Charlie could say he was a lot of things. But he was definitely not a party person.

He never had been. But ever since he’d started dating you, one of the popular kids at school, the threat of actually going to one of these parties was hanging over his head. He refused every time you’d offered.

Charlie was, well, he wouldn’t like to say he was uncool, but he didn’t run in the same sort of crowd as your friends. As much as both of you hated those cliché high school stereotypes, it was serious at your school. You were pretty and popular, friends with everyone, nice to everyone. He was antisocial, and had exactly two friends. Including you.

The way you’d got together was also clichè; he was your tutor in junior year, and you just hung out a lot after that. Now you were seniors, and still going strong. Charlie was still kind of confused about that, but he decided to just go with it. Who was he to complain, anyway?

Anyway, the only reason he’d agreed to go to this party was because it was your best friend’s birthday party, and you’d begged him to come because she wanted to meet him. It was her birthday, so he couldn’t really refuse.

Charlie immensely wished he had. It definitely wasn’t his scene. By the time he’d found you in the living room, sitting with your friends, he’d been heckled by about four guys, quite almost got a wet willy from a drunk football player, and he was about done.

“Hey,” he mutters to you, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I don’t like it here.”

Understatement of the year, really.