The rooftop party started as a whisper in the group chat and exploded into legend by midnight. Someone's RA cousin had a master key. Someone else smuggled three handles of vodka and a Bluetooth speaker the size of a microwave. By 10:47 p.m. half of Hawthorne Hall was climbing the fire escape, boots crunching on fresh snow, breath fogging the November air like dragon smoke. The city skyline glittered below, Vireo's glass towers lit up like middle fingers to the earlier blackout.
Elara Quinn wore Nova's black puffer jacket over fishnets and a cropped hoodie that read *Shoot First, Apologize Never*. Her Leica hung around her neck, lens cap off, ready to hunt light. Nova Reyes had opted for simplicity: gray joggers, white crop top, track jacket unzipped just enough to show the silver promise ring Elara had bought from a street vendor two weeks ago. They climbed the ladder hand in hand, the metal cold enough to burn.
The roof was chaos wrapped in fairy lights someone had stolen from the lounge. A kiddie pool filled with ice and beer. A keg balanced precariously on an air-conditioning unit. Music thumped low and filthy, bass vibrating through the tar paper. Bodies moved in clusters: grinding, laughing, passing joints and flasks. Snowflakes melted on hot skin.
Nova surveyed the crowd, anxiety flickering behind her eyes. Elara squeezed her fingers. "We can leave anytime."
Nova shook her head. "I want this. With you."
They grabbed red cups from a folding table. Someone had mixed vodka with off-brand cranberry and too much lime. It tasted like cough syrup and bad decisions. They drank anyway.
First hour: social butterfly mode. Elara introduced Nova as "my girlfriend" to anyone who would listen. The word still felt new in her mouth, shiny and dangerous. Nova blushed every time, but she didn't correct her. Track teammates slapped Nova on the back. Photo majors begged Elara for prints. The queer club president tried to recruit them for float-building. They floated through it all tethered by pinkies.
By midnight the alcohol hit. Elara's cheeks burned. Nova's laugh came easier, louder. They danced near the speaker, hips synced, foreheads touching. Snow fell thicker, sticking to lashes and hoodies. Someone started a snowball fight. Elara nailed a frat guy square in the face. He bowed dramatically.
Nova pulled her to the edge of the roof, away from the crush. They leaned against the ledge, city sprawling below like spilled diamonds. Wind whipped their hair. Nova's curls escaped her ponytail, wild and perfect.
"Look." Nova pointed. Far below, traffic crawled red and white. "We're giants."
Elara lifted her camera, shot Nova in profile against the skyline. Click. The flash lit her face gold for a heartbeat.
Nova turned. "Your turn."
She took the Leica, fumbled with settings drunk. Elara posed dramatic, arms wide like she owned the night. Click. They traded the camera back and forth until the roll was spent.
A cheer went up behind them. Someone had started body shots off the queer club treasurer. Elara grinned wicked. "Wanna play?"
Nova's eyes darkened. "Hell yes."
They pushed through the crowd. The treasurer lay on a flattened cardboard box, shirt rucked up. Salt on her stomach, lime in her mouth. Elara went first. Licked salt slow, tossed back tequila, sucked the lime from willing lips. The crowd whooped.
Nova watched, pupils blown. When it was her turn, Elara sprinkled salt along her own collarbone. Nova's tongue followed the line, hot and deliberate. Tequila burned down her throat. She claimed the lime from Elara's teeth, kiss lingering longer than necessary. Cheers turned to catcalls.
They stumbled away laughing, tequila buzzing in veins. Found a dark corner behind the air units. Snow muffled the music to a heartbeat thump.
Elara pushed Nova against the metal wall. Cold seeped through jackets. Didn't matter. She kissed her hard, teeth clashing, tongues sloppy with lime and want. Nova's hands slid under the puffer, under the hoodie, palms flat on bare skin.
"Want you," Nova breathed.
"Here?" Elara glanced around. Shadows hid them, but voices floated close.
"Here." Nova's voice cracked with need.
They moved fast. Elara unzipped Nova's jacket, shoved the crop top up. Mouth on breast through sports bra, then under. Nova's nipple hardened against her tongue. Nova's hand fumbled with Elara's belt, jeans pushed down just enough. Fingers slipped inside wet heat.
Elara gasped into Nova's neck. "Fuck. Yes."
Nova fucked her quick and dirty, palm grinding clit, three fingers deep. Elara bit Nova's shoulder to stay quiet. Orgasm hit sudden, knees buckling. Nova held her up, worked her through it.
Then Elara dropped to her knees in the snow. Didn't care about the cold. Yanked Nova's joggers down. No underwear. Perfect. She licked a stripe up slick folds. Nova's hands fisted her hair, hips rocking. Elara's tongue circled clit, fingers curling inside. Nova came fast, thighs clamping Elara's head, cry muffled by her own jacket sleeve.
They straightened clothes shaky, giggling like criminals. Snow in their hair. Lips swollen.
Back in the crowd, no one had noticed. Or everyone had and didn't care. Someone handed them fresh cups. They drank deeper.
1:17 a.m. The speaker died. Battery dead. Silence rushed in, broken only by wind and drunk laughter. Someone started an acapella version of Chappell Roan. Half the roof sang along, arms around strangers.
Elara and Nova climbed onto the ledge itself, legs dangling over thirty stories of nothing. Wind whipped fierce. Nova leaned into her.
"Scared?" Elara asked.
"Of falling? Or of this?" Nova gestured between them.
"Both."
Nova took her hand. "Good scared."
They kissed slow. Snowflakes melted on tongues. Below, a siren wailed. Above, stars punched through clouds.
A shout from the crowd. "Truth or dare! Circle up!"
They jumped down, joined the ring of bodies. Bottle spun. Landed on Nova.
"Truth," she said.
The drag queen from the mixer grinned wicked. "First time you knew you were in love with camera girl."
Nova flushed deep. Eyes found Elara across the circle.
"The blackout," she said soft. "When the lights came back and she looked relieved I was still there. That's when I knew."
Circle erupted in awws and wolf whistles. Elara's heart tried to climb out her throat.
Spin again. Landed on Elara.
"Dare," she said before they could ask.
"Kiss the prettiest girl here. But make it count."
Elara stood, walked straight to Nova. Pulled her up. Kissed her like the world was ending. Tongue deep, hands in hair, bodies flush. Cheers faded. Only them.
They broke apart breathless. Circle chanted for more.
Party devolved after that. Couples paired off. Groups huddled for warmth. Someone started a fire in a metal trash can. Security lights swept the quad below. Rumor said campus police were coming.
Elara grabbed Nova's hand. "Time to ghost."
They slipped down the fire escape, drunk and giggling. Halfway down, Nova pushed Elara against the railing. Kissed her filthy. Hand down jeans again. Elara came biting Nova's lip to stay quiet.
They hit the ground running. Snow soaked boots. Campus empty and magical under fresh powder. They left footprints like breadcrumbs.
Back in the dorm, door slammed. Clothes shed in a trail. They fucked against the door first. Nova's back to wood, leg hooked over Elara's hip, fingers buried deep. Then on the floor. Elara on her back, Nova riding her face until she saw stars. Then the bed. Strap-on, rope, teeth marks, bruises shaped like continents.
They came so many times they lost count. Passed out tangled and sticky sometime after four.
Morning hit like punishment. Hangovers thick as tar. Room smelled like sex and tequila. Sun sliced through blinds.
Elara woke first. Head pounding. She stumbled to the bathroom, puked quietly, brushed teeth twice. Nova groaned from the bed.
"Water," she croaked.
Elara brought two bottles and Advil. They swallowed pills dry, chugged water, collapsed back.
"Never drinking again," Nova mumbled.
"Liar."
They dozed. Woke at noon to pounding on the door. RA with a warning: rooftop parties banned, security footage, possible probation.
They laughed until ribs hurt. Signed the warning together. Matching signatures like marriage practice.
Afternoon: recovery sex. Slow. Lazy. Missionary with eye contact. Elara inside Nova with gentle fingers, kissing tears from hangover temples. Nova returned the favor, tongue soft until Elara shattered quiet.
They showered eventual. Stood under hot water kissing until pruned. Dressed in each other's clothes. Nova in Elara's fishnets under joggers. Elara in Nova's crop top, promise ring glinting.
Evening. Developed the rooftop roll. Prints perfect: Nova against skyline, Elara mid-laugh with snow in her lashes, the kiss on the ledge captured by a stranger's phone and airdropped anonymous.
They hung the best ones. Added a new title in sharpie: *Drunk on You, Sober on Us.*
Night. Ordered grease pizza. Ate in bed naked. Fed each other slices, sauce on chins licked clean.
Nova traced the bruises on Elara's neck. "Marked you good."
"Matching set." Elara showed her thigh, teeth prints dark.
They made love again. Vanilla this time. Face to face. Slow strokes with the strap, hands linked, whispering truths from the circle.
"I knew the first mango," Elara confessed mid-thrust.
Nova laughed broken. "Liar. You knew the flash."
"Maybe both."
They came together, quiet and perfect.
After, curled tight. Nova whispered, "Marry me when we graduate."
Elara kissed her ring finger. "Already planning the playlist."
Sleep claimed them. Snow melted outside. Inside, two girls dreamed in tandem.
The rooftop had been reckless. Beautiful. Theirs.