The tab sat in his palm—chalky on one side, and when he turned it over, lemon on the other, shading into a warmer yellow at the center.
Nessa watched him, eyebrows up, the little bag still open at her hip. Elise was still across the room, laughing at something, holding her drink like a prop she'd forgotten to use.
He put it on his tongue and swallowed.
"Good choice."
She didn't grin this time. Just nodded, like she'd been waiting for him to do that. "Come on. You need a drink."
She led him to the bar without touching him, which somehow made it feel more deliberate. The crowd parted around her—tiny waist, wide hips, the BBL doing what it was paid to do—and Dorian followed in the wake.
"What do you want?"
"Whatever you're having."
"That's a dangerous answer." She ordered two pineapple vodkas anyway. "It'll hit cleaner with sugar. Trust me."
"Okay."
She glanced at him. "You shouldn't. I'm a lot."
"Think you can handle me?"
"Handling is my middle name."
She chuckled. "Then what's your first name?"
"Dorian."
She handed him the glass. "Peaches. Pink Peaches."
"Real name?"
She tilted her head, studying him. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because Peaches sounds like a stage name."
"It is a stage name."
"Then what's the real one?"
She took a sip of her drink, watching him over the rim. Let the silence stretch. Then, finally: "Nessa. Don't make a thing of it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"You've probably seen my content online."
"Nah, never heard of you."
She pouted. "Well, you will soon." She clinked her glass against his. "I'm about to be everywhere."
"Confident. I like it."
"It's not confidence if it's true." She finished her drink and set the glass down. "Okay. You're integrated. I'm gonna go be irresponsible now. Catch you later."
She was gone before he could answer—folded back into the crowd in three steps.
---
Back on campus, the evening was still warm. Chloe sat on the steps outside the student union, picking at the label on her water bottle. Her friends were arguing about whether to see a movie or just order food. She wasn't really listening.
She had a dress picked out. The green one. She'd been thinking about it all day.
She checked her phone. Nothing new. She texted him. Hey.
Then she put the phone face-down on the step beside her and went back to pretending to listen.
---
Dorian stood at the bar a moment longer. The drink was cold in his hand. Around him the party kept moving—bodies, laughter, the bass doing its slow work under his ribs.
The guy in the linen shirt cleared a line off the back of his phone screen right there at the edge of the bar. No ceremony. He offered the phone to the girl beside him. She did hers without looking around first, then handed it back and kept talking mid-sentence.
Dorian watched. The strange part wasn't the cocaine—it was how quickly it stopped being strange.
The diving board. A girl in green, running her selfie cycle—smile, check, frown, delete, smile, check, post. The smile clicked on and off like a switch.
---
The bass moved in under his ribs sometime after that. Not louder—closer, like it had found a place inside him and decided to stay. The pool lights had haloes now, rings of soft light that bled into each other, and he watched them for a while without knowing he was watching them. A drop of water slid down someone's shoulder and he tracked it the whole way, and when it was gone he couldn't remember why he'd been tracking it, and that seemed fine, that seemed like the most natural thing in the world. The music wasn't music anymore. It was a texture. A thing his body was doing.
There it is, he thought. Okay.
He drifted toward the pool, nursing what was left of his drink. The party was still going, but he'd started to feel like a spectator—watching instead of being in it. He wanted in. He wanted to talk to somebody. Anyone.
A girl in the corner, laughing with two friends. He didn't know her. That was fine. He could introduce himself.
He moved.
"Hey."
A hand touched his arm—light, deliberate. He turned.
Elise.
He hadn't heard her coming.
"How are you doing?" she said, close to his ear. "Enjoying yourself?"
"Yeah. It's a lot."
"It's supposed to be." She smiled, tilted her head toward the pool. "Come on. Let me introduce you to a few people."
She took him around the shallow end. A girl with green hair and a nose ring. A guy with a camera around his neck and sunburned shoulders.
"Jules, Tony—this is Dorian."
Jules looked him up and down, unsubtle. "Oh. You're Dorian."
"Don't," Elise said, but she was smiling.
"I'm just saying." Jules held up her hands. "Nice to meet you."
Tony shook his hand. "I shoot most of Elise's stuff. You ever need photos, let me know." He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it over.
"Sure."
"DORIAN!"
He turned. A girl was pushing through the crowd toward him.
"Remember me? I'm Mia. We sort of met before. On Elise's livestream."
"Oh. Right. I remember."
"It's nice to see the full package up front." She winked at Elise.
Dorian smiled. "It's nice to meet you too. You're even prettier in person."
"Aw." She laughed, pleased. "Thanks, Horseman."
Her friends—two girls who'd followed her over—laughed. Quick, knowing.
Horseman. He had a feeling. A pretty good one. He didn't know the words they used—but he could guess what Elise had told them, and what they'd done with it.
Elise cut in. "Hey—"
Mia ignored her. "Elise told us." She waggled her eyebrows. "She tells us everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything."
Elise lunged at her, reaching for her mouth. Mia cackled and shoved her away. Jules and the other girls cracked up. Tony looked lost.
Mia was already backing away, waving. "Good to see you, Horseman."
She didn't leave cleanly. She bumped into someone, apologized, bumped into someone else, and finally dissolved into the crowd with her friends.
---
Elise was still beside him. She watched Mia go, then glanced at Dorian. "She's a lot."
"She's fine."
"Mm." Elise's eyes moved past him—across the pool, toward the DJ booth. "Oh—there he is."
Dorian followed her gaze.
A man moving through the party like he owned it. Not big. Not loud. But the crowd parted for him the way it had parted for Nessa. He touched shoulders, nodded at people, stopped to say something to the DJ. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
That must be Kenzo.
A girl ran up and hugged him—a real hug, both arms, feet almost leaving the ground. She squealed something. The man laughed and swatted her backside—casual, familiar. She screamed his name, delighted.
"BBL!"
The man grinned and kept moving.
---
New music came on—faster, a hook that cut through the low end. Elise's face changed.
"Oh, I love this one." She grabbed his wrist. "Dance with me."
He didn't argue.
They danced near the edge of the pool, not quite in the thick of it. Elise moved like she didn't care who was watching—loose, easy, a little theatrical. Dorian matched her as best he could. It wasn't graceful. It was fun.
When the song ended, she stepped back, breathless. "Okay. I need another drink. I'll find you later?"
"Yeah."
She disappeared toward the bar.
---
He saw Nessa across the pool. Alone for once—leaning against a pillar near the deep end, phone in hand. He walked over.
She looked up before he reached her. "Your pupils are huge."
"Are they?"
"You're buzzing." She pocketed her phone. "How's it feel?"
"Good."
"Yeah?" She tilted her head. "You look like you're having fun."
"Yeah, this party is lit."
"Told you. You're integrated now."
A voice cut across the party—amplified, from near the DJ booth.
"WATER GUN BATTLE."
Then: "IF YOU'RE SHOOTING, YOU'RE IN. IF YOU'RE NOT SHOOTING, YOU'RE A TARGET."
The room detonated.
Nessa grabbed a gun off the pool's edge before Dorian could react. She spun, sprayed him square in the chest.
He dodged too late. Cold water soaked through his shirt.
She was already running.
He grabbed the nearest gun—someone's abandoned one—and went after her. The party had dissolved: bodies moving, water arcing, shrieks and laughter. Someone got him in the face. He wiped his eyes and kept moving.
He found her near the deep end, spraying a guy in board shorts. He circled wide, came up behind her, soaked her from six inches away.
She spun, shrieking. "YOU—"
He was already backing up, laughing. She retaliated—point-blank, directly to his face—and then they were both soaked, both laughing too hard to aim.
"You cheated," she said, gasping.
"I did not."
"You snuck up on me. That's cheating."
"That's strategy."
A man passed close by—the host. Kenzo, Dorian was sure now. He caught the tail end of it and pointed at Dorian with his own gun. "That's the move. Corner 'em first." He tossed Dorian a second, fully-loaded gun without breaking stride.
Dorian caught it. Nessa's eyes widened.
"Don't you dare—"
He dared.
They were still laughing when the water ran out.
---
Dorian got separated from Nessa somewhere in the chaos. He didn't look for her. He let the crowd carry him.
Someone dared him to climb onto their shoulders. He did it without thinking. The ceiling was closer than he expected. For a second, standing up there above the crowd, he felt like he could see the whole party—every face, every drink, every small tragedy in progress. Then someone yanked his ankle and he came down laughing.
The room gave him everything.
---
By the time the noise thinned out near the shallow end, he was sitting on the pool's lip with his feet in the water.
Nessa stepped out of a cluster near the bar and walked over. She didn't ask before she sat down. Legs in the pool. Back arched. A long sigh.
"What a day."
"Long one?"
"You have no idea." She kicked water lazily.
He glanced at her, then out at the water. "So. What got you into content creation?"
She laughed. "That's a weird question."
"Is it?"
"A little." She considered it. "I don't know. I was bored. I was good at it. It paid."
"How long?"
"Two years. Since I graduated."
"High school?"
"Mm."
"You're in college?"
"No." No heat in it. "Not yet. Maybe never. I'm doing this for now."
"What do you love about it?"
She looked at him—really looked, like she was deciding whether he was serious. "The freedom. The attention. The money." A pause. "Paying off my BBL loan."
"Ah."
"Don't judge."
"I'm not."
"Good." She smiled, small and crooked. "What about you? What do you do?"
"Study. Gym."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
She snorted. "You're boring."
They talked. It was easy—easier than it should have been. She showed him her content, scrolled through a few posts. He followed her. She watched him do it, nodded once.
The flirting crept in slowly. A look held too long. A laugh that landed softer than it should have. She touched his arm once, casual, and left her hand there a second past casual.
Dorian leaned in. "It's getting loud."
"It's a party."
"I mean—" He tilted his head toward the house. "You want to talk somewhere quieter?"
She read him. Smiled.
"Come on."
---
She led him to an open content room. Ring light in the corner, low and warm. A sofa. A tripod with nothing mounted on it. Blackout curtains half drawn.
The door clicked shut. The party became a thud through the wall.
She sat. He sat beside her.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then he reached out—hand on her hip, then lower, palm flat against the exaggerated curve of her. She didn't stop him. Her breathing changed. She turned toward him, and he kissed her.
She kissed him back.
He wasn't thinking about Chloe.
He wasn't thinking about the system.
He wasn't thinking about anything. The wall was warm against his back. Somebody's bass was coming through it and he could feel it in his teeth.
---
Afterward, they lay on the sofa. The ring light still glowing. The party still thudding.
She laughed, low and surprised. "Okay. Better than I expected."
"Thanks."
Don't say thanks, it's weird." She reached for her phone, then paused. "You'd be good at this, you know."
"At what?"
Content. FansOnly. You've got the—" She gestured vaguely at him. "The thing."
"The thing?"
"The package. The whole package." She grinned. "We should collaborate sometime."
"I'll think about it."
"You should. People would eat that shit up."
She glanced at him, then away. "You're bigger than I expected, by the way."
He didn't say anything. The system had done that. One inch, level five. He knew.
She sat up, stretched, reached for her clothes. "I'm gonna go find my friends. See you later."
"Yeah."
She dressed, gave him one long, unreadable look, and left.
---
He stayed on the sofa a moment longer. Then he stood, pulled his clothes back on, and checked his phone.
5:56.
His stomach dropped. He felt it—not as a number, but as a pressure behind his ribs, a countdown he couldn't see but could feel.
Three unread messages from Chloe.
Hey.
Are we still on?
Where should I meet you?
He typed fast.
Yeah, we're still on.
The address of a small Thai place near campus—the one he'd been thinking of when he said I know a place.
I'm on my way.
He waited.
No reply.
---
He'd said I know a place and let the sentence sit there, doing nothing, while she waited on the other end of it.
I never sent her a location, he thought. It arrived slow and clear, like it had traveled a long way to reach him.
And she waited.
---
He left the content room and went looking for Elise.
She wasn't in the outdoor pool area. He saw Nessa by the bar with her friend. She clocked his face immediately.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. I gotta go."
"Okay." She didn't ask. "Catch you later."
"Yeah. Later."
He moved inside—through the main room, up the stairs, checking every open door. The hallway upstairs was empty. He stood at the top of the stairs for a second, listening to the party below, and realized he had no idea where she'd gone.
He called her. It rang twice. The music on her end was muffled—she was in a room somewhere, away from the speakers.
"I need to leave."
"What? I can't—" Her voice cut in and out. "—where are you?"
"Inside. I need to leave."
"—okay. Wait for me by the door. Give me—" Static. "—minutes."
"Okay."
He hung up and went to the door.
Five minutes. Six. Then Elise appeared, slightly breathless.
"Sorry. Come on."
They headed for the exit.
---
They were nearly at the door when a woman came through it the other way.
Tall. Dark-haired. A single silver earring catching the light. Her face was sharp, almost severe—the kind of face that made you look twice, then a third time, trying to figure out why.
She walked like she had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there. She didn't look at anyone until she chose to.
Her body was exaggerated in a way that should have looked artificial. It didn't. She carried it like it belonged to her.
Her eyes rolled over Dorian once—slow, unhurried—and moved on.
She was past them, gone into the noise.
Dorian stood there a beat too long. He was thinking about the time, about Chloe, about how late he was—and then he wasn't. Just for a second.
"Let's go," Elise said.
They headed out.
---
The reply came while they were driving.
Okay.
He exhaled. She was still coming.
He checked the timer.
40 minutes left.
Elise glanced over. "You okay?"
"Yeah." He put the phone away. "Yeah, I'm fine."
She didn't ask anything else. She just drove.
---
She dropped him at the edge of campus at 6:31. The sun was low, light going gold. Saturday, but exam period—students still around, backpacks and notebooks, heading to and from the library. He was still in the open-chest shirt and shorts from the party. Chlorine dried on his skin. His hair was a wreck.
He started running toward the dorm—then stopped.
No. I won't make it.
He looked down at himself. The party clothes. The chlorine. He couldn't show up like this.
He ducked into the bathroom of a nearby cafe—still open, mostly empty. Changed fast. Jeans. Hoodie. Splashed water on his face. Looked at himself in the mirror.
His eyes were still a little too bright. The edges of the room were still a little too soft.
He was still buzzed. Still feeling the molly, the alcohol, the system's quiet hum under his skin.
He checked the timer. 22 minutes.
He could still make it.
He grabbed his small duffel bag and ran.
---
He moved faster than he ever had. His body was different now—stronger, quicker, the system pushing him past what he'd been. He felt it in every stride.
He turned a corner.
Maya.
Walking toward him, tote bag on her shoulder, hood up, keys in hand. She saw him. Slowed.
He slowed too—forced himself down to a walk, tried to look normal, tried to hide the buzz, the rush, the wrongness of him right now.
She looked at him. Something flickered across her face—not recognition. Just—something off. She could tell.
"Dorian."
"Maya."
He passed her.
Three steps.
The red flared—dead center in his vision, sharper than anything the system had shown him in weeks.
What is it now?
[SUB-QUEST 6: MAYA — TRIGGERED.]
[OBJECTIVE: KISS MAYA.]
The words sat there, plain as anything the system had ever told him.
Then they came apart—not scrambling this time, dissolving, drifting upward and reforming into something larger that swallowed the rest of his vision.
[JOINT QUEST PROTOCOL INITIATED.]
[SUB-QUEST 5 (CHLOE): TIMER EXTENDED — 72:00:00]
[SUB-QUEST 6 (MAYA): TIMER — 72:00:00]
[STIPULATION: TARGET MUST BE KISSED WITHIN 60 MINUTES OF SUB-QUEST 5 COMPLETION.]
[SYSTEM STABILITY: UNKNOWN]
It collapsed down to a single line in the corner of his sight.
[71:58:14 — JOINT QUEST ACTIVE]
[71:58:13]
Maya turned the corner and was gone.
Dorian stood in the empty quad, chlorine still faint on his skin, the party still humming somewhere in his blood.
Chloe was waiting for him at the Thai place.
And the clock was already counting down.
---
END OF CHAPTER 58
END OF SEASON ONE