The group of teenagers entered the lobby through the automatic sliding doors; instantly they were impressed by the place's simple elegance.
The room was a stark white, adorned with large golden letters embedded in the walls. But contrasting with the room's simplicity, deep red fringe hung from the ceiling, circling a giant chandelier of yellow crystals, which tinkled faintly.
In the center, a minimalist reception desk with a counter made of refractive glass.
Approaching the reception, the woman behind it greeted them with a helpful smile.
—Good evening, welcome to Oasis. How can we help you? —her gaze shifted to the computer—. Do you already have a reservation, or...?
Andrey placed a receipt on the counter with a dull thud, not loud enough to crack the glass surface.
—We already have a reservation.
The woman nodded and took the receipt. She examined it carefully, then her gaze shifted back to the computer to confirm the reservation. After a few minutes, she nodded.
She ducked down in her chair while rummaging for something under her desk; sitting back up, she placed two platinum-colored cards on the glass, engraved with the symbols D4 and F3.
—Your two reservations are ready. Is there anything else, guys?
Andrey just shook his head and took the cards: —No, this is enough. Thanks.
The woman nodded again, flashing another complacent smile, and pointed her finger toward the door that would lead them to their reserved room.
As they headed toward that entrance, Ryan grabbed Andrey by the shoulder to ask him about the reservations.
"Why two?"
Andrey simply shrugged, a fake smile forming on his lips, and defended his position with a: —Fate's doing.
Daemon, who was right behind them following, accompanying the girls like a faithful guard dog and had been listening, just laughed carelessly.
Both characters left Ryan full of doubts and questions on his tongue that he didn't dare reveal, anticipating more evasive answers.
After crossing the threshold of the door, they found themselves in a long, narrow hallway, almost dark, except for the floor lamps casting vague, luminous shadows on the walls.
In the hallway, the sound of their footsteps faded due to the carpeted floor.
The journey to the private karaoke room seemed almost infinite, the narrow corridor giving the sensation of walking in an empty limbo, with no sense of direction beyond the line of lamps indicating the path to follow. It was that same dark entrance you perceive when entering a movie theater, the same atmosphere and the same intention of immersing you in the endearing ambiguity of not knowing what you're really stepping on.
Suddenly, a soft touch on his right arm, followed by a firm, almost possessive tug, snapped him out of his mind. He felt a warm whisper in his ear, with a playful tone that made his skin crawl.
—So you must be Ryan.
—Riadumi? —Ryan asked.
That voice let out a soft, amused giggle, while the tone grew increasingly honeyed to the point of discomfort.
—No, no, no, guess again.
His arm was firmly crushed against a soft surface, with no intention of letting go.
He pulled back a bit to discern the identity of this clingy person. For an instant, his face filled with fear: it was the same girl Riadumi had told him about, the same one who was "shy."
He pulled back enough to move his arm away from whatever was crushing it so firmly.
—There are better ways to approach people, you know? —Ryan replied with disgust.
She made a frustrated pout when Ryan pulled away.
—Don't be like that, I thought you'd like it, after all, guys love this kind of thing.
—You're generalizing, thinking we all love this stuff —he shook his head in disgust—. If you want to chat, approach like a normal person, not like a sl—"
She just shook her head, now more disgusted than frustrated, and walked a few steps away from Ryan with heavy steps, as if trying to break the floor.
—What an idiot...
Andrey retorted behind his back.
—You shut up. I'm just being consistent, don't blame me.
—Well, watch your tongue, buddy. You can't insult girls who approach you that way and act like it's the most rational thing in the world.
For a moment... Ryan was left speechless.
This time Andrey had the point, even if he hated to admit it, after all, he always boasted of being the more sensible of the two.
Andrey just stood there watching the girl continue walking away in disappointment, and said:
—Well, there goes our last chance.
Ryan heard the reproachful tone from behind him and, with his ego bruised, began to grind his teeth in annoyance. He didn't understand what was happening, but he also wasn't going to let himself be humiliated by that bunch of idiots.
He stopped short and turned to Andrey. Then he extended his hand, palm up, and said:
"Give me a hair tie."
—What are you planning, psycho?
—Just watch —he insisted.
Andrey let out a long, exasperated sigh and pulled a ball of hair ties from his left pocket that, for some reason, he kept like a bouncy ball.
He untied one and handed it over.
—Have fun.
Ryan took the tie and put it in his mouth to hold it while he pulled his hair back. He gathered his hair firmly and then took the tie to secure it, forming a ponytail.
He took a deep breath. And with renewed confidence, he regained his attitude. Then he walked firmly behind that girl until he finally caught up with her.
—Hey.
—What do you want? —she replied evasively, crossing her arms.
She wasn't going to be easy to deal with, but Ryan had a plan in mind.
—I just wanted to apologize. I acted like an idiot back there —he paused briefly before continuing—. You caught me off guard because I was thinking about my brother.
I'm so sorry, bro, for using you as bait to get in good with a girl.
—Really? And what's going on with him? —the excuse seemed to have caught her interest.
—It's just that he... —he stopped while swallowing. It was hard to pretend that talking about this didn't affect him—. He's been missing for a couple of days. He's not answering my calls. I want to believe he's just leaving me on read.
He cleared his throat as if he were about to cry. Using pity to lower this woman's defenses and evoke sympathy—an old trick from a not-so-old dog.
—Awww, really?
He nodded.
—Yeah. I've been a little sensitive since then. So I hope you can forgive my offense from earlier.
Those words touched her heart. But inside, Ryan was screaming hateful speeches at himself.
Suddenly, she took his hands in hers and clung quite close to Ryan, surprising the latter with her boldness.
—I'm so sorry to hear that! Maybe we can start over —she reached out to stroke his hair—. Don't worry, I'll treat you well.
She left her last words hanging in the air with a mischievous touch.
Andrey stood on the sidelines watching cautiously; his expression went from disappointment to surprise and then to excitement, like someone watching a friend succeed in the big leagues, until he almost shouted internally: "He did it!"
—What's your name?
—Emma. But my friends call me "Rish," from my last name.
—I hope to earn the honor of calling you Rish.
Rish flashed a big smile. Then she leaned in to whisper in a more personal tone: —I'm sure you'll earn that and much more.
***
Then, between four walls, they entered a room almost drowning in darkness, except for the strip floor lights providing dim illumination, creating an intimate and pleasant atmosphere.
—Woahh! —
Andrey threw himself onto one of the sofas surrounding the table in the center of the room.
—This feels incredible! —
Everyone took their seats around, until finally it was Ryan's turn. Out of habit, he always sat next to his friends. Until Emma made space beside him and patted it, suggesting he take a seat.
Ryan looked back at Andrey, who just shrugged with a sly smile.
—Sorry, Ry, we're out of room over here.
***
Pop music reverberated against the walls of the soundproofed karaoke room. While Andrey sang and danced ridiculously in the center, in front of the television showing a female artist doing the same thing Andrey was mimicking.
—Ayyy... Love is a lie! —
—I thought it was a pretty fantasy. —
—Why don't you love me anymore?! —
—Love me! —
He finished with such a high-pitched scream that it threatened to shatter the glass cups on the table.
—My god, shut up —Daemon grunted, covering his ears.
Everyone in the room was the same: gritting their teeth and praying their eardrums wouldn't bleed. Andrey's "angelic" singing was nothing more than a cacophonous screech passing for a song.
It was like listening to a drunken hen.
Ryan and Riadumi seemed to be the only ones not covering their ears, almost as if they were used to these aberrant imitations of singing.
—I didn't expect much, and yet you still disappointed me —Ryan said with a mocking laugh.
—You're just jealous! Go ahead, wow us with your musical talent.
He held out the microphone to Ryan, intending to force him up onto the stage to sing. But Ryan flatly refused his insistence.
—Sorry, but I actually have enough dignity not to get up there and make a fool of myself like some people.
In the background, Daemon burst out laughing as he snatched the microphone away from Andrey.
—Hey!
—You've sung enough for today. For all our sakes, I'm denying you access to the microphone.
—Guess what —he pointed accusingly at him—. We live in a democracy, and if the audience doesn't want to hear this angelic voice, then the audience will decide. Let's see... Raise your hand if you want me to leave!
Apparently, he expected them not to, because absolutely everyone raised their hands in unison. Even his girlfriend, who didn't seem very interested in the discussion.
—You can't do this to me.
—The people have spoken. You're banned from karaoke by unanimous decision —Daemon pointed to his seat with a mocking smile—. Now sit down and shut up.
—I can't believe it, after everything I've done for this team.
Daemon didn't pay him any attention and instead placed his bag on the table, rummaging through it carefully, until he finally found something.
—Hey, Ryan, look at this.
—Huh?
He watched as Daemon slowly pulled out an almost transparent bottle of alcohol from the bag.
—You've been carrying that on you this whole time?
—Who do you take me for? Of course I did —he smiled confidently, placing the bottle in the center of the table—. My girl got it from her father's private reserve.
He pointed to the short, yellow-haired woman sitting next to him, with a satisfied grin from ear to ear.
—Nothing less than 40% alcohol by volume.
—You must be joking. None of us could handle more than five shots of that stuff.
Daemon nodded, amused, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and yet he still found it funny to jeopardize his own health.
—Shall we see who can handle the most rounds?
—No, no, I'm passing this time. That's too much.
—Ugh... Boring. Hey, Andrey, I thought your friend was more adventurous.
—Forget about him! I bet I can make it to ten.
Andrey took a hit to the ribs from Riadumi, which knocked the wind out of him.
—You must be joking. I'm not carrying you drunk all the way home.
Laughter and pleasant camaraderie completely absorbed the atmosphere inside the closed room. For a moment, Ryan even regretted calling all these people "slackers" in his mind. They still were, but hey, Ryan was a slacker too, after all.
Suddenly, Daemon's girlfriend interrupted the laughter with a direct question to Ryan:
—Hey, aren't you that guy who was always following Jesse around everywhere?
She recognized him? How?! Impossible, he'd made sure to bury that side of himself long ago.
He quickly shook his head, and every time the girl repeated that it was him, he tried to dodge it, but after so much insistence, he simply gave in.
—Well... Yeah, I'm sorry to say that was me.
—There it is! The emphasis on the past tense "was"! That smells like gossip —Andrey said with growing interest.
Daemon's girlfriend put her hands to her mouth, delighted, and said almost in excited shouts, until she nearly hopped up and down: —So it is you! Oh my god!
—Do I know you from somewhere? —Ryan asked.
—You might not recognize me, but I'm also on the track team. We trained together —she suddenly paused, her tone becoming more uncomfortable—. Well, that was until... You hit her boyfriend and all that.
—You hit someone, Ry? You never told me why you drifted apart from your friend —Andrey asked, very attentively.
—And I never will, since you're too much of a gossip.
—Come on, maybe I'll only tell one or three people to ensure my information's legacy —he nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of his excuse—. Okay, I admit it, I'm too careless.
Emma placed her hand over Ryan's, perhaps wanting to show her support, though she was squeezing harder than normal, and her perceptive smile flashed other intentions.
—So... Was it jealousy?
Ryan was surprisingly alarmed by Emma's question.
—What?
—I asked: did you hit him because you were jealous?
Ryan, wary of the question, turned his head in another direction to finally answer.
—There were many factors involved —he paused briefly before answering more sharply, as if they'd touched a nerve—. Not that it's any of your business anyway.
Andrey nearly choked on that response, while Daemon showed slight annoyance.
—Hey, calm down, we're just trying to empathize with you.
—Ha... Right, if sticking your nose in my business is what you call "empathizing."
After that, an awkward silence fell over the room.
Apparently, no one had the courage to break that tense atmosphere that had built up around what was once fun and familiarity.
But finally Emma mustered the courage and stood up to walk toward the exit. The creak of the door broke the silence, and before leaving, she looked at Ryan over her shoulder with a look that hinted at more than words were willing to say.
—It'd do you good to get Jesse out of your head for a while.
She left the words hanging in the room's air, and her figure disappeared behind the exit, the door still open, as if it were an invitation Ryan couldn't yet understand.
—What was that?
—We didn't want to reveal the surprise to you this way, but...
Andrey placed the remaining card on the table, the F3. Then he slid it toward Ryan, who looked dismayed.
—There's a room waiting for you.
Ryan nearly choked on his own laugh, thinking it was all a joke, but there was never a joke involved.
His eyes widened as the scenes connected in his head like a puzzle.
He finally understood the whole conspiracy against him.
The karaoke invitation.
The hints.
And finally, the double room.
They had arranged everything so that he and Emma...
Maybe he should, but he couldn't. Was it so bad to want to forget for a while? He couldn't see himself being with someone else without his guilt churning his stomach. He hesitated about it, and Andrey noticed.
—Don't go rejecting my gift now. You know how much a single room costs in this place? —then he pointed to the door—. Fifth floor. Have fun.
—You son of a bi— —he stopped short, holding back his laughter, finding the idea as funny as it was absurd.
Then he looked up, now flashing amusement where before there had only been confrontation.
—I owe you one.
—You owe me many.
—I think I want to kiss you.
—Later, honey, in private.
Riadumi hit Andrey in the ribs again, making him involuntarily puff out his cheeks with the contained gasp of air. Then she looked at Ryan like a predator at a defenseless prey.
—Get going, Ryan. And if you let my friend get bored, I swear I'll—!
—Yes, ma'am —it was unpleasant to show her some respect, but until now she hadn't only worried about herself, as always—. I'm sorry about earlier. I apologize to you too, Daemon.
—Don't worry about it, man, but next time try just saying: I don't want to talk about it.
Ryan nodded and left the room with an expression overflowing with forced confidence, closing the door behind him with a soft...
**Click**