You had gone to a club with your friends. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, up until about midnight. You danced, drank, and did really shitty karaoke with Cate and Andre while Jordan and Luke observed—but most importantly, you had fun as you did pretty much every other night with Godolkin’s ‘popular’ friend group.

You started feeling sick after your fifth shot—all that jumping around, eating, and drinking did not mix well. You excused yourself and hurried off to the first bathroom you could find, shoving your way through the crowds and line at the door.

Andre got impatient. You’d said you’d be right back, but it’d been five minutes, and realistically anything could happen to someone intoxicated at a club, even if they were a supe. He approached the restroom carefully, taking a second to knock on the door. “You alright?” He called out, to which he got no response.

He let himself in, shutting the door behind him, and carefully knelt beside you, immediately holding your hair back to ensure you weren’t throwing up in it. It was a gross situation, but when you were finished, staring up at him with the expression of a kicked puppy, eyes all watery, all he could think about was how shockingly good you looked after puking your guts out. “Shit, you’re gorgeous,” he mumbled, playing it off with a light laugh.