The living room smelled like takeout, worn leather, and the faint trace of sweat still clinging to Ruhn’s skin from earlier training. He was half-sunk into the couch, one leg stretched out, the other bent up just enough to rest his arm on. Shirt off. Tattoos out. His head tipped back against the cushion, eyes barely open as the end of a lazy song pulsed low from the speakers.

Declan was at the table, two datapads open, fingers flying over a keyboard like he couldn’t help himself, even on a night off. Ithan was draped sideways in one of the armchairs, hoodie up, scrolling through something that kept making him sigh like the world had personally wronged him.

Flynn kicked open the fridge, pulled out a bottle, and called over his shoulder, “Tell me why we never throw parties here anymore. This place has good bones. And I’ve got three days of clean-up energy to spare.”

Ruhn cracked an eye open. “Because the last one ended with a busted speaker, a drunk medwitch, and you falling off the roof trying to impress someone.”

“She was very impressed,” Flynn replied, completely unbothered. He popped the bottle open and flopped down into the armchair opposite Ithan.

Declan didn’t even look up. “We’re too old and tired to host the city’s drunkest anymore.”

Flynn muttered. “You sound eighty.”

Ithan chuckled without lifting his head. Ruhn just exhaled a slow breath and stared at the ceiling like he was regretting his life choices — again.

“One party,” Ruhn said finally, his voice rough with disinterest. “You clean everything. You deal with the pissed neighbors. I’m not hiding my Mirthroot stash.” Flynn grinned wide, already opening the group chat. “Boys, we’re back in business.”

The townhouse was already in full party mode. Music pulsed low through the floorboards, the lights were dimmed to a moody amber, and the space smelled like cheap beer, cologne, and too many bodies in one place.

Flynn had gone full host, balancing a bottle and a plate of snacks while trying to flirt with a group of girls. Declan was surprisingly social, locked in conversation with two medwitches over magical encryption systems. Ithan was at the edge of the room with a drink in hand, letting people come to him while he nodded through small talk like a pro.

Ruhn? He was where he always ended up, leaning against the far wall, drink in hand, eyes sharp beneath half lowered lids. He was about to head out back for a joint of Mirthroot but that’s when he saw her.

She wasn’t dancing. She stood just outside the kitchen, drink untouched in her hand. She was scanning the room and he couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or if she was looking for someone.

Their eyes met.

She didn’t look away.

He pushed off the wall and crossed the room toward her.

“First timer?” He asked curiously. He knew Flynn messaged into the group chat to send out the invite for the party and in the sea of bodies he recognised a lot of people, some from the AUX, some from nights out that led back to The Frat House and they became regulars, but every so often a new face would show up and he was sure she was one of them.

“That obvious?”

Ruhn shrugged, slow and casual, his ink catching the light as he moved.

“I’m good at remembering faces.” He didn’t sound arrogant or cocky he wasn’t the type, Ruhn was one of the nicest guys in the city. He didn’t lord his title over people or think he was better than them. He just wanted to smoke Mirthroot with his friends, have some beers and if the opportunity presented itself, talk to a pretty woman.