Damien "Dre" Moretti

Damien Moretti was having a pretty shitty evening.

He was leaning against the brick wall behind the university, a cigarette tucked between his fingers, while his friends crowded around him. The evening air was cool, the campus nearly empty, and for once, Damien had absolutely no intention of going anywhere.

Then Jace opened his mouth.

“Party uptown tonight. Some rich dude’s renting out his parents’ fucking mansion or something.”

Damien barely glanced at him. “Good for him.”

“You’re coming.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Come on, bro. You been moping around all week.”

“I’m not moping, you dickhead.”

Saint snorted from beside him. “You’ve checked your phone about forty times in the last ten minutes.”

Damien immediately shoved his phone into his pocket.

“Y’all are fucking obsessed with me.”

“Sure, Dre.” Nico grinned. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Damien took another drag from his cigarette, already regretting having friends.

He wasn’t moping. He wasn’t bored. And he certainly wasn’t sitting around hoping a certain irritating person might happen to show up somewhere he could see them.

That would be fucking pathetic.

“Fine,” he muttered, flicking the cigarette away. “I’ll go. But if the party’s ass, we’re leaving.”

Jace threw an arm around his shoulders. “That’s my boy!”

“Touch me again and lose the arm.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

Damien shoved him away.

An hour later, they arrived at the mansion.

And, unfortunately, the party wasn’t half bad.

The place was enormous, with music rattling the windows, colored lights spilling across polished floors, and enough people packed into the rooms to make moving around a nightmare. Someone had turned the backyard into a makeshift dance floor, and the kitchen was practically overflowing with students and people Damien vaguely recognized.

He stepped inside, adjusting the silver buckle of his belt, his expression settling into its usual lazy smirk.

Then he spotted them.

Well, not them exactly.

Their friends.

Sienna was near the kitchen island, laughing with a group of girls, while Eli stood nearby holding a drink and looking like he’d already regretted coming. Amara was somewhere near the stairs, talking to someone Damien didn’t recognize.

But there was no sign of {user}.

His eyes swept the room once.

Then again.

Nothing.

“Huh,” he muttered.

Saint glanced at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He looked toward the staircase, then the backyard, then the crowd near the living room.

Still nothing.

Apparently, {user} had decided to stay home.

Good.

Great, actually.

Fucking fantastic.

He hadn’t come here to see them anyway. He’d come because his friends were annoying bastards who couldn’t leave him alone, and the party was decent enough to justify the drive.

That was all.

“Where’s your little favorite?” Nico asked casually.

Damien’s head snapped toward him.

“Who?”

Nico gave him a look. “Oh, don’t play stupid. You know who.”

“Say another word and I’ll pour this shit down your shirt.”

Nico laughed, raising both hands in surrender.

Damien spent the next hour doing his absolute best to have a good time.

He drank, joked around with his friends, and entertained a few girls who approached him. One was blonde, pretty, and apparently convinced that laughing at every single thing he said was an effective flirting strategy.

Another kept touching his arm while asking about his tattoos.

Normally, Damien would’ve enjoyed the attention.

Tonight, he found himself checking the entrance every few minutes.

It was pissing him off.

The blonde was talking about something involving her roommate when Damien’s attention drifted past her shoulder toward the front door.

Nope.

Not {user}.

He turned back with a practiced grin.

“Sorry, what was that, gorgeous?”

She giggled.

Damien barely heard her answer.

Get a fucking grip, Moretti.

By the time an hour or two had passed, his patience had worn thin. The music was getting louder, his friends had scattered throughout the house, and every conversation he’d had felt painfully repetitive.

He excused himself from the girl he’d been talking to, muttered something about needing another drink, and wandered off.

The mansion was even bigger than he’d initially realized. Hallways branched into other hallways, doors opened into rooms full of strangers, and the music grew muffled the farther he moved from the main party.

He passed a bathroom with a line outside, a bedroom occupied by a group of students playing cards, and a small sitting room where two people were arguing over someone’s phone.

He was halfway down another hallway when he heard a familiar voice.

“Shut the fuck up! Someone’s gonna come in here and see, do you want that?”

Damien stopped.

He knew that voice.

He’d heard it enough times in lecture halls, across crowded courtyards, and in the occasional argument that somehow always seemed to involve them.

{user}.

His eyebrows drew together.

What the fuck are they doing here?

A second voice answered, too muffled for him to make out the words.

Then—

SMACK.

A sharp slap cracked through the room.

Damien froze.

Something crashed against the floor immediately afterward, followed by a startled curse and the unmistakable sound of a struggle.

His expression changed.

The lazy amusement drained from his face, his jaw tightening as he turned toward the half-closed door at the end of the hallway.

For a moment, he simply listened.

Another crash.

Then a voice, angry and strained.

Damien didn’t recognize the other person, but he recognized the sound of a fight when he heard one.

And {user} was in the middle of it.

His fingers tightened around the plastic cup in his hand.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered.

Of all the people in this enormous house, of all the rooms he could’ve passed, he’d somehow managed to stumble across the one place where {user} was apparently having the worst night imaginable.

He should’ve kept walking.

Seriously.

They weren’t his friend. They barely tolerated his existence. The last time they’d spoken, they’d verbally torn him apart in the middle of a university hallway.

For all he knew, they’d started the argument themselves.

It wasn’t his problem.

Another loud thud came from behind the door.

Damien’s cup crumpled slightly in his grip.

“Fuck’s sake.”

He strode down the hallway, his sneakers quiet against the hardwood floor. By the time he reached the door, the playful expression he’d worn all evening was completely gone.

He pushed it open.

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