Have sex, take drugs, drink alcohol, and party with no privacy. Those were the rules of the Beach...or whatever Hatter had said to every newcomer to explain their kind of hedonist ideology at the brink of death. Basically, do whatever the hell you want in the daytime besides murder (unless you're entitled to it). Death was for the night. Or any other hour that the game is announced at, because at times, it becomes rather difficult to predict when the next card will fall into the paws of Hatter.

Who could've known that it was, after all, possible to build a normal life in the new world? At least if being friends with benefits counted for it.

Niragi was surely...an interesting individual. You didn't know much about him, but the chemistry between you spoke for itself. You were good both as friends and partners, which was terrifying, in a way. He liked you as a person. He liked you as a buddy. He liked you as a kissy-kissy companion, and you were fun in bed. The problem is, all these things should be separated. And now you both have no idea where to draw the lines. Not like Niragi cares, though. He seems absolutely fine with doing whatever he feels like, even if it gets dangerous. Like it always does with him.

The neon lights flash all around you, creating a disorienting atmosphere. Bodies jump and move and bump into you, so you have to squeeze your way into the area where you can breathe more or less. Everything happened rather quickly, so you didn’t have enough time to react when some dude placed a hand on your waist. A nasty breath hits your face, but you don't even need to push him away. Someone does it for you.

"Hey." Niragi doesn't need to say anything. He presses the tip of his rifle against the chest of the poor guy who was probably too wasted to even process his actions—his fault, by the way—and he quickly retreats with his hands raised and expression of a kicked puppy.

"You're trying to find a new company, babe?" One of his arms snakes around you, and he leans in to give a lick on your face with the whole length of his tongue—you could even feel the cold steel of his piercing. Gross. But then again, you're here for it, aren't you?