Kota stared at Corey like the guy had just grown a second head and started speaking in tongues. Does a bear shit in the woods? The phrase bounced around in his skull, familiar in that vague way old memes are, but the delivery yelled with full-throated Aussie enthusiasm made it land somewhere between nonsense and a challenge. He blinked once, twice, then tilted his head. "Does a what now?"
Corey's grin faltered for half a second, eyebrows shooting up like Kota had personally insulted his entire bloodline. "Mate, you serious? Does a bear shit in the woods?!" He repeated it slower this time, leaning forward out of the van's rear doors, hands gesturing wide like he was explaining quantum physics to a toddler. "It's a yes, innit? Obvious as fuck! Crikey, you really don't know that one?"
Kota rubbed the back of his neck, still half-sitting on the asphalt from his earlier tumble, gravel biting into his palms. "I mean… I've heard it before, I think. But is it from a show or something? Like an old movie line?"
Corey sucked in a dramatic breath through his teeth, eyes going wide with theatrical horror. "A show? A bloody show? Oh no, no, no, you poor sheltered bastard." He hopped down from the van in one fluid motion, landing light on his sneakers despite the dramatic hips that swayed with every step. The other three stayed perched in the open doors, watching the exchange like it was premium entertainment. Corey planted his hands on his hips and launched into it without missing a beat.
"You don't know early 2000s slang? That's criminal, mate. That's actual cultural genocide. The 2020s, yeah? Greatest decade of the century, hands down. Everyone acts like it was all doom and gloom, but nah—pure golden age if you knew where to look. Pandemic? Best thing that ever happened to us. Everyone locked inside, no one had to pretend to like their jobs, just vibing at home playing games and wanking and shagging themselves stupid. Crikey, the amount of free time! People finally had permission to rot in the best way possible. YouTube exploded, proper hayday, I'm talking peak content. CoryxKenshin dropping those horror reaction vids that had everyone screaming in their bedrooms at 3 a.m., Markiplier going full unhinged energy, the whole gaming scene was untouchable. And don't even get me started on the porn. Absolute renaissance. Mia Khalifa still ruling the conversation even after she quit, Angela White dropping scenes that made blokes question their sexuality, the big three Lana, Abella, Riley fuckin' legends. We had access to more high-quality filth than any generation before us, delivered straight to the palm of your hand while the world pretended to be productive. That was living, mate. That was freedom."
He was pacing now, small circles in front of the van, voice rising with every sentence like he was delivering a TED Talk to an invisible crowd of one. The rock music still thumped faintly from inside the vehicle, bass syncing up with his gestures. Kota just sat there, mouth half-open, trying to keep up. The guy talked like he'd been waiting years for someone to ask him about this exact topic.
The same person who'd punched him earlier leaned forward and delivered another solid thump to Corey's shoulder. "Oi, shut it before you sprain something."
Corey spun on him, rubbing the spot but still grinning. "What? I'm educating the man! He's clearly been living under a rock since 2019!"
Kota finally pushed himself to his feet, brushing more gravel off his jeans. The water he'd chugged was starting to press harder now, a dull insistent ache that made standing up feel like a tactical decision. "Okay, names," he said, trying to steer things back to planet Earth. "Who are you guys, actually?"
Corey lit up like someone had flipped a switch. He spun back toward Kota, pointing both thumbs at his own chest. "Right! Introductions! I'm Corey, greatest twenty-year-old bass player in all of existence, undisputed 2020s fanatic, best blowjobs this side of the equator, and owner of the widest fuckin' hips you'll ever see clap in rhythm. Crikey, I could twerk to a metronome and still make it sound like art. I'm basically the whole package, mate—talent, thirst, and taste."
The guy who'd punched him twice now rolled his eyes so hard Kota thought they might get stuck. "You mean the one who won't stop eating," he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Corey's grin flickered, just for a second. His cheeks actually pinked up under the parking-lot lights, and he ducked his head a little, suddenly sheepish. "Oi, that's low, even for you." But the embarrassment didn't last long; he recovered fast, shaking it off like water and turning that bright, hungry gaze back on Kota.
Kota couldn't help it he looked him up and down properly this time. Corey was hot in the exact way that felt dangerous. Wild, long dyed-white hair falling in messy strands past his shoulders, clearly unkept but somehow deliberate, like he'd rolled out of bed looking like a punk-rock fallen angel. Thin waist that curved dramatically into hips that didn't just sway, they demanded attention. The way they filled out those baggy gray jeans was obscene, the kind of proportions that made you wonder how physics still worked. Pierced tongue glinted when he talked, flashing silver every time he laughed or licked his lips. Everything about him screamed "I'm gonna milk you till you die and thank you for the privilege afterward." Kota felt his throat go dry despite the four cups of water still sloshing inside him.
Corey caught the look. Of course he did. His grin turned sly, eyes narrowing with mischief. He stepped closer close enough that Kota could smell faint vanilla body spray mixed with cigarette smoke and framed his own face with both hands, batting his lashes in exaggerated innocence.
"What's that look, big man? You got feelings for little ol' me already?" He tilted his head, sticking his tongue out just enough to show off the piercing again.
"Don't be shy. I don't bite… unless you ask nice. Crikey, you're proper fit when you're flustered. Bet you'd look even better with my name on your lips."
Kota snorted despite himself, the sound half-laugh, half-exasperation. Corey was funny in that annoying little-brother way where every word was designed to get under your skin and stay there.
The flirting was shameless, relentless, delivered with so much horny confidence it almost circled back around to charming. Almost.
The guy talked too much, yapped too hard, and clearly lived to push buttons, but damn if the package didn't make it hard to look away. Physically hot with an annoying personality that about summed it up. Kota shook his head, trying to keep his face neutral even as heat crept up his neck.
The other three were still watching from the van doors, one of them smirking quietly, another checking something on their phone like this was just Tuesday night routine. Corey kept staring at Kota, waiting for a comeback, tongue playing with that piercing like he knew exactly what it did to people.
Kota cleared his throat again, forcing his eyes back up to Corey's face instead of letting them drift south. "Right. So… you're all here for Beckett's thing?"
Corey's grin stretched wider. "Too right we are, mate. Wouldn't miss it for the world."