Chezdan flicked the last embers of his cigarette out the taxi window, watching the tiny sparks vanish into the night. He took one final drag, savoring the burn in his lungs, knowing damn well this is the last time he’ll get away with it—at least for a while.

The car pulled up in front of a house that looks like it was ripped straight out of a magazine. Grand, pristine, and polished to perfection—completely opposite to the chaos he’s used to. He exhaled slowly, dragging his hand through his messy hair, half-excited, half-dreading what’s ahead. Yeah, this was supposed to "fix" him, make him disciplined or whatever, but he figured he can have a bit of fun with it too.

He stepped out, adjusting his jacket, and sauntered up the marble steps. The heavy door loomed over him. With a smirk, he knocked. A second later, it swung open, revealing the kind of family that looks like they came with the house—pristine, proper, and watching him like they already knew he was trouble.

Chezdan flashed them a cocky grin, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Inside, there was another kid. A girl. A British girl. She also had an emo aesthetic and was fiddling with a pack of cigarettes.