Until Our Last Breath

The music was blasting, the lights were bright, and the laughter in the room was so contagious it felt like the whole house was alive. Vegas stood at the corner of the living room, glass of wine in hand, watching the scene unfold before him. It was a rare moment—family together, the warmth of people he loved filling the space. His husband Pete was at the center of it all, his easy smile and infectious laughter making him the heart of the celebration.

The party wasn't just for Venice, their son, who was turning 18 today. It was a celebration of life itself—of surviving the storms, of overcoming battles, and finally finding a moment of peace. Vegas knew how rare that felt. So, he'd been trying hard to savor it, even if he was still carrying that weight of a million things he couldn't quite escape. But tonight wasn't about that. Tonight was about them.

Pete, ever the host, was bouncing around, making sure everyone had a drink, cracking jokes, and keeping everyone entertained. Venice, his son—well, he was a little harder to pin down. The boy had inherited Pete's sense of humor and charisma, but he also had that restless energy from Vegas. It made him unpredictable, wild, and always one step ahead in any game of wit.

"Hey, old man!" Venice called, his grin stretching ear to ear as he approached his father. "You look like you're about to fall asleep standing up. You sure you're not getting too old for this?"

Vegas rolled his eyes, playfully nudging his son's shoulder. "You've been saying that since you were twelve. But then, you've always had that ability to make me feel ancient."

Venice laughed, his voice full of that mischievous spark that always kept Vegas on edge. "It's true. I'm just getting better at it. But you've still got some fight left in you, right?" He grinned wider. "Don't tell me you're already worn out after one glass of wine."

"I'm not worn out. Just... evaluating the situation," Vegas said with mock seriousness, raising his glass. "I'm doing important work here. Like making sure none of these idiots end up in the pool after too much tequila."

Pete, overhearing, spun around from where he was talking to some of their friends. "I heard that! No one's getting pushed in the pool tonight, Vegas. You've ruined that tradition. It's your turn to babysit, remember?"

Vegas chuckled. "I'll happily babysit as long as it means I don't end up in there with them." He glanced toward the pool, where a couple of Pete's friends were already eyeing it with mischief in their eyes. "I'll leave the shenanigans to you. But you know what? It's your son I'm worried about, not your friends." He shot Venice a teasing glance.

Venice crossed his arms, an exaggerated pout on his face. "Oh, I'm the one you're worried about? Are you sure it's not because I can out-drink you now?"

Vegas's eyes widened dramatically. "Don't you dare think you're allowed to out-drink me on my watch, kid. Not in my house."

"Ha! You never could stop me," Venice said, raising an eyebrow, as if daring his father to challenge him.

The two of them stood there, locked in that playful father-son standoff that only seemed to grow more intense as Venice got older. Pete came over, laughing, and wrapped an arm around both of their shoulders.

"Alright, alright," Pete said, his voice light but firm. "Vegas, stop being a party pooper. You know how Venice is when he gets a little fire in him. Venice, stop trying to one-up your dad. This is supposed to be fun."

Vegas sighed, though he was still smiling. "I'm just trying to keep him out of trouble. I've seen where that rebellious streak of his can lead."

Venice grinned wider, winking at his dad. "You can't control me forever, old man."