In front of the bedroom mirror, I adjusted the final details before heading out. The shirt was already in place, my hair acceptably arranged—nothing perfect, but good enough—and that strange feeling in my chest stubbornly refused to go away. There were about thirty minutes left before meeting Nathan, and then we would go together to the party Olivia had invited me to. It wasn't exactly anxiety, but it wasn't indifference either. It was something in between, an uncomfortable expectation, as if that night carried a weight I still couldn't define.
I put on my usual cologne, the one I've worn since high school. It wasn't sophisticated or flashy, but it suited me. A familiar, safe scent. I took a deep breath, stared at my reflection for a few more seconds, and then turned away, ready to leave. I went downstairs with calm steps, trying to look more confident than I actually felt.
As almost always, Bianca was in the living room, sitting on the couch, completely absorbed in her phone. Her fingers moved quickly across the screen, and her face showed that neutral expression she wore when pretending that nothing around her mattered. I never understood why she preferred staying there instead of in her room. The living room seemed to be her territory, as if it were an observation point of the world—or maybe of me.
"Bianca, I'm heading out," I said, as I had done since we were teenagers.
Even with the strange atmosphere between us over the past few days, I still kept that habit. Letting her know when I was leaving, letting her know when I was coming back. It was automatic. Something that had been part of our routine since childhood, when our home was still… different. Cutting certain habits was harder than it seemed.
She looked away from her phone and stared at me. For a moment, I thought she wouldn't answer, that she would simply return her attention to the screen. But that wasn't what happened.
"Where are you going?" she asked, with a curious tone that caught me off guard.
"I was invited to a party. A friend invited me," I replied simply.
I avoided mentioning Olivia. Not for any specific rational reason, but because something inside me said it wouldn't be a good idea. Bianca didn't say anything else, but her look changed. It wasn't obvious or dramatic, but there was discomfort there, a hint of displeasure she didn't bother to hide completely.
That made me think. Bianca was changing. Not abruptly, but slowly, almost imperceptibly. Maybe the night we had shared had been the trigger. Maybe other small situations piling up. The problem was that Bianca never talked. Never explained herself. And without words, all I had were assumptions.
Without dragging the moment out any longer, I left the house.
I had arranged to meet Nathan downtown. From my place to there was about a twenty-minute walk. Normally, I would've gone by car, but mine was still at Vanessa's house since the night of the drinking binge. That night, I had absolutely no condition to drive. Vanessa, with the common sense I lacked at the time, asked one of her employees to take me home. And I still hadn't gone back to get the car.
The night was pleasant. Neither hot nor cold. The kind of weather that turns a walk into something enjoyable, almost therapeutic. The streets were busy, but not overcrowded. People coming and going, laughter in the distance, the far-off sound of passing cars. I walked at an easy pace, letting my thoughts flow freely.
In just under twenty minutes, I reached the central square. I messaged Nathan to say I was there, but I didn't even need to wait. He was sitting on one of the benches, fiddling with his phone, with that relaxed posture of someone who never seems truly worried about anything.
"Nathan," I called.
He looked up immediately.
"Oh, Luke. Shall we go?" he said, standing up and greeting me.
"Let's go."
We walked together. The party was going to be at a student house—a shared house. A shared house is nothing more than a place where several students live together, splitting expenses, chores, and responsibilities. It's a much cheaper option than living alone, and, by tradition, these houses often organize parties to raise money. Sometimes to pay bills, sometimes just to keep the house running. In some cases, like that night, the house was practically "rented out" for a bigger party.
When we arrived at the entrance, the music was already loud enough to be heard from outside. Colored lights flashed through the windows, giving the house an almost improvised nightclub vibe. At the door, some of the house residents were checking names on a list, controlling entry.
Nathan and I had bought our tickets earlier, so we got in without any issues. Buying at the door would have been more expensive—another classic way of raising money.
We went up the stairs and entered the main party area. The scene was exactly what you'd expect from a college party: people dancing, others drinking, some smoking in more secluded corners. The air was heavy with music, overlapping voices, and that mixed smell of alcohol and cheap perfume.
I grabbed a disposable cup and filled it with beer. No strong drinks that night. I'd already gone too far in the last few days. I took a long sip, feeling the bitter taste of barley slide down my throat. Simple, but comforting.
Nathan poured himself a drink too. We were talking casually when I felt someone lightly tug at my shirt from behind. I turned around and came face to face with Olivia.
She looked beautiful. Maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the atmosphere, or maybe it was just her. She wore an open, confident smile and seemed genuinely happy to see me. She made a natural gesture and leaned in to greet me with a kiss on the cheek.
"I'm glad you came," she said.
"Yeah. I hope it's good," I replied honestly.
She took a sip of her drink while looking at me for a few seconds. Unfortunately, our conversation didn't last long. In a matter of moments, Olivia was surrounded by people—the famous "fan club." Students, friends, acquaintances, all wanting her attention. Before disappearing into the crowd, she shot me a look that almost begged for help.
I just smiled and mouthed "good luck" without making a sound. There wasn't enough money in the world to make me deal with that group.
I glanced to the side and saw that Nathan was already talking to a girl. He looked excited, as always. I decided to leave him alone and explore the house. I'd never been there before.
I walked through the crowd until I reached a quieter corridor, farther from the loudest music. The walls were decorated with various paintings and posters. One of them caught my attention. It was a painting full of scribbles, confused lines, colors mixed without any clear pattern.
I stared at it for a few seconds.
I never really understood art. To me, that just looked like… mess.
Still, something about that painting made me stop.
As if, somehow, that chaos had something to say.
"Strange, right?"
The voice came from beside me, low and casual, as if commenting on the weather or the music. I turned my head and saw a girl a bit shorter than me, with white hair contrasted by blue streaks that stood out even in the dim corridor. Different from the image I usually saw at college, she wasn't wearing the heavy coat that seemed to act as social armor. Still, she had on a dark open jacket, revealing a black shirt with a smeared blue skull in the center. The tight black pants outlined her figure well, and a silver chain hung at her side, reflecting the party lights. Impossible not to notice: beautiful, provocative, owning a quiet presence.
It took me a few seconds to process her comment, still looking at the scribbled painting in front of us.
"Yeah. I don't really understand art," I replied honestly.
She let out a slight laugh, almost imperceptible, but it said more than words.
"Neither do I. I think that's exactly why I like it. Everyone sees something different… there's no right answer. I actually like drawing more. Oh, and my name's Emilly."
She extended her hand naturally. I already knew who she was. On campus, Emilly was almost an urban legend: the girl with the somber beauty, always alone, always distant, wrapped in that air of mystery that both repelled and attracted people. But it wouldn't make sense to show that, so I simply played along.
"Luke. Nice to meet you."
I shook her hand, feeling a strange familiarity in that simple gesture. I didn't understand why she had struck up a conversation with me, but somehow it made me feel less out of place. I've never been someone who feels comfortable at big parties; I always get that sense of not fully belonging. But there, standing in that quieter corridor, talking to Emilly, it felt different. Still, a brief silence settled in, and I caught myself wondering what to say next.
"You study economics, right?" she asked, breaking the pause.
"I do. And you?"
"Architecture." She paused briefly, as if choosing her words. "Would you mind signing a petition for a play I'm trying to get approved?"
"What?"
The sudden change of subject caught me off guard.
"I'm part of the theater club too," she explained. "This semester is complicated to get a new play approved. There's already been a big event this year, so the administration is reluctant. But with a petition, we can apply some pressure."
"Oh… well, I'll sign. But would that be now?"
"I wish it were, but the papers are at my place. If you can meet me on campus on Monday, I just need three more signatures."
"Sure. We can exchange contact info then. Makes it easier."
She agreed, and we quickly exchanged information. After that, the conversation flowed surprisingly naturally. We talked about boring classes, eccentric professors, the chaos of university life, and even about how parties can be strange environments for people who don't fully fit in. Contrary to the closed-off image she projected on campus, Emilly turned out to be open, ironic, and easy to talk to. I was starting to understand just how misleading appearances can be.
The conversation was interrupted by a sudden increase in noise coming from the main room. Shouts, murmurs, and a palpable tension in the air. Emilly frowned, curious, and we followed the sound to see what was happening.
In the center of the room, Olivia was surrounded by two guys I recognized immediately: Luther's goons. The atmosphere was clearly hostile. Olivia stepped back slightly, visibly uncomfortable, while they insisted. What irritated me the most was realizing that no one from her so-called "fan club" was doing absolutely anything. Fear. Cowardice.
I stepped away from Emilly without saying anything and headed toward them. As I got closer, one of the guys grabbed Olivia's arm.
"Mind if I join the conversation?" I said, firmly placing my hand on one of their shoulders.
All three of them looked at me. In the eyes of the two guys, I saw anger mixed with surprise. In Olivia's, a silent plea for help.
"What do you want?" one of them snarled.
"I'm Olivia's friend. And I want to know what you think you're doing."
"We're inviting her to another party. Luther invited her."
I turned to Olivia.
"Do you want to go?"
She shook her head, without hesitation.
"See? She doesn't want to."
My smile was the trigger. The first punch came fast but sloppy. I dodged easily, slapped his fist aside, and drove my punch into his stomach. The air left his body in a dry groan. The second one rushed in, but took a straight punch to the nose before he could do anything. The first tried to get up again; I grabbed his arm, used his own momentum against him, and slammed him onto the floor. A kick to the chest ended his attempt. The last one dropped unconscious after a precise blow to the jaw.
Before the chaos spread any further, Olivia grabbed my hand and dragged me outside the house.
"You know how to fight?" she asked, her eyes shining, full of adrenaline.
"I know enough."
"That was amazing… you took both of them down."
The way she spoke, mixing excitement and admiration, made me laugh.
"So, what do we do now?"
"I think it's best to go home."
"Want company?"
"I do."
We walked under the moonlight, side by side. Olivia still seemed electric, commenting on small details of what had just happened, while I just listened, amused. When we reached her building, we stopped in front of the entrance.
"We're here," I said.
She stood there, very close. Her hand touched my face, and our eyes met. Without saying a word, she leaned in and kissed me. The kiss started shy, but quickly grew more intense. When she pulled away, she was breathing fast, her face flushed.
"That was a thank you," she said, before running inside.
I stood there for a few seconds, trying to understand everything. On the way home, one question hammered in my mind: how am I going to deal with all of this?
Olivia's POV
Watching Luke fight for me was surreal. It was fast, intense, and completely unexpected. I pulled him away from there before more eyes turned toward us. As we walked through the streets, my heart still felt out of rhythm. I felt like a rescued princess—ridiculous to think that, but that was exactly how it felt.
When we arrived, something inside me simply gave in. I kissed him, using the excuse of gratitude. Now, lying in my bed, his face won't leave my mind. I sighed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe I really was falling in love.