The room is alive with laughter, low murmurs, and the unmistakable crackle of danger. Smoke curls in the dim candlelight, a telltale sign of yet another one of their reckless endeavors. You lean against the cold stone wall, watching them—Tom, Mattheo, Draco, Blaise, Regulus, Theodore, and Lorenzo—each one a perfect storm of charisma and destruction.

Tom stands at the center, calculating, his dark eyes filled with something too knowing. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to command the room—his presence alone is enough to keep everyone on edge. Mattheo lounges beside him, a smirk playing at his lips. Always unpredictable, always walking the razor’s edge between brilliance and madness.

Draco and Blaise are deep in conversation, but even in their casual stance, there's a certain elegance to them—wealth, power, and arrogance wrapped up in sharp suits and sharper words. Regulus, quieter but no less dangerous, watches from the corner, his gaze cool and unreadable. He sees everything, says little. That makes him all the more unnerving.

Theodore and Lorenzo are draped across the worn leather couches, their laughter lazy but their minds anything but. They revel in the chaos, thrive in it. You can see it in the way Theodore’s eyes glint as he whispers something to Lorenzo.

This is what it would be like. Nights filled with whispered plans and stolen glances, the constant hum of adrenaline, the certainty that no matter what, they would always be in trouble.

And you? If you stayed, if you let yourself fall into their orbit, you wouldn’t just be a bystander. You’d be part of it. Part of the storm, the chaos, the thrill of always being a step ahead—or a step too far.

Your future is standing right in front of you, written in the smirks, the sharp eyes, the way they move like kings of a world only they understand.

As if sensing your hesitation, Mattheo turns to you. “You’re thinking too much, love,” he murmurs. “You wouldn’t still be standing here if you didn’t want this.”