Corey stood there for a second longer, still grinning like the whole awkward proverb drop was the funniest thing he'd seen all week, then finally waved a hand at the towering femboy beside him. "Right, yeah, this absolute unit is Gideon Montgomery the Third. Weird name, I know—sounds like he should be sipping tea in some dusty manor arguing about inheritance taxes—but he's the vocals of the band. Proper singer, that one. Hits notes that make your balls vibrate."
Kota blinked, still processing the Victorian death prophecy that had just been delivered like small talk. He looked between the four of them, the pieces finally clicking into place. "Wait… you're all in a band?"
Corey's chest puffed out instantly, hips shifting in those baggy gray jeans so the fabric bunched and swayed around his thighs. "Hell yeah we are! The amazing band Pure Despair. We're gonna be huge one day—raw emotion, crushing riffs, lyrics that make you want to cry and fuck at the same time. You'll see."
Mort let out a short, dry laugh that sounded more like a cough. He crossed his arms tighter over the black skull crop sweatshirt, the shiny black parachute pants catching the light as he shifted his weight. "Don't let him sell you the dream version. We all moved here from Melbourne six months ago thinking we'd be the next big thing aspiring musicians, chasing the Houston scene, whatever that means. Now we're broke as fuck, living in a shoebox apartment that smells like old pizza and regret, and somehow still desperate enough to answer a random cult ad on the dark web because Corey and Gideon here get hard for weird shit. Crystals, robes, semen retention rituals—yeah, that tracks for them. The rest of us just followed because rent's due and free orgies sounded better than another night eating instant noodles."
Kota couldn't help it—he chuckled, the sound low and genuine as the tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction. "That makes a lot more sense. Explains why you'd show up for Beckett's whole… thing."
Mort's eyes narrowed instantly, the blunt bob haircut falling perfectly straight across his forehead as he fixed Kota with that same cold stare. "Don't think because we agree on something I'm gonna like you. You're still on thin ice, tall boy."
Kota gulped, the threat landing heavier than it probably should have from someone a full foot shorter. He nodded quickly, not wanting to test how serious that switchblade comment had been earlier. "Got it. No assumptions."
Corey clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp enough to cut through the lingering awkwardness like a knife. "Alright, enough of the therapy session. Let's stop moping around out here like lost puppies and actually get inside before Beckett starts sending passive-aggressive texts about vibrational delays or whatever. Lead the way, big man—you know the building better than we do."
Kota nodded again, grateful for the shift in momentum. He turned toward the apartment entrance, the back door still propped open from when he'd burst through it earlier. As they crossed the parking lot, Kota's mind wandered for a second to the other four members who were supposedly part of this group of eight. Where were they? Running late? Stuck in traffic? Who cares, really, he had enough to deal with right here without worrying about the rest showing up whenever.
The group approached the building's side entrance, the faded brick wall looming under the flickering security light. Kota reached for the door first, trying to be polite, holding it open with one hand so the others could file in ahead of him like some makeshift host. "After you guys—"
Mort shot him another death stare, the kind that made Kota's hand freeze mid-gesture. The shorter guy didn't even slow down; he just walked straight past without a word, the shiny black pants swishing softly, forcing Kota to drop his arm and fall in line instead. Corey snickered under his breath but didn't comment, Toby mumbled another quiet "sorry" for existing in the doorway's path. Kota let the door swing shut behind them with a heavy click, the sound echoing down the short hallway that led toward the main lobby.
They moved through the dimly lit corridor in a loose cluster, sneakers and boots scuffing against the worn tile floor. The air inside smelled like old carpet cleaner and faint takeout grease from someone's dinner. Kota kept his eyes forward, hyper-aware of every footstep behind him—the rhythmic sway of Corey's hips, the quiet click of Mort's boots, Toby's nervous shuffle, and Gideon's almost silent glide. The building felt quieter than usual tonight, like it was holding its breath for whatever was about to happen upstairs. Kota's thoughts kept drifting back to that half-empty van and the missing four members. Maybe they'd bailed at the last second. Maybe they were circling the block trying to find parking. Or maybe Beckett had them waiting somewhere else entirely, already setting up crystals and robes in the big apartment on the eleventh floor. Either way, it wasn't his problem right now. He had four very real, very strange guys following him through his own building, and that was plenty to handle.
The hallway opened up into the main lobby, the ancient elevator doors visible at the far end like a tired metal mouth waiting to swallow them all. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting long shadows across the scuffed floor and the faded bulletin board covered in lost-pet flyers and rent reminders. Kota slowed his pace just a little as they approached, the group tightening up behind him without anyone saying a word. Corey was humming some riff under his breath, Mort's arms still crossed like he was ready to fight the elevator itself if it looked at him wrong, Toby kept glancing around like he expected security to tackle him for trespassing, and Gideon walked with that same calm, otherworldly poise, the corset and skirt swishing softly with each long stride.
They reached the elevator.