Chapter Text
Niko was already three drinks in when he decided that tequila made him smarter. Or braver. Or at least more chaotically inspired.
Killian was laughing at something dark and probably illegal. Jeremy, the bastard, was trying to set fire again, he is acting weird these days, very bad influence. Gareth sat slouched in the corner like a grumpy statue, eyes glued to his phone, ignoring them all—because of course he was.
And Vaughn? Vaughn was, as usual, conspicuously absent.
“He’s probably off stabbing someone with his cheekbones,” Niko muttered, knocking back another shot.
“Don’t be jealous just because he ghosted us for the fourth time this week,” Jeremy said, raising a brow. “Maybe he finally realized we’re bad influences.”
“Oh, he realized?” Niko scoffed. “I’ve known that since I met Killian and he tried to dissect a frog with a fork.”
Killian grinned without denying it.
It was all typical: late-night chaos, questionable drinks, someone probably getting banned from the bar before midnight. But then, Jeremy leaned in, that glint in his eye—the kind that usually meant trouble, humiliation, or both.
“I have a challenge for you, Niko.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“If you start a sentence with 'I have a challenge for you,’ it’s already a crime,” Niko said, reaching for a drink that wasn’t even his.
But Jeremy was undeterred. “You lost the bet, Nik. Rules are rules.”
“What rules?” Niko demanded. “There were no rules!”
“There were vibes. You lost the vibes.”
“Objection—vibes aren’t legal tender.”
“Whatever,” Jeremy grinned. “Here’s the dare: You’ve got ten days to make Brandon King fall for you.”
That sobered Niko up faster than a slap to the face.
“Brandon King?” he echoed. “As in, twin brother of Landon I-breathe-condescension King?”
“The very one,” Jeremy said, smug.
Killian perked up, interested. Gareth even looked up from his phone for a second—miraculous.
Niko narrowed his eyes. “You want me to seduce the guy who looks like he’d rather drown in sea than talk to a single human being?”
Jeremy’s grin widened. “Exactly. Get him to fall for you. Be your usual, insufferable self. And when he finally does? Make him dump you. Like that silly movie you watch ‘How to lose a guy in 10 days’”.
There was a beat of silence. Niko stared. Killian started humming the funeral march.
“You’re evil,” Kill said, awed.
“I try.”
“…Fine,” Niko declared, standing with dramatic flair. “You want me to unleash chaos? I will be the sugar crash of his life. I will be the glitter in his black coffee. I will be—”
“The reason he needs therapy,” Killian offered.
“Exactly.”
And somewhere across campus, Brandon King sneezed.
Probably from the foreboding sense of doom heading straight for him.
……….
The charcoal smudged slightly under Brandon’s thumb, the stroke a little too rough for the line of Nikolai’s jaw—but he didn’t stop.
He leaned over the page, eyes narrowing, dragging the edge of the stick down again, just enough to bring out the sharp tension in the Russian’s posture. Muscles coiled like a fuse waiting for a spark. Blood on his lip. Knuckles raw. That half-wild, half-smiling expression like he wanted to kiss the chaos—or start it.
Brandon exhaled slowly and sat back.
He shouldn’t be drawing this.
Not him.
Not again.
But ever since the underground fight last week, when Landon and Nikolai nearly tore each other apart in front of a roaring crowd of reckless, bored college students and thrill-chasers, he hadn’t been able to get the image out of his head.
Landon, all sharp fury and ruthless precision.
Nikolai, all teeth and laughter and violent beauty.
And Brandon? Brandon had watched from the shadows, hidden behind the excuse of concern for his brother. But his sketchbook had told the truth later—pages filled with Nikolai’s face in different angles, a dozen versions of that stupid, dangerous grin that kept him up at night.
He hated it.
He hated him.
Brandon clenched his jaw and glared at the page, as if that would erase the evidence of his fixation.
He should be worried about Landon, not wondering what cologne Nikolai wore, or why the curve of his mouth was stuck in Brandon’s brain like a splinter. He should be angry about the fight—about how easily Nikolai had baited Landon, drawn blood, made a show of it like it was a game.
Like they weren’t enemies.
But here he was. Again.
Sketching the devil with a cigarette smile and vodka in his veins.
Brandon sighed and tore the page out of his sketchbook. He stared at it for a long second before folding it in half and slipping it into the drawer of his desk—the one he never opened when Landon was around.
It didn’t mean anything. It was just study. Observation. A habit. That’s all.
.......
Author’s Note:
I did my level best, okay 😩💖
I know this chapter is a bit short—sorry!
Didn’t have much time, but I really wanted to get something out for you all.
This one’s kind of fast-burn, sometimes funny, sometimes chaotic (just like Niko's brain, tbh).
Don’t forget to comment—I love reading them! Your reactions fuel me like caffeine💕