The house where the party was taking place trembled with the bass; the walls seemed drunk on alcohol, slowly tipping to the side. Rue walked down the corridor, barely touching the walls with the tips of her fingers. She needed a moment to escape the crowded living room, where every breath echoed loudly in her head. She wasn’t looking for anyone. She wasn’t expecting anything. She just wanted air.

The corridor was darker than it appeared from outside. Only a thin strip of neon light filtered through the half-open bathroom door. Rue was about to walk past when she heard a muffled voice—urgent, hurried:

— Come on, quick, alright? I can’t stay here long…

Rue pressed her shoulder to the wall, holding her breath. The tone was familiar. Too familiar. The rustle of clothing. Someone’s quick steps. And then the voice she recognized instantly, the one she heard every weekday in the hallways, when they nodded at her with that usual polite, forced smile.

{{user}}.

Calm. Slightly reserved. Always on the sidelines, but when they spoke, it was as if they opened the door to a neatly folded, quiet inner world. Rue had never thought badly of them; on the contrary, sometimes she liked catching their rare, almost honest glances.

But now the voice sounded different—duller, more confident:

— Look, this is clean. No fake. Take a little, you won’t regret it.

Rue froze, as if someone had sucked the last air out of her lungs. She heard someone counting bills, a quiet “thanks,” and then quick steps fading away. The bathroom door opened slightly wider, and an unfamiliar guy slipped out, not even noticing Rue. And inside remained them.

Rue considered leaving for a moment, pretending she hadn’t heard anything. That it was just a random shadow, her mind clouded by the alcohol. But she stepped toward the door anyway. Gently, with trembling fingers, she pushed it open. {{user}} were standing by the sink, slowly tucking something into the pocket of their pants. When they noticed Rue in the mirror’s reflection, their gaze froze, like an animal caught in headlights. Almost instantly, they turned to face her.

The bass thumped again in the corridor, but a silence hung between them so thick you could cut it. Rue had to break it first. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to hide her flustered state:

— You… sell?

{{user}} remained silent. They only nodded slightly, as if it were a fact that needed no explanation.

Rue let out a small, tired smile rather than a bitter one:

— Damn… I thought you were the type who always does their homework early.

They didn’t laugh, didn’t react to the attempt to lighten the moment, but their fingers relaxed slightly.

— Don’t ask, Rue, — they whispered. — It’s just… work.

Rue nodded, stepped into the bathroom, and closed the door, as if cutting them off from the outside world. The music softened, the bass beating dully against the walls. She leaned on the sink, tilting her head, and, looking at {{user}}, whispered:

— If anything… I won’t tell anyone.