Honu flipped the book upside down and squinted at the paragraph like it personally offended him. "Hehehe." His grin tilted crookedly, half amused, half incredulous. "Sheesh. That's rough, Kevin, man," he muttered, turning the next page like it weighed a ton.
A classmate leaned over his shoulder, her perfume sharp with citrus and something floral. "Smutt? Seriously, Honu?" She arched a brow, her tone hovering somewhere between disgust and amusement.
Honu shrugged, unbothered. "It's what women read. Might as well learn a thing or two."
"It's your girlfriend's preference you should be studying, not some writer's fantasy." She flicked invisible dust off her manicured nails, unimpressed.
He gave her a squint, a lazy grin tugging his mouth. "Don't have one." He tilted his chair back a little, all casual bravado. "What about you, Amara? What's your preference?"
From behind, his friends exploded with laughter and wolf whistles.
"Eyyy, go get that Valentine, man!" someone hooted.
Honu threw them a wink, but Amara was already walking off with a shake of her head. His grin faltered. "I'm romantic!" he called after her.
She lifted her middle finger in farewell without turning around.
The boys' laughter came crashing down on him like thunder. Honu groaned and tossed his head back. "You guys are a pain in the ass. I might've gotten an answer if you all just shut up for once."
Kevin, lounging with his chair tipped against the wall, smirked. "Get over here, man. We're hitting billiards after class—same spot, same time. You in?"
Honu grinned. "Aight, bet." He reached over for a fist bump.
"That's our virgin boy," Ezekiel crowed, smacking Honu's back. "Always in the game, never gets the girl."
Honu's scowl was instant. He swung an arm and slapped Ezekiel's hand away. "Go fuck yourself."
He slumped forward on his desk, spinning the smut book with his finger before tossing it aside. "Shit," he muttered with a laugh and sharp exhale. "Maybe she's right."
"Hey," Kevin called, "bring some booze to billiards later. We're making it interesting tonight."
Honu leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Say less."
The chatter died down when the professor strode in. Time dragged until dismissal, the late afternoon sunlight bleeding gold through the tall windows. Once free, the boys spilled out of the classroom like unleashed chaos, laughing, shoulder-checking, and hurling jabs all the way down the hall.
Their hangout wasn't far—just a few blocks off campus, tucked behind an old arcade and lit by neon signs that buzzed like wasps. The scent of beer, chalk, and smoke greeted them the moment they stepped in.
"Usual room, Hans. That corner one free?" Ezekiel called.
Hans, the stocky manager, tossed him a key without looking up. "Lucky day, boys."
Ezekiel caught it with a mock bow. "Thank you, your majesty."
Inside the private room, laughter immediately replaced the hum of the main bar. Honu dropped his bag in the corner and grabbed his cue stick like it was a sword. "Alright, what's the bet this time?" he asked, rubbing chalk on the tip.
Kevin popped the cap off a beer and handed it around. "Losers go bald."
Honu froze mid-sip. "The fuck? It took me months to get this hair right!"
They all roared.
"Should've studied instead of moisturizing," Angelo teased.
Games began. Beer bottles clinked. Music from the jukebox leaked faintly through the walls, soft and grainy. Honu played with exaggerated flair, wincing every time he missed. When he scratched on the eight ball, he pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. "That's it. I'm a disgrace to the art."
Ezekiel snorted. "You've been one."
Honu laughed and shoved him. Everything felt easy, familiar—just another night with the boys.
Until the door opened.
Lucas stood in the frame, eyes red and wild, his chest rising too fast. The laughter died.
Kevin frowned and stepped forward. "Dude, what's wrong with you?"
Lucas's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Everyone. Gather up."
They exchanged glances, hesitant but curious, until they circled around him.
"You reek of piss, man," Angelo muttered, wrinkling his nose.
Lucas ignored it. He pulled out a small black pouch and unzipped it with a grin too wide, too bright. "Take a look at this baby snow," he whispered, like he was sharing a secret. The white powder glittered faintly under the overhead light. "Got it free—strongest shit out there. Instant hit."
Honu took a step back, hands raised. "No, no, no. We don't touch that crap. Never snows, Lucas. Just booze and laughs, remember?"
"Put that away, bro," Kevin added, voice steady but low. "We can talk. Just—hand it over."
Lucas's hand trembled. The grin twitched. Then, with a sudden motion, he pulled out a gun.
The metallic click of the safety being pulled echoed like thunder.
"Whoa—whoa, man, put that down!" Ezekiel's voice cracked as everyone raised their hands.
"Just a sniff!" Lucas barked. "It'll fix everything—you'll see!"
Kevin took a slow step forward. "Lucas. Look at me. There's no fixing anything like this. Just—"
"Fine!" Honu cut in loudly, swallowing the panic clawing at his throat. His mind raced. "Fine, I'll do it, alright? I'll taste it."
Lucas's breathing hitched. He lowered the gun slightly, a child's relief flashing across his face.
Honu crouched near the pouch, pretending to inspect it. The air buzzed with tension—every heartbeat felt like a countdown. Then he lunged, grabbing Lucas's wrist and forcing the barrel skyward.
BANG!
The gun exploded, the sound deafening in the enclosed room. A rain of plaster dust fell from the ceiling.
"Get him!" Honu yelled.
They swarmed him at once. Bodies collided, shouts overlapping, chairs crashing to the floor. The gun skittered across the tiles.
Hans burst in seconds later, phone already to his ear, shouting for help.
Honu backed away, panting, his hands shaking so violently he barely noticed the sweat on his forehead. His pulse was hammering in his throat. "Shit… shit…" he whispered, wiping at his face.
Then he heard it—the faintest snort.
He turned and froze. Carlos was crouched in the corner, a white smear under his nose, pupils blown wide.
"Carlos…?" Honu stepped forward cautiously. "Hey, what are you—"
Carlos's head snapped up. His smile was stretched and trembling, eyes fever-bright.
Honu barely saw the flash of metal before pain exploded through his abdomen.
He gasped, looking down in disbelief at the scissor handle protruding from his stomach. Carlos's breath was hot and ragged against his face, his grin splitting too wide as he pressed closer.
Someone screamed. The room erupted into chaos again—shouts, the scrape of furniture, the sound of a body hitting the floor.
Honu stumbled back, hands instinctively clamping over the wound. The warmth of his own blood seeped through his fingers, spreading fast. He hit the edge of a chair, then the floor, vision tilting.
He could still see them wrestling Carlos down, Ezekiel shouting something he couldn't make out. Kevin's face appeared above him, distorted, voice muffled like underwater.
Honu let out a shaky laugh, his lips curling faintly. "Told you… I'm romantic…" he murmured to no one.
Then the ceiling above him blurred, the lights spinning into soft halos—until they all went dark.