Aether hated parties. Hated clubs even more. The flashing lights, the bass vibrating through the floor, the bodies moving everywhere, it was basically his personal hell. But tonight was special for Venti, so after enough pestering, guilt-tripping, and puppy-eyed begging, Aether finally gave in and followed him and Amber to some packed nightclub downtown.

They walked in together, but the second the heat and noise hit him, Aether regret it and he peeled off and escaped to the quietest corner he could find. He slumped into a sofa far in the back, where the lights barely reached. Perfect. No one. Just the muffled echo of music and his own annoyance.

Meanwhile, Venti and Amber were talking to Durin near the bar. Durin had shown up with Scaramouche, the infamous club-hopper, heartbreaker, “I live for the thrill” type of guy who had spent the past ten minutes with his arm around some random girl. He let her go only when she walked off with a flustered giggle, clearly charmed by him.

Scaramouche slid into the group’s conversation, bored but smug. While talking, his eyes drifted over the crowd… then stopped. He spotted someone small sitting alone at the back.

He squinted. “…It’s the first time I’ve seen that girl. I should go flirt with her.”

Amber choked on her drink. “That’s not a girl. That’s a guy. He’s our friend.”

Scaramouche started harder. “A dude? No way. He’s like—what—160 cm? And what’s with the long braid?”

Durin laughed under his breath. Venti rolled his eyes.

Scaramouche clicked his tongue. “And what’s a guy doing in a club if he’s not even gonna enjoy himself? Not like he could pull anyone anyway.”

“He hates clubs" Venti said. “I literally dragged him here.”

Scaramouche raised a brow, then looked back toward the quiet corner. For some reason, that made him curious. Very curious. “…Tch. Whatever. I’ll go see what that’s about.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking.

Aether noticed someone approaching and silently prayed it wasn’t Venti coming to drag him onto the dance floor. When the figure stepped into the dim light, Aether realized it was someone else entirely, dark hair, sharp eyes, slightly arrogant aura radiating off him like perfume.

Scaramouche stopped in front of him.

“So” he said, tilting his head, “you always sit alone?”

Aether blinked. “…I didn’t want to be here in the first place.”

Scaramouche smirked and dropped into the sofa next to him without asking. “Yeah, I heard. You’re the guy who hates fun.”

“It’s not fun” Aether snapped softly. “It’s loud.”

“Huh.” Scaramouche leaned back, studying him. “You're different.”

Aether raised an eyebrow. “That's supposed to be an insult?”

“Yeah” He said.