hand felt in his. He also noticed that you looked just as overwhelmed as he felt, like you too would like to be anywhere but in the middle of a house party. He got that. 

Before Noah had time to say anything, Nick continued. 

”She’s the new tattoo apprentice I was telling you about.”

The apprentice? Noah’s eyes flicked back over to you. He instinctively looked for tattoos. 

He could find one… two… three? Huh. That was it, as far as he could tell. 

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth before his brain had the chance to intervene. Later, he’d blame the alcohol. 

“So…” he said. “You’re becoming a tattoo artist with, what, three tattoos?”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

”Damn, maybe I should be the apprentice instead!” he blurted out with a bark of a laugh. 

And there it was. The exact moment he watched your smile falter. Fuck. That probably hadn’t come out the way he intended. 

“...Dude.” Nick groaned. 

“What?” 

“You can’t say that.” 

Noah frowned. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I’m standing right here…?” you piped up. 

“What? It was an observation!” Noah felt like he had to defend himself, even though he knew that he was more or less digging a deeper and deeper grave. 

“That’s a terrible observation,” Nick said. He turned to face you. “Ignore him. Sometimes I think that he thinks that social skills are optional.” 

“They’re overrated,” Noah shrugged. 

That's when a familiar voice called his name. Noah looked up to see Folio waving to him from the living room, already holding two shot glasses and looking far too excited about whatever terrible idea that had just crossed his mind. 

Noah turned back to face you. 

“Hold that thought, sunshine…” he said before walking off. 

“Who the fuck was that?” you exclaimed, whipping your head towards your friend. 

To be fair, Nick looked pretty mortified; his shoulders were slumped, a hand nervously passing through his hair. 

He looked at you quizzically for a moment before you clarified “I got that his name was Noah, Nick, I’m not that dumb” your friend snickered. 

“Who is he in relation to you… you dumbass” 

Without missing a beat he deadpanned “he’s the singer of the band I told you about.” 

Oh. 

“To be fair, he does give off that energy” you mumbled more to yourself. 

“And that’d be?” Nick immediately asked. 

“Prick… prick energy” you stated coldly while looking at Noah making his way towards a couple of already rowdy boys. 

Noah made his way over to Folio, just to discover that he had brought Davis with him. 

“Davis!” Noah exclaimed. “My dude!” 

“I see Nick is talking to some girl.” Folio stated. 

“So?” Davis asked. 

Noah snorted. “So we’re leaving him the fuck alone,” he said. 

Davis and Folio exchanged a look before shrugging. Folio then proceeded to grab Noah by the sleeve, pulling him through the living room. 

“Where are we going?” 

“You’ll see.” 

Five minutes later they were sitting on the roof of the garage, legs dangling over the edge with two six-packs and a bottle of vodka between them. Unbeknownst to them they were stranded up there, since Folio had accidentally knocked the ladder down without noticing. 

“Where did you find a ladder, anyway? Noah asked. 

Folio grinned. 

“Borrowed it.” 

“This is incredibly stupid,” Noah muttered, taking another sip straight from the bottle. 

“Yeah,” Davis agreed. “Pretty cool though.” 

“And we're definitely gonna get caught,” added Noah. 

“Only if we fall first,” Folio said, reaching for the bottle that Noah was holding. 

Below them, house music spilled out through the open windows while people spilled in and out of the backyard. The evening air was warm around them as the sun dipped lower over an endless stretch of rooftops, painting the suburb in soft golden hues. For a while, none of them said anything. 

“Do you ever think about it?” Folio asked eventually. 

“About what?” 

“The band.” 

Noah looked out over the neighborhood. 

“All the time.” 

“You think we’re gonna make it?” 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Noah's mouth. He took a sip from the bottle that Davis held out to him. 

“We have to.” 

Davis laughed. “That’s not really an answer.” 

“No,” Noah shrugged. “It isn’t”. 

Another silence settled between them. 

“Imagine…” Folio said, gesturing vaguely towards the horizon. “A couple of years from now…” 

“We’re touring,” Noah stated matter-of-factly.  

“We’re broke.” 

“Yeah… but we’re broke in Europe.” 

“You guys are just gonna leave me here to go to Europe?” Davis asked. 

“No way!” Folio exclaimed. “We’re gonna need a merch guy.” 

“I’d sleep on venue floors, if that’s what it takes. We have to make it. We just… we have to,” Noah said. 

For a while, they just sat there. The bottle of vodka got passed around between beers. The music from the party was the only sound, apart from the occasional burst of laughter from the party below. None of them really felt a need to fill the silence as they watched the sun set. It wasn’t awkward. Just… comfortable. 

Folio lay back against the warm shingles of the roof, tucking both hands behind his head. Davis absentmindedly peeled the label of the bottle of vodka. Noah was contemplating the neighborhood that stretched out beneath him, rows of quiet houses glowing in the last light of the day. He took a sip of his beer, and then another. You suddenly popped into his head, the way your smile had vanished after his stupid comment. 

“I think I screwed that up,” he said, breaking the silence. 

“Huh?” 

“The girl Nick was talking to. The new tattoo apprentice.” 

“How?” Davis asked. 

“I said she didn’t have enough tattoos to go into tattooing…” 

“Yikes.” Folio whistled. 

“...And that maybe I should instead.” 

Davis gave him a look. 

“I wasn’t even trying to be a dick.” 

Folio dunked Noah in the back. “You just come that way naturally.” 

They all laughed at that. 

“I should probably apologise."

“Yeah…” Davis sighed. “You probably won’t though.” 

“I will! I totally will… after another drink.” 

After a while, and many drinks later, they decided to climb down. Noah was set on giving you an apology. They all got up, albeit a bit clumsier than usual, and Folio peered over the edge. 

“Uh…” 

“What?” 

“The ladder”. 

“What about it?” Davis asked. 

“It’s not there anymore,” Folio stated. 

There was a silence before all three of them leaned forward. Sure enough… no ladder. There was another silence before they burst out laughing. They stood hunched over, hands over their stomachs, tears streaming down their faces from laughing so hard. 

“Oh we’re so screwed,” Davis chuckled. 

Noah walked to the edge, looked down, and shrugged. 

“I can make that,” he stated. 

Folio blinked. “...No.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re also drunk.” 

“I’m tall.” 

“Two completely unrelated facts.” 

“Hm… no,” Noah said. “They’re very much working together.” 

Before either Folio or Davis could stop him, Noah had lowered himself over the edge of the rooftop, hanging with straight arms for a second before letting go. To his own surprise, he landed on both feet. For approximately half a second. Then his feet slipped out from under him. 

“Shit—” 

Noah hit the ground on his ass with a thud. There was a moment of silence before an explosion of laughter erupted above him. Folio was doubled over, clutching his knees for support. Davis had one hand over his face, laughing so hard he almost followed Noah down the roof. Noah looked up at them, still sitting on the ground. 

“You guys suck, you know that?” 

Neither of them could get a word out. Noah got up and brushed the dirt off his jeans and looked around. He spotted the ladder laying halfway over a bush. 

“You know what?” Noah said. “Figure it out yourselves.” 

“Noah!” Folio called out between hits of laughter. “Please!” 

Noah took a few steps over to the ladder. He picked it up and walked away, leaving Folio and Davis stranded. 

“Asshole!” Davis yelled. 

Noah didn't even look back, he just raised a hand over his shoulder and gave both of them the finger before disappearing around the corner. 

The kitchen had somehow gotten even louder.

People squeezed past each other with half-empty cups in their hands, someone was arguing over the music, another guy was trying, and failing, to flip a bottle onto the counter.

Noah spotted you leaning against the kitchen counter, still holding a bottle of cider. Nick must’ve disappeared somewhere because he was nowhere to be seen. 

There she is. Okay. Just apologize. You’ve done it before, Noah. It’s not that hard.

He took a breath and walked over.

“Hey.”

You looked up. You looked at him with an expression somewhere between confusion and mild disappointment.

“Oh.”

Not exactly an enthusiastic response. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“So…”

There was an awkward silence. 

“I’m pretty sure I got off on the wrong foot earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“You think?”

“…Yeah.”

There was another awkward silence. You looked anywhere but at him. Noah swayed a little on the spot. Shit, he might actually be too drunk. Now say you’re sorry Noah. He opened his mouth and… his eyes drifted to the bottle in your hand.

“…You’re still drinking cider?”

You glanced down at the bottle in your hand. 

“I got another one.”

“…Right.”

Another awkward silence. His brain was screaming at him to apologize. Alas, Noah’s mouth had other plans.

“You know…”

He held up the shot glass in his hand.

“I could fix that.”

“…Fix what?”

“The cider situation.”

“There isn’t a cider situation.”

“There is very much a cider situation.”

You raised an eyebrow, staring at him for a long second. Not necessarily annoyed, not amused. Just… unimpressed.

“…Are you asking me to take a shot?” you asked. 

“I think I am.”

You stared at him for a second.

“I thought you were about to apologize.”

Noah didn’t quite know what to say. 

“I was.”

“And then?”

“…I got distracted.”

“…By my cider?”

“…Maybe.”

There was another silence in which you just looked at him and he looked at you. Noah smiled at you, really trying to convey some kind of apology with his eyes. Because of the ridiculous amount of alcohol in his system however, this wasn’t a success. 

“You really don’t want one?” Noah asked, holding up the shot glass.

You shook your head, amused despite yourself.

“I’m good.”

“C’mon.”

“No.”

“Just one.”

“I said no.”

He let out the most dramatic sigh before throwing an arm loosely around your shoulders.

“Pleeeeease.”

You looked up at him. His bottom lip protruded a bit, his brown eyes pleading. 

“…Are you pouting?”

“I’m negotiating.”

“This is not negotiating.”

“It absolutely is.”

“Noah.”

“What?”

“You’ve known me for, like, twenty minutes.”

“So?”

“So why are you acting like we’re best friends?”

He blinked.

“…Because I want you to take a shot with me?”

“You are unbelievable,” you said as you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve been told,” Noah said, pouring both of you a shot. ”So now darling, please.” He handed you one of the glasses. ”Take a shot with me.” 

From somewhere across the room Nick looked over, immediately spotting Noah with his arm around you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Folio, who had managed to get down from the roof with Nick’s help, followed his gaze.

“…Is he cuddling the apprentice?”

“I think he’s trying to apologize.”

“By annoying her?”

Nick sighed.

“That’s exactly what he’s doing.”

“Did they ever tell you that you’re a horrible listener, also?” You could smell alcohol reeking through his breath. 

“Actually darling” he gripped your shoulder even more “they said that I am a fucking good listener.” Using you as a sort of support, he swished his arm as indicating the whole room, resulting in dropping every last ounce of the liquid on the floor. 

Annoyance was too bland of a word to describe what was boiling in your stomach. Anger shot up through your stomach invading your senses. You quite literally were seeing red.

“I think that’s enough socializing for the night” you yelled, abruptly shaking off his arm, causing Noah to slightly lose his balance. 

Without staying there a second more, you took off towards the exit, not even bothering saying goodbye to Nick. 

Your first impression was right. He was an absolute prick.