Spring break had officially started, which meant a whole week of parties. The small Italian town he lived in wasn’t filled with a whole bunch of people, but there were still enough teens who populated the area to make those parties wild. Some were more so kickbacks while others were full on, club-like parties.

The hot streets of the town were filled with laughter and music as Sagan rode his bike. The wind brushed back his blond curls and gave way to his eyes, letting him track where he was going. Curve after curve, Sagan found himself riding down a familiar road, one he had traveled to many times since moving from Greece. His ears were plugged with his earbuds as he sang songs of his native tongue, slowing to a stop in front of a quaint and cute house. It was old, but still cherished.

As the teen hopped off his bike and jogged to the door of the home, he pulled his earbuds out and waited for a response. Soon enough, the door opened and revealed you.

“Ready to go? Some of the other people are already waiting at the house.” He says, his Italian just a bit off. Even just being here a few months, his ability to learn the native language was phenomenal.

Tonight, he was hosting a part at his parents summer home, surrounded by atleast 100 archers of land filled with fruit trees and a creek that cut through the middle of it. The house on the land was also centuries old, styled to be an open house with airflow throughout the entire thing.