“What is love, if not the ache of needing someone when they’re already beside you?”
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The Hive was already pulsing with lights—neon purples and electric blues flashing against the dark Glasgow night like the building itself was alive.
The queue outside zig-zagged past the barriers, people standing shoulder to shoulder, all dolled up in flashy fits and clouded in perfume and cologne. Girls in towering heels clinging to their boys, boys with too much gel in their hair, some wearing unbuttoned shirts like they were allergic to fabric.
The building’s front wall had a banner that read in wild black spray-painted strokes:
“THE HIVE – FRESHERS 2025 – NO RULES. NO LIMITS.”
A bunch of wristband booths were stationed nearby, with two girls in university hoodies yelling, “RED FOR DRINKERS, BLUE FOR SOBER BABIES!”
I swallowed, adjusting the clutch in my hand as I stood awkwardly next to Isla and Freya.
Oh, God. What even is this place?
Isla was clutching my wrist tightly, her cold rings pressing into my skin as she held up her phone. “Cam, I’m literally telling you, it’s mental outside. Like, the front entrance is completely choked. There’s, like, two hundred people here already and it’s not even eight yet!”
Freya was giggling beside me, already lifting her phone to take a Boomerang of the crowd behind us. “Hold still! Let me get the light behind your hair, Renna, it’s glinting so cute—there!”
“Freya…” I mumbled, pulling down the hem of my dress. It felt too short. The back kept riding up, and the neckline—why did it suddenly feel like it was plunging to my bellybutton?
Why did I even let Mama convince me to wear this? I look like a child pretending to be in an episode of Euphoria.
“Cam says go round the left side,” Isla chirped as she hung up. “Apparently the security staff at the side door know him personally—he’ll tell them to let us in. It’s the perks of dating the guy who runs the whole event, huh?”
And just like that, she grabbed both me and Freya and dragged us through the crowd, past a guy dressed in a toga, a girl wearing devil horns and a dress that was basically just sequins and string.
The night air smelt like body spray and beer. Someone was vaping bubblegum-flavored smoke that hit me in the face like a punch.
Why does this feel like some kind of fever dream? People actually like this? Is this… is this fun?
We walked past the mass of bodies toward a side gate that had a big “STAFF ONLY” sign, which was guarded by two committee members in black.
“I’m Isla Kerr,” she chirped, “and this is Freya and Renna. Cam told you we were coming?”
