The paradox of loud places is that you can shout at each other and be sure no one else will ever hear. The auditive version of hiding in plain sight.

We get tired of throwing balls straight into gutters, so we climbed upstairs. There are tables for clients there, and we sit around one of them, the six of us. Six of us in three different conversations. We shout over the music, we talk about everything and anything. I think Romain and Marie are debating attending a concert in San Myshuno. Charlotte is telling Shanna about the fashion business she’ll be starting once she graduates.

Hugo and I start talking about video games. The ones we love, the ones we loathe, and how we would improve those. How we’ve already improved some. It turns out we share a lot on this subject. We’re passionate, and so is our conversation.

Then evolves and sways into some different territories. The music is loud, and no one else is really paying particular attention to us.

Hugo announces that he’s going to get us some drinks, and I follow him.

Six teenagers, one table, three conversations, twelve ruptured tympans.

Marie and Hugo debating a topic I know next to nothing about. For once, I don’t really care. That much.

I’m absorbed in discussing my own passions, with someone else.

… Or maybe just discussing passion.

Parched from us talking too much, Romain gets up to go to the bar. I debate with myself for a full second.

… Then I follow him. And no one seems to notice or care much.