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❝ hungry dogs are never loyal❞
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RANIA BOISVERT DOESN'T hate parties in particular. Just when her friend has ditched her, and she's all alone with no one to talk to, stranded on a balcony with nothing to do but gaze down upon the majority of Zarity Preparatory's population, portions of other schools hanging about. A distasteful mix, she may add.

Huffing, she even feels tempted to grab and down the flute of champagne near her. But she doesn't, of course. Because it's haram.

Her mother wouldn't know though.

Tossing her Jimmy Choo sandals over the railing, their straps dangle from her fingers as she swipes her tongue over her bottom lip. Her feet ache and her throat is parched, her emptied water bottle long buried in a trash can somewhere. The boredom has been chipping away at her patience, but as much as she wants to, she can't leave. Not yet, not when her friend is still here doing god knows what, and she has to be there in case she somehow gets in trouble. Something that she'll have to help or deal with herself naturally, as if the two ever have much of a difference.

Because like a moth to a flame, trouble, no matter what kind, always seems to attract that fool.

And it's not that she hasn't tried to stop her. But it's just that the annoying little pink princess doesn't want to be stopped.

And so, Rania has no choice but to deal with the aftermath instead. Damage control and such, heart stuffed with clouds of sympathy and tongue stitched with blankets of consolation, all so that she can be the perfect shoulder to sob on. A shoulder that is conveniently always available.

God, she's ranting now.

Annoyance spiking, she suppresses the urge to throw her heels at some poor unsuspecting person below and lets her eyes drift to the back of the room, where they lock on two girls, glowing faces recognisable in an instant. They stand out amongst the crowd, glittering like gold within a sea of silver. A smile plays on Rania's lips, dripping with disdain, eyes narrowing with begrudging envy.

Erin Vestire and Myra Chirvette.

Two queens in their own right, dense crowns sewn to their flawlessly-sculpted heads. They giggle to each other, speaking whatever it is that amuses them. Like best friends forever. Erin whispers something into Myra's ear, her crimson Valentino dress making her actions out to be more devilish than they seem. Her look is scandalous in contrast to the other girls around; the tight fabric sticking to her curves like a second skin, reaching just above her knees, paired with its low neckline and crisscrossing straps.

Myra, on the other hand, is perfectly the opposite. Her Dior dress graces the floor with every movement she makes, the porcelain satin studded with diamonds and hugging her neck, revealing only smooth, model-thin shoulders up to her acrylics. Even her makeup is angelic; small lips coated a sweet pink, stressed into a beautiful, teeth-showcasing smile. Much unlike Erin's usual wine-stained lips.

Like saint and sinner.

How appropriate, Rania muses.

She adjusts her own Moschino flounce dress, the heated tension from all the lush bodies in the room now soaked into her bare shoulders, into her long legs. Strangely enough, this intimacy doesn't calm her, rather, it makes her increasingly anxious as time goes by.

Releasing another heavy breath, she watches as Erin suddenly tugs Myra's hand, pulling them both out towards the middle. A laugh and spin later, they begin dancing along to the music, their grace and poise an unfalling mask.

"There you are!" a familiar voice calls, making her stiffen. "Oh hey, you took your shoes off."

Hearing the slight slur in her tone, Rania sucks in a deep breath before whirling around. Cerulean eyes pierce into Arbesa's mocha ones, which sparkle innocently with drunken cheeriness. A scowl tips her own fuchsia lips.

"Oh, ma cherie, where were you?" she asks sweetly, not bothering to mask even an inch of her aggravation. She grits and bares her teeth slightly.

Arbesa frowns. "Someone's a bitch. I was just going around, you know, talking to friends." Her dark eyes linger on Rania as she herself plops down on a nearby sofa, taking a bottle of lipstick out of her bag. "What's wrong?" she asks, coating her lips once more.

Puckering them, she looks back up at Rania. Her dark, perfectly-groomed eyebrows crease in concern.

Rania stares at her, unable to help but notice the swollenness of her lips, alongside the faint stains of lipstick around them. Arbesa never messes up her own makeup, and there are only a few occasions where that does happen. An ache blooms behind her eyes upon realisation.

"Oh," she mutters. "You were with him again."

Arbesa gives her an incredulous look. "What are you talking about?"

"You know I know," she states, tone flat. "You've clearly forgotten, haven't you? You're only going to end up hurting yourself if you both keep this up. Mostly you."

"It's none of your business," her friend suddenly snaps. Arbesa shoves her stuff back into her purse, quite roughly too, anger simmering in her eyes. Her shoulders are tense now, her lips in that familiar, mad pout. "I can handle myself."

Rania's shoulders droop in exasperation. "Maybe if it isn't him. And maybe if he didn't have a girlfriend who just happens to be—"

Arbesa slams to her feet. "I know who his girlfriend is," she seethes, and without even giving her a chance to reply, the girl promptly storms off.

She sighs. "—your friend."

Witnessing this, at this point, Rania isn't even surprised. It doesn't, however, take away the sting in her chest. With a sigh, she bends down and puts on her shoes. She's decided she might as well follow Arbesa and keep her out of any more trouble, even hopefully drag her back to the car so that they can both go home, something that she desperately needs before anything else can ruin her night.

Shame that she thought that too late.

She stands, only to tense as she comes face-to-face with a figure of infamy, one that she's sadly too familiar with. Unfurrowing her brows, her lips stretch into a sneer, her dissipating shock replaced by spears of contempt stabbing into a pair of cold, dancing eyes.

"I saw Arbesa storming past me just now," tells Flayne, raising a brow. A smirk stretches onto his face, his expression mockingly keen. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing for you to know about," she snaps, before making a show of looking all around her. "Say, I don't see any of your friends here. But then, I suppose they're both busy now considering Myra and Julius just got back together. Again." Her eyes slither back to him, a pitiful frown cast upon her face. "You really eternally third-wheel, don't you?"

His eyes sharpen to a glare as he smiles flatly. "That's rich coming from you, the doll chained to her best friend's side—observing always. You know, sometimes I wonder if the things you know are really from you, or gossips from your friend. You can learn quite the secrets when you're rolling around in someone else's sheets, after all. Especially when they've already been warmed by another person."

Her eyes to narrow to slits. "Shame, isn't it? That you can't feel the same warmth as she does?"

He bristles, jaw ticking. "He's a prude," he mutters. "And you, of all people, know that."

Rania widens her smile. Now, she's having some bit of fun. "But she looks so beautiful tonight, Flayne. What guy would ever resist her?" She sticks her tongue into her cheek, laughing. Her face falls flat. "Except you, of course. You coward."

Flayne steps towards her, his glare fiery despite the coldness in his eyes. "You know why I really detest you, Rania? Because you're a snake that knows too much. Ruining things would be way too easy for you."

Thoroughly amused now, she matches his actions, leaning up to murmur, "I think...I should go." She scrunches her nose at the putrid stench of weed wafting from his mouth, stepping back. With a disgusted glare, she turns away.

Just before heading out, Rania makes sure to whip back around. "One last note, I don't get why you're so focused on me only." She rests a hand against the railing, the other on her hip, softly-arched brows raised. "Because there are so many others out there, you know? Like it's basically the point of standing in the background; you don't get noticed in the first place."

"But I know you're one of them," Flayne tells her, cocking a brow. "That changes a lot. And I doubt they're like you."

"You're right," she says, gritting her teeth. "They're probably worse than me."

Standing upright, she backs away from the entrance. "Honestly, Flayne, you should watch what's around you more too." Rania checks the time on her phone before looking back up, shooting him a hollow smile. "You never know when a storm might hit you."

"And watch yourself too," she adds, eyes bright with eagerness. "Backstabbing isn't only limited to everyone else."

His lips curl up before he bites back, "You're pathetic."

"Bonne nuit, Flayne."