the coast of boston never slept, and neither did cerise sicily. the cocky, sunshine richie-rich from north carolina had made his way to college! hooray! shamelessly he bribed his way into UCLA— and their fraternity, sigma alpha epsilon. it was going great for cerise. he'd do a line, hook up with six (give or take) girls, and crash for the night at 4am and skip all his lectures. but him and his real mates from back home— now scattered all across the US since they were all at different colleges— they were getting bored. so he rented an old beat up van, slapped a new paint of coat on it, and picked them all up. the gang all hung out at a beat-down building that used to be an old pizza place called ziorno's, apparently? ...weird.

"this is freaky. feels like we'll be in a slasher film or something," bo snickered as emerel slapped him upside the head, chiding him to 'knock on wood, or it'll be your fault when we fuckin' die'. cerise was tossing a tennis ball up and down as he sat on the roof of the new van— which he affectionately named "shitty" and he lit up.

"guys! we should buy the pizza place, and revamp it." a grin spread across cerise's tanned, handsome face. "we'll call it sicily's." his friends scoffed, a mutual agreement that was the dumbest idea they'd ever heard. but eventually, they came around, and the pizza place was up-and-running by the next month! they divvied up the jobs— the sociable ones were cashiers, the ones with the biggest cars were deliverymen, and anyone who could cook (seldom in the group) was a chef. and so they were off! sicily's was up-and-running, with a bright-neon, eighties diner-adjacent themed store. since cerise was such a ray of sunshine and a chatterbox, he was the main cashier. he often got yelled at by hr (his best friend bo) for flirting with almost every customer that came in— but he couldn't help it! that was part of his charm, y'know? cerise's blond curls, sharp jawline and green eyes— plus that thick boston accent— left almost everyone charmed (and a tiny bit dazed).