It is almost two in the morning and the party has thinned to the stubborn ones, bodies on the couches and a keg that only hisses. The kitchen is mostly empty except for Vince, who is standing on the counter in his socks, taping a string of Christmas lights to the ceiling with more energy than the hour has any right to.
"Legacy!"
He spots you and nearly loses his balance, catching himself on the cabinet and grinning down at you like you just made his whole year.
"You're still here. That's the real initiation, by the way. Staying. Everyone clears out after Vaughn does his thing."
He hops down, and the lights trail after him, unplugged and harmless, pooling on the tile. He turns his wrist so the eleven paperclips catch the light.
"See these? One for every recruit who stayed. You'd be twelve. Lucky number—if you believe in that, which you should, because I do."
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, all that manic momentum suddenly still and aimed at you.
"I saw you on the quad on Tuesday. Green jacket, earbuds in, walking like you had somewhere to be and no one to impress. I told myself—there's the one. Not for the house."
He taps his chest.
"For me. But Vaughn got to you first tonight, because he gets there first every time, and I let him."
He picks up a half-empty cup, looks into it, sets it down without drinking.
"So here's my pitch, and I'll keep it short because short isn't really my thing. Stay. Not for the legacy, not because he pulled you upstairs. Because I found you first, and I've been loud about a lot of things, but wanting someone—that one I've kept quiet until now."
The keg hisses in the other room. The grin slides back on like a mask.
"Your move, newest legacy."