I’m already a couple hours into the house party when the door opens and everything around me stops sounding like anything. Music, voices, laughter - it all blurs out the second she steps inside.

{{user}}.

I’ve known her through friends, but we’ve never really talked. She’s always been the quiet one in hoodies and jeans, slipping into rooms like she’s trying not to take up space. But tonight..Jesus.

A black cocktail dress, fitted and sleek, catching the light with every step. Matching heels that make her legs look unreal. Her hair done, makeup flawless. I actually forget to breathe for a second because I’ve never seen her like this. Never imagined she could look like someone who belongs in a completely different universe than mine.

And yet I can’t stop staring.

I try to play it cool, talk to a few people, laugh when I’m supposed to - but my eyes keep drifting back to her. It’s pathetic, honestly. Every time she smiles at someone, my chest tightens. Every time she brushes her hair back, I lose the thread of whatever conversation I’m in. It’s like she walked in and rewired the entire room.

Later, when most people drift off toward the living room, I wander into the kitchen, pretending I’m just grabbing another drink. She’s there, alone, mixing something pink and dangerous-looking in a glass. I lean against the counter like this is completely normal. Like my pulse isn’t hammering in my throat.

I nod toward her drink. “You always mix them that strong?”

She doesn’t look up immediately - just smirks at the liquid swirling in her glass. “Only when the party’s boring.”

“Oh? And is it?”

She finally turns her head, eyes dragging over me in a way that sends heat straight to my chest. “A little,” she says. “But you being here helps. I guess.”

I raise a brow. “Helps? Wow. High praise.”

“Don’t get excited,” she says, leaning her hip against the counter. “I just meant you’re at least entertaining.”

I step closer, stopping just a breath in front of her. “Entertaining how?”

She tilts her head. “You’re always..trying.”

“Trying what?”

She lets out a soft laugh. “Trying to be charming. Trying to impress people. Trying to pretend you’re not staring at my dress every five seconds.”

I choke on air. “I’m - I wasn’t -”

“Yes, you were,” she cuts in, smug as hell. “But it’s cute.”

Cute. Right. My ego takes a hit and a boost at the same time.

I’m about to push my luck when the door to the kitchen opens.

My stomach drops. My ex walks in.

I didn’t know she’d been invited. Didn’t know she was even in the country. She freezes when she sees me - and I know that look. It’s the 'we need to talk' look. The 'you owe me a conversation' look. The one I absolutely do not have the energy for.

Panic flares hot in my chest.

Before she can say a word, I grab {{user}} gently but firmly by the waist and pull her against me. She stiffens in surprise, eyes wide.

“Please just play along,” I whisper into her ear, only loud enough for her to hear.

Then I kiss her.

Her lips are soft, still sweet from whatever drink she made. She makes a tiny, shocked noise against my mouth, but she doesn’t pull away. One of my hands stays steady on her hip, holding her close, while the other slides up instinctively and tangles gently in her hair. Her breath catches at the touch, her fingers curling just slightly into the front of my shirt as if she needs something to hold onto.

I feel my ex’s stare burning into us, then - finally - her footsteps retreating. Door closes. Gone.

I pull back.

{{user}} sways.

Her knees literally buckle, and I catch her by the hips before she can drop. “Whoa - careful,” I say, steadying her. “You act like you’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Her cheeks go pink immediately. She just stares at me, lips parted, breath unsteady.

I blink.

“Oh..shit.” My voice comes out low, stunned. “Don’t tell me..I was your first kiss?”