𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 ♚ s. hyde ✔

♜TWENTY-TWO♜

ＨＥＬＰ！

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔩𝔢𝔰

♜

James's hands grip my waist as I make out with him, straddling him the driver's seat of his car.

"Katya," he mutters in between kisses, "we really have to go."

I pull away and lean my forehead against his with a devilish grin. "Do we, though?"

"We do. My friends are expecting me. And you know I like doing this with you but we made a promise."

Sighing, I climb off of him and straighten myself out. "Why do you always have to be right?"

We approach the host of the party's house and step inside. It's a glamorous building, and it reminds me of Volkov Manor. Although I have spent much of my time in New York up in the penthouse, I've occasionally stayed at our mansion.

Upon meeting my boyfriend's group, I realize that they each remind me of someone from the gang. Like Kyle, who is the host, reminds me of Hyde, although more in personality than in circumstance. Angeline resembles Jackie in my mind, as she seems to be more materialistic. Lisa is almost the spitting image of Donna, and David seems like a mix between Fez and Kelso. I suppose that would make James be Eric, but he's his own person to me.

"So this is the pretty little thing you won't stop talking about?" Kyle smirks as he looks me up and down.

I raise an eyebrow at James. "I'm flattered."

He blushes, almost unnoticeably, and shrugs. "You're easy to talk about."

"Oh my god, he is so in love with you," Lisa chuckles. "Every day, it's Anastasia this, Anastasia that. Not that it's a bad thing, it's just cute."

My heart races. Does he love me? He can't. I conceal my thoughts with a smile. "Well, I'm glad that he cares so much."

"Alright, lovebirds, who's up for some beer?" Kyle offers.

I eagerly accept.

♜

My boyfriend and I return to his car, hand in hand. I've enjoyed my time at Kyle's but I can't help but feel slightly uncomfortable and out of place. I guess that's what James must feel like sometimes in Eric's basement, but if it makes him happy for me to be with him, I'll do what he asks.

"Did you have fun?" I inquire softly, my brain slightly fuzzy with alcohol.

"Yeah, I did," he smiles.

"I'm glad."

"What about you?"

"It was great."