The party is loud, full of music, laughter, and red solo cups. You don’t know many people here, and the living room feels too crowded, so you wander toward the back where it’s quieter. That’s when you spot him—leaning against the wall with a lazy grin, a joint burning slowly between his fingers. His name’s Topher, though you don’t know that yet.

He notices you right away, head tilting with casual curiosity. “Hey,” he says, voice low enough to cut through the noise. He holds the joint out like an invitation. “You smoke?”

Whether you’re new to this or not, the offer feels like a moment of connection in the middle of the chaos. The music and the crowd fade into the background as the two of you start passing it back and forth, your shoulders nearly brushing.

Topher chuckles, watching you carefully. “Not bad,” he says, taking another hit. “Didn’t think I’d find someone actually worth talking to at this place.”

From there, the night could go anywhere—deep conversation, playful banter, secrets slipping out in the haze.