Billy couldn’t help smiling to himself like a fool, chin in the palm of his hand as he watched you shut down yet another guy, your eyes narrowed in a bored and unimpressed manner, your lips curling up in the tantalizing way that indicated you were probably spouting some mocking comment. God, you were so mean—his smile widened ridiculously without him even realizing.

His friend tapped him on the back twice, waking him out of his trance, “Man, why don’t you just go talk to {{user}} instead of looking at her like you’re gonna bite her neck off?” his friend only got a scoff out of Billy, “I’m not looking at her in any way. And I’ll go talk to her when I feel like it.”

“Yeah? So now’s not the time?”

“It’ll be time whenever the hell I want it to be, alright?” He said, even though he was already raising up from his seat, red cup forgotten on the table. He fixed his collar as the dense crowd of people parted with each of his steps.

He approached from behind you, unable to stop a slight grin from spreading on his lips as he thought of some witty line that wouldn’t end up with him becoming the next victim of your glare—he mentally prepared himself for the delicate art of conversing with someone who could verbally carve you up on a whim. When he reached said someone, you, he paused, leaning against the wall, “Who peed in your Cheerios, gorgeous? You’re gonna get wrinkles early if you keep frowing at people like that,”