[Adastra, Luxomoris. 00:30]

Evans didn't immediately notice his friend was missing. Of course he didn't... Breathing in the endless cherry scent in his lungs, drowning in alcohol and dancing like a clown under a nuclear explosion. When hundreds of eyes are looking at you, you don't notice the couple who can't look. Even if you are Mark. Even if it’s Evans himself.

But it didn't take long for him to revel in his dancing with fire and still notice that very same couple missing. Here Mark distinguished himself by his quickness of reaction — and a couple of minutes later he was on the street, pulling away from the damn crowd he'd gathered with his 'reckless vibe'.

It was that night that Ostin's secret was revealed, a secret that only he and the smiling old man at the kiosk knew. By the nightlights at the edge of the road, Brown waved his hand in the hope of catching a cab, and in his left hand he held, with two fingers around it, a trailing, twisted... oh, what is it... a cigarette?

— Blowing stars? — Mark snuck up softly and smiled sadly, clenching his fists in his pockets.

Goosebumps swept over Ostin, and to his own surprise, he flinched — his hands trembling nervously.

— Zip up. You’re not a stripper, — Ostin replied coldly, teeth clenched.

— Has anyone told you you're terrible at changing the subject? I just want to be the first one, — Mark shot back, not even flinching.

— Okay, I lost it! We had a freakin' ATV accident, and then that sheriff and some lunatic named Sylvester and then you dragged me to this club where... — Ostin was shouting, completely out of control. It seemed that even a polished lawyer like Mark would’ve cracked too, and Brown had been like that.

— Where, what? — Evans asked, feigning surprise, but a quick grin slipped across his face.

— Where’s that Stephanie of yours... with her couldn’t-care-less attitude! —Ostin shouted and threw the cigarette to the pavement, stomping it down as if it were the cause of all thing that went wrong.

— That's not what you meant to say... — Mark whispered, turning his head, as if hurt, looking toward the road.

Silence was the answer. However, that didn't stop Mark in any way... mmm... only made him genuinely devilish, more like those who would drag out everything inside you just to get out any confession. Even a lie.

— You bought cigarettes at twelve at night in a neighborhood that's twenty minutes from your house, because you hate it so much you even refused to work there.  And now you’d rather take a thirty-minute cab ride just to avoid hanging around here, — Mark recounted the events of Ostin's life as if bored, as if he were passing judgment. And with such a lion's share of sweet nonchalance.

— Where did that thirty come from? — Ostin seemed interested in the stupidest things. But like any lawyer, he wanted to know exactly how he screwed up.

— You called me half an hour ago and sent a message via that goddamn sms-mms that only my old man uses, — Evans said, holding up his phone and practically jabbing Ostin with the evidence of his own mistake.

— That's probably why you keep going to the same kiosk for years on end, avoiding even supermarkets. Such a familiar old... — Mark laughed, but there was only frustration and pity in his laughter.

— Okay, it's not the first time I've lost it... I... — Braun blushed, and his ten-minute confidence turned into a schoolboy's excuse.

— You can't lie. You're a lousy lawyer, — Mark concluded, straightening his shoulders.

— Shut up, — Ostin snapped, lowering his gaze.

— Let me smoke this crap with you and mix it with some other crap, — Mark said, literally ripping the pack out of Braun’s pocket.

— Hah... now you’re disappointed in me? — but Ostin was worried about something else entirely. He was just asking what he already knew the answer to.

— More like in myself, that I get so high I no longer notice the smell of tobacco... — Mark muttered and scratched the back of his head. — Not even cherry-flavored, — he added and laughed, drowning out the discussion.

The guys laughed, and their distant past came back to them. From the first joint intrigue with cigarettes — to the realization that the closer a friend is, the fewer skeletons remain in your closet.

— Go to the roof? — Mark said smilingly, spreading his arms and looking up. Actually, a motorcycle nearly ran into him, totally not expecting that turn.

— See that? It's honking! — Evans laughed and raised a finger up. — A message from heaven!
 
Ostin glanced first at the road, afraid the motorcyclist might return... then at the flickering cigarette butt underfoot... and then at Mark, grinning like a fool, as if death hadn’t just passed him by for the second time during this endless adventure. Evans... was always himself: shirt unbuttoned, sunglasses on, cigarette between his teeth. In the middle of the night — as if it were the start of the day, not the end of some damn weird adventure.

And maybe right now Ostin would have gladly opted for a warm blanket and cocoa, but he couldn't leave Mark without a friend and himself without an excuse.

— Let's go... — Ostin said hopelessly.

And they disappeared into the same club, leaving the streetlights without guests and the street without drama.

[Adastra, Luxomoris. Roof. 01:00]

Moonlight gently touched her, and the wind fluttered her hair, but it brought her no joy — only irritation. Which was made clear by her tense posture and chattering teeth.

— Finally! — the girl shouted, hearing the doors slam shut. — What took you so long?!

— Stephanie! Why are you standing here in the dark? — Mark called, switching on the string lights stretched across the roof.

— How was I supposed to know! You just told me to get the wine and went off to get your Ostin! — the girl was hysterical, but there was no resentment in her hysteria. More like anger.

— She's a my nice woman, isn't she? — Mark joked, continuing to masterfully play on nerves.

— I thought we'd be alone, — Ostin whispered, but even in his whisper a complaint was heard.

— I'm sorry, I didn’t plan a romantic date on the roof. Only at the hotel, — Mark replied with a smirk and winked.

— Fff... — Ostin snorted. He was already used to Mark's shameless jokes, but they still irritated him.

— What are you two whispering about? And stop calling me a woman! — Stephanie was doing her best to get the guys' attention, although deep down she knew it was almost useless.

— About you, my love, — Mark said with a tilt of his head, and Stephanie rolled her eyes.

— It's a beautiful place... hadn't you talked about it before? — Ostin exhaled, greedily scrutinizing every detail. He was ready to drown in it with his whole head, which seemed too unnatural for a man of habit. But even a man of habit can see.

— Said... — Mark said sadly, scratching the back of his head and looking away.

— Oh, I'm sorry, I... — Ostin hesitated, unsure how to react. Whether to his poor memory or to the fact that his friend realized he was being listened to.

— About ten minutes ago, — Evans laughed, patting Ostin on the shoulder as he went over all the moments in his head.

— You... — Braun ground his teeth. He was being pulled again, as if he were a cello.

— I used to have barbecues here, and I used to come here often.... Ah, youth, — Mark said ironically, almost wiping away a tear.

— But how do you have access to this roof? — Ostin frowned, knowing very well how the law works. Or rather, it doesn't.

— You'd better ask his father, — the girl said, folding her arms across her chest.

— Yes-yes, ask the king where he got the keys to all the locks, — Mark drawled, stepping away from them and leaning on the edge of the roof. He hated it when everything always came down to his father.

— I'm just a prince, — he hissed and bit his lower lip.

— Think what you're saying, Stephanie! — Ostin barked like a loyal dog, realizing how this could turn out. He was ready to be the catalyst and the 'bad guy' of the evening. But he was never ready to hand Mark over to someone like Stephanie. Or maybe just Stephanie?

— What was there to think about? - she said coldly, without even glancing at the seriously irritated Braun. She thought it was his usual behavior.

— Maybe about... — Ostin didn't even try to stop the whirlwind of words from spilling out; on the contrary, it only made the guy more draconian. Once again, their next argument began.

They were arguing about Mark, in front of Mark, but without Mark.

Evans had tried to bring them together a hundred times, but he was the very reason their conflicts began. Sometimes silent, sometimes explosive and far too fierce. And he couldn't stop them — because doing so meant giving up on one of them.

The two of them argued so heatedly that they didn't even notice Mark drinking half a bottle of wine, staring at the moon, as if apologizing for his naiveté and silently counting the stars - as a personification of his own mistakes. And then, losing his balance by the railing, the boy fell hard onto the cold roof, nearly flying over the edge. Well, Evans wasn't another star after all.

— Mark! — Ostin leapt to his feet, grabbing at the air — he almost fell himself from the shock.

— Why did I even come here... — Stephanie drawled monotonously, not even moving.

— I don't know, Stef, — Mark exhaled with uncharacteristic anger, rising and leaning on the railing as if searching for support — not just physical. — Maybe because of me... or through me? — he added, taking a sharp gulp of wine and stretching the bottle toward the edge of the roof.

— Wonderful! When you find out — call me, —  Stephanie snapped and rushed to the exit, her heels loudly clicking.

Ostin shifted his gaze in surprise — from the door, to Mark, to the bottle.

— Don't drink alone... my favorite wine, — Braun broke the silence, raising his eyebrows slightly, expressing regret, if only like that.

— Take it. I just took a couple gulps of what you started back at the club... — Mark smiled easily and suddenly handed the bottle to his friend.

— Oh... Why are you doing this? — Ostin asked — not about Mark, but about himself. He knew — Mark didn’t need specifics.

— Because you're bad at hiding... — Mark cut him off, his lips curving into a comically crooked smile.

— I'm not that alcoholic, — Ostin shook his head.

— No, and I'm not a chaos catalyst, — Mark shook his head even faster, then titled it back and smiled broadly.

The boys laughed. They were hopeless. They had no hope.

— I have to work tomorrow, — Ostin added flatly, lowering his gaze to the empty bottle.

— Today? — Mark asked, eyes wide as if he'd heard the wildest thing in the world.

— Never mind... — Ostin muttered, blushing and scratching the back of his head. No, it wasn’t him who messed up the timing — it was time that had messed with him.

— Downstairs, then? You love catching cabs, don’t you, — Mark winked and slowly headed for the exit. — I know you two will never get along. I'm just not ready, — he added at the door with such seriousness, even in his facial expression, that the very lights around him seemed to dim.

Ostin shook his head. — Then finish this, — he said, handing over the empty bottle, barely realizing it himself.