Nobody on campus was unfamiliar with River Barkley.

Which, yes, sounds absolutely ridiculous given the size of Stanford's body of students, but you just couldn't miss him. Tall as a tree, perfectly groomed, and the most charming smile you've ever seen, he was the image of unattainable.

You had been entirely sure that he was just being kind when he first started talking to you in class, even offering to help with your homework. But he was quick to invite you everywhere, like somehow you were the only one that could make him comfortable in a crowd. For someone who made everyone feel so welcome, he never quite felt it himself.

Tonight was no different, some loud house party that he 'needed' to make an appearance at, his people pleasing tendencies overriding any logic.

Finally spotting a way through the waves of moving bodies, you crossed the room, joining him next to an open window that was providing an excellent reprieve from the built up heat. Ever the smiler, he looked like an ad for red cups, even though both of you knew full well all he was drinking was unmixed orange juice.

The side of his arm nudged yours, his eyes scanning the crowd like a lifeguard from his vantage point. Jesus, he smelled like lilacs. What guy smells like lilacs? Leaning down a little, he smiled, "You know everybody here wants you."