The campus was alive with weekend energy—people spilling out of dorms, filling up bars, and buzzing about parties that would blur into morning. Music blasted from a frat house across the quad, and the air smelled like cheap beer, cigarette smoke, and the last shreds of responsibility before Monday hit again.

For Alex and Damian, it was just another Friday, another excuse to drink and forget the week.

Alex stretched his legs over the library steps, his beat-up sneakers scuffing against the stone. He looked up at Damian with a smirk, eyes flickering with mischief. "So, are we getting wasted tonight, or are we being responsible fucking adults?"

Damian, hands stuffed in the pockets of his worn-out hoodie, snorted. "I literally failed a quiz today, so what the fuck do you think?"

Alex clicked his tongue, pretending to consider. "I think I should be a good friend and tell you to study." He paused, then slung his arm around Damian's shoulders in a dramatic flourish. "But let's be real. You need vodka more than you need knowledge."

"That's the spirit," Damian muttered, shaking his head. He adjusted his backpack, the strap digging into his shoulder. "Where we going?"

"That little bar near downtown. The one with the neon sign that flickers like it's about to fucking explode."

Damian chuckled. "You mean the one with cheap beer and even cheaper morals?"

"Exactly."

The two of them started walking across the campus, their breath visible in the cold air. Streetlights buzzed faintly above them, casting long shadows on the pavement. The city lights glowed in the distance, promising a night of bad decisions and temporary freedom.

They walked in easy silence for a moment before Damian glanced at Alex. "Your dad home?" His voice was casual, but Alex could hear the caution underneath it.

Alex tensed, but only for a second. "Nah. Business trip."

"Good."

That was all Damian said. He didn't press further. He never did. And Alex was grateful for that.

They kept walking, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the near-empty sidewalk. A group of students stumbled past them, laughing too loudly, already drunk before they even made it to their destination.

"And your mom?" Alex asked after a while, kicking a stray rock on the pavement.

"Out with some new guy," Damian said, his voice flat. "She says he's 'different,' but we both know how that usually ends."

"Jesus, another one?"

"Yup." Damian shrugged. "At this point, I should start charging her for therapy."

Alex snickered. They had this routine—tiptoeing around their home lives, making jokes out of the weight they carried. It was easier that way.

"You ever think we should just pack up and run?" Alex asked suddenly, his voice quieter this time.

Damian shot him a look. "Where the fuck would we go?"

"I don't know. Someplace warm. Somewhere we don't have to deal with all this bullshit."

"Yeah, that'd be nice." Damian exhaled, watching his breath disappear into the cold air. His voice softened. "But for now, let's just get fucking drunk."

Alex grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Now that's a plan."

And with that, they disappeared into the night, heading toward a bar that smelled like cheap whiskey and lost dreams—exactly what they fucking needed.