Just Pete, Vegas, Porsche, Kinn and some of the other KinnPorsche characters leading a normal university life.
Well as normal as it can get with these lot, without their Mafia background~
Picking up the ringing phone, Pete sighs. It's 1 in the morning. Whoever is calling better have a good reason to do so, or they are dead. "Hello?" Pete grumbles
"Pete?"
It takes less than a second for Pete to be up and about. But just to be sure, he pulls away the phone to make sure he isn't hearing things at this time. But then double takes when his dream turns out to be reality.
"Vegas?" Pete tries his best not sigh while on the phone. Though he knows what's going to follow Pete still asks kindly. "What's wrong?"
"Can you come at this place? I'm sending you the location." This time Pete really fails to keep his sigh to himself. Standing up form the bed, he slowly heads towards the bathroom. If he was going to drive at this time, he needed his head and eyes to be clear.
"I'll be there in thirty."
•
Stepping inside the jam-packed club, Pete feels his head pulsating with the 'too much upbeat for his taste right now' music.
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Waving a dismissing hand at the guy giving him full-on looks, Pete decides to move inside without sparing another glance at the crest fallen guy.
He weaves his way through the wild crowd before he finally sees a hand shot up a little further from the dancing floor. Cursing silently, Pete hurriedly goes over there before Vegas can dislocate his arm.
Reaching there the look of panic in Vegas's eyes does not escape Pete's observing glance. "Where's he?" Pete speaks with experience. Afterall this isn't the first time he's here in a club to fetch his idiot bestfriend, and if the problems among his friend group continues, then Pete doubts this will be the last.
Pete merely spares a glance at the worried guy when Vegas points behind him. Turning around wildly, Pete is met with a almost sleeping Porsche, leaned over the counter. Normally Pete won't be so worried, but what has Pete scared out of his mind is the dried streak of tears on Porsche's tanned handsome face.
Throwing a desperate look at Vegas, Pete hurriedly moves to help Porsche stand up. And Porsche does stand up, albeit staggering and ready to fight. He only relaxes when he sees it's Pete who's holding him.
Watching as Porsche slowly lowers his gaurd, Vegas slowly goes around Porsche to support him from other side. Together they slowly yet steadily make their way out of the club.
By the time Pete has secured Porsche in his car, it's already half past two in the morning. Thankfully they only have afternoon classes tomorrow, or more like today. But looking back at Porsche's dried tears, something tells Pete they might need to bunk those two as well.
All this time Pete has skillfully avoided the guy beside him as both of them fuss over the drunk boy. "Pete." Pete practically freezes as Vegas's voice travels through the empty parking lot of the club. "I'm sorry for disturbing you this late."
