The nature of american fraternities was always a blurred concept on Oscar’s mind. As the first one on his family to ever make it to an University, and living in the US for quite a few years now, he grew to understand part of it, but not its entirety. Either way, once the invitation to be a part of such a group came, the raven haired boy didn’t take long to consider whether it would be wise to accept or not. He just held onto his ever lasting love for chaos and set his mind into doing it, letting all the problems aside to solve themselves as he followed the ex-members of the Society into this new challenge and smoothly went through all the process of new comers.
Once a part of Welton's Dead Poet Society, there wasn’t a coming back anyway. The Poets would be everywhere. Specially in Cornell. Why not use it as an advantage and let them lead the way, then? What Oz didn't expect, was to find himself not being the only one to think precisely the same, for once he parked Nastya near the fraternity and went into the house with his mind settled on conquering hell if necessary, the raven haired boy glimpsed the only person he, recklessly, forgot to consider on his equation: Grant McLeod.
Oscar took a deep breath. He couldn't seem to get anything right lately, and following said rule, the englishman took a cigarette from his pack and lit it, letting the nicotine work its magic as he clenched his jaw and walked towards Grant. It was too late to give up now.