In one of the houses on the fraternity quad, it looked like it was vibrating with life.
Music pounded through the walls so loudly that Samudra Prabasena could feel the bass rumbling through his chest before he even arrived at the front door. The front lawn was already packed with clusters of people talking loudly over the deafening music, someone trying to light a cigarette while snickering, two girls arguing over whose responsibility it was to hold the camera for a group photo.
Sam stopped right on the sidewalk, adjusting the canvas messenger bag’s strap which was slung across his chest. The cuff of his hoodie was still smudged with paint stains.
“Okay,” he muttered quietly to himself. “Ten minutes.”
Unexpectedly, someone barrelled toward him and shouted his name.
He turned his head to the source of the noise just in time to find Nalendra Swasti crossing the lawn with his hand lifted up high in a lieu of greeting.
Or rather, Nala, as half the campus knows him.
Amid the chaotic blur of a Friday night party, he stood out. He was initially leaning against the doorframe, dark hair pushed back, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His gaze swept the room with practiced ease, his movements marked by a relaxed confidence, as if each step followed its own rhythm and he belonged nowhere else.
Several people greeted him as he passed, and someone called his name from the porch.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Campus celebrity,” he said when Nala stopped in front of him.
Nala snorted and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in a feigned annoyance. “I hate that you call me that.”
“You are literally the astrophysics department’s golden child.”
“That’s not a real title.”
“You’re on three research teams, and your face is on the department website.”
Nala sighed quietly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Please stop saying that.”
Sam grinned. “Pretty boy and genius. Must be exhausting.”
Nala nudged Sam’s shoulder and grinned as they moved past a group of people and entered the house. "Shut up, let's just get inside."
Inside, Sam stepped into exactly what he’d pictured: music pounding through the walls, rooms overflowing with bodies, and the stubborn scent of beer clinging to the battered wooden floors. People surged around him, laughter and shouts tangling together until every conversation became a single, pulsing noise. The air pressed close, thick with sweat and cheap cologne, while the lights stuttered in rhythm with the beat.
The living room glowed under dimmed lights and uneven LED strips, their colors wavering between blue and green. Freshmen flailed near the couch, their clumsy dancing making the cushions jump. By the staircase, two people huddled close, transforming the steps into a secretive alcove. Their whispers rose and fell in bursts, while empty bottles watched from the banister like a parade of trophies.
Sam threaded his way through the crowd, dodging a couple mid-argument by the kitchen door and avoiding stray elbows and sloshing drinks. He snagged two cups from the chaos of the counter—one tacky with cider—and passed one to Nala, who lingered just beyond the reach of a weaving conga line sliding past the fridge.
Nala accepted the cup without glancing at it, his eyes scanning above the crowd as if searching for something far beyond the party’s reach. The music and chaos barely seemed to register; his fingers idly traced patterns in the condensation on his cup.
Sam’s eyes followed Nala’s distant gaze, letting the party’s noise dissolve into a dull hum. Curiosity pulled at him, urging him to discover what had drawn Nala’s attention above the crowd.
Curious, Sam followed Nala's gaze to see what had caught his attention above.
“Please tell me you’re not looking at the ceiling.”
“There’s a skylight,” Nala replied.
Sam stared at him. “You’re at a party.”
Nala shrugged, sipping from his cup. “Habit.”
With a small shake of his head, Sam leaned against the counter, watching him.
“You know half the people here are probably looking at you right now.”
“Nala,” Sam said patiently, “you’re the campus pretty boy. You’re in astrophysics. People literally talk about you.”
Nala looked faintly horrified. “Why?”
“Because you look like you walked out of a magazine and then started solving equations,” Sam said.
Nala squinted at him. “You’re drunk.”
“Then you’re just dramatic.”
Sam grinned. “That too. Doesn't make any of it less true."
As the night progressed, the party grew more crowded and energetic. The living room became increasingly hot and loud, with people packed closely together. The floor vibrated with bass, voices fluctuated unpredictably, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and beer. Sam sensed the crowd’s energy intensifying, as if the entire house was anticipating a pivotal moment.
They drifted from room to room, squeezing between clusters of students, exchanging small talk with people they barely remembered from class. In the basement, someone’s off-key rendition of a pop song sent them into peals of laughter, the singer clutching a broom as a microphone. Upstairs, they slipped into the kitchen just in time to snatch greasy slices of pizza from a cardboard box, dodging a spilled drink that puddled on the linoleum. Every room felt like its own universe: some wild, some intimate, all humming with possibility.
At some point, they ended up outside on the back porch.
The cooler air outside provided relief from the heat indoors. Music continued to pulse through the walls, now muted and blending with the night's quiet. The porch carried faint scents of grass and cigarette smoke, and the boards creaked as they leaned against the railing. Here, the party’s chaos faded, replaced by calm breathing and the subtle sound of insects.
Nala leaned against the railing, exhaling quietly, eyes searching the sky as if for reassurance.
Sam nudged him with his shoulder.
“You cannot be serious.”
Nala glanced down. “What?”
“You found the stars again.”
“The stars are literally everywhere.”
Sam tilted his head back.
Out here, away from the main streetlights, the campus sky deepened to a richer darkness. Faint stars shimmered between slow-moving clouds.
“Okay,” Sam admitted, “that’s actually kind of nice.”
Nala’s expression softened, uncertainty flickering before a faint smile appeared. “I told you.”
Sam studied him for a moment.
The porch light highlighted Nala’s hair and the line of his jaw. A loud burst of laughter from inside briefly interrupted the quiet, reminding them of the ongoing party. As the noise faded, Sam noticed how Nala’s fingers tightened around the railing, his knuckles tense with thought.
“You’re going to end up at some observatory in the desert someday,” Sam said.
Nala glanced at him. “Probably.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll be broke in a studio apartment trying to convince people my paintings mean something.”
Nala offered a faint smile, his expression reflecting warmth.
“You’re stubborn enough to make it work.”
Sam snorted. “That’s not comforting.”
Nala bumped his shoulder lightly. “You’ll sell art.”
“Rich people who don’t understand it.”
Sam gasped. “That’s my target audience.”
Nala laughed softly, his gaze fixed on Sam. The sound carried a sense of tenderness between them.
The laughter hung in the air between them, soft and close.
Sam only noticed their closeness when Nala turned and their shoulders touched, the contact sending a jolt through him. The porch felt smaller, with all other sounds fading except for Nala’s breathing and the distant bass. Sam’s heart raced, and he wondered if Nala sensed the tension between them, as real as the cool air.
Neither of them moved away.
Inside, the music slowed, the bass now a gentle thrum.
Nala looked at him. Sam met his gaze.
“You know,” Sam said, voice lighter than he felt, “you being the campus star is kind of inconvenient.”
“Because now I have competition.”
Sam smiled slowly. “The sky.”
Nala stared at him for a second.
He laughed quietly, a faint blush rising as he struggled to hide his affection. The sound was soft and private, a moment shared between two people on the verge of something new. For a moment, Sam felt the world narrow to the space between them, filled with anticipation and hope.
Then Nala reached for Sam’s wrist, the gesture almost absentminded and surprising even to himself.
Sam looked down at the contact.
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
The music inside grew louder, its rhythm echoing on the porch and pressing against their quiet space. A sudden shout cut through the laughter, followed by the sharp clink of bottles, hinting that the party’s easy mood might soon break. Sam’s pulse quickened. Shadows lengthened, and the porch felt smaller, as if they stood on the edge of a decision. The world narrowed to this moment, the silence between them tense and electric. Sam imagined he could almost touch the tension, but he did not move.
And somehow the porch felt quieter than it should have, the hush between them amplified by the chaos just beyond the door. For an instant, the distance between noise and silence, between what might happen and what had already happened, felt impossibly thin.
“Come upstairs,” Nala said finally.
Nala rolled his eyes, but there was colour rising faintly along his cheekbones.
“You can keep talking if you want.”
Nala muttered something under his breath and tugged him toward the house.
Much later, the party had dissolved into silence. The hallway outside Nala’s door stood hushed, laughter and footsteps from earlier now only ghosts in the air. A single, abandoned cup drifted across the carpet, a forgotten relic of someone’s hasty exit. The bass that once shook the walls now pulsed softly, muffled by distance and closed doors.
Somewhere downstairs, music lingered, but the wild energy had melted into the gentle chaos of dawn. Streetlamp gold slipped through the blinds, painting shifting patterns over the faded posters on Nala’s walls. The air brimmed with exhaustion and the hush of new possibilities, as if time itself paused to let them breathe.
Sam lay on his back, eyes tracing the ceiling of Nala’s dorm room. His heart raced, caught between uncertainty and the thrill of what they’d just shared. Every small sound seemed magnified: the hush of sheets, Nala’s even breathing, the relentless tick of a cheap plastic clock.
His hoodie lay forgotten on the floor. One of Nala’s textbooks teetered off the edge of the desk. Sheets twisted around their legs, still warm from shared closeness. Clothes strewn about whispered of the earlier rush and hesitation. The air lingered with cologne, vanilla shampoo, and something unmistakably new between them.
Beside him, Nala shifted beneath the blankets. Their bare shoulders touched, sending a quiet spark through Sam that made him wonder if Nala felt it too. A fresh shyness lingered between them, woven with the gentle comfort of the night.
“You’re staring again,” Nala murmured sleepily.
Nala’s hair was a tousled halo, wild and impossibly endearing. His cheeks glowed faintly, lips still swollen, eyes half-lidded with the hazy afterglow. Sam couldn’t help but stare—Nala looked so heartbreakingly cute like this, sprawled in the soft light, that Sam wanted to devour him whole.
“Can’t blame me,” he said softly. “I’m looking at the brightest star in my vicinity.”
Nala groaned. “Please stop calling me that.”
Sam rolled onto his side. “Too late.”
Outside the window, the night sky unfurled in quiet over the campus. A gentle breeze rattled the glass, carrying the distant call of someone’s goodbye and the fresh scent of rain on asphalt. The campus, usually alive even after midnight, seemed to pause and listen.
And for once, neither of them wanted to look away.
