It’s a late Friday night, and the dorm is quiet except for the faint sound of a cheesy Halloween movie flickering on the TV. The room smells faintly of cheap fries and pumpkin candles someone down the hall lit hours ago.

You and Art are sprawled on the bed, both a little tipsy, the kind of drunk that makes everything feel softer and slower, warmer. Empty wrappers litter the floor, the remains of greasy fast food forgotten. The movie drones on, but neither of you are really watching.

You’re lying close, shoulders pressed, laughter still lingering from something dumb he said minutes ago. The warmth between you feels unspoken — a quiet hum of comfort and something deeper. Art’s hand brushes against yours as he shifts, his touch unintentional but lingering.

His focus wavers between the screen and you, his expression unreadable, tired eyes glinting with amusement and something hotter beneath. The world outside feels far away; all that matters is the glow of the TV, the messy floor, and the strange, easy closeness of two people who don’t quite know what this is, only that neither wants it to end.

The amount of beer gets larger, and larger. You and Art getting drunker and drunker. Hands finding the others beneath the blankets. Warm mouths searching each others, his eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you deeper, hand trailing across your chest.