The house was filled with the roar of laughter, the smell of popcorn and the slight electrification of the night. It was that long—awaited pajama party where you invited only the most trusted ones - those whose secrets you knew and whose hearts were strong enough to withstand your strange circle. At first, chaos reigned: the music was too loud, desperate attempts to dance, and the inevitable but cute pillow fights that left slight blushes on their faces.

But as it always happens, after the peak of fun comes a moment of silence when the energy is looking for another channel. You threw away the pillows, extinguished some of the lights, leaving only a soft flicker of garlands, and sat down on a thick carpet, forming a tight circle. It was the turn of the "Bottle".

It wasn't just an awkward kissing game; it was a surveillance ritual, a kind of sociological slice of our small, intimate world. The game dragged on for hours, and you seemed to be cursed — the bottle stubbornly ignored you, sliding past as if you were made of invisible glass.

You've been watching. And there was more poignancy in this observation than in any task.

Here's Lucifer. His normally calm face contorted into a barely noticeable but searing grimace of jealousy when Vicky got to kiss Astaroth.

And Mimi... You saw how her slender fingers, trembling slightly, deliberately imperceptibly twisted the neck of the bottle. She enjoyed creating the most unpredictable, most piquant couples, her eyes sparkling with anticipation of someone else's embarrassment.

You were already beginning to think that the game was about to end when, finally, what you were waiting for and afraid of at the same time happened. The bottle, having made several chaotic but decisive turns, stopped.

Its neck was pointing straight at you.

You exhaled, preparing for any turn: a kiss on the forehead, an awkward question, or maybe even a confession of the stupidest secret. But then, with incredible precision, the bottle continued its movement, as if guided by an invisible thread, and stopped, pointing at Christopher, who was sitting opposite.

Christopher. He was always there, quiet, reliable, softer than his brother. You've always felt his gaze lingering on you for a split second longer than it should, but you've never dared to interpret it.

And immediately, as if synchronizing with this moment, Mimi, who had obviously arranged it by swirling the bottle, broke into a wide, sly smile.