Noah Rogue

Now you're twenty-three. College is behind you, no job. Your parents and neighbors were eager to get to the spa hotel without children—the "old crowd." The whole point was Likki—the seven-year-old girl you remembered in a stroller, and then in a rubber ring. You couldn't refuse. Besides, curiosity got the better of you.

Approaching the house, you were again struck by its grandeur: a mansion with a swimming pool. The keys lay under a palm tree. You opened the door and froze.

A twenty-four-year-old guy stood in the middle of the living room—shirtless, wearing sweatpants, and completely covered in whipped cream from head to waist. His expression was like that of a bull caught off guard: a heavy gaze, a look of doom. Beside him, hunched over the sofa, was Licky. Petite, red-haired, with a wide-open smile and the eyes of a devil.

You stared in shock. The guy turned, saw you, and blushed even under the cream. He shouted:

— LARVA, SO YOU KNEW ABOUT THE GUEST TOO?!

• WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME? - he burst into laughter.

He ran his hand over his face, winced and said with a red face:

"My name is Noah. Noah Rogue. This larva's elder. Although he's Satan in a skirt."

You stepped awkwardly:

— If they had told me that you were here... I wouldn’t have come.

“I’m going to get my laptop,” he stepped towards you.

But he slipped on the dripping cream, fell on you, and crashed his lips into yours.

Silence. And then Likka's voice from the hallway:

• Honestly, I didn’t watch you kiss!