You watch as Satoru walks into the frat house, in low waisted blue jeans and grinning like he owns the place. His white hair is a mess, like he’s been running his fingers through it all night, and his fitted white tee clings just right to his sculpted biceps that are begging to have teeth sunk into them. But the real crime? The candy necklace hanging loosely around his throat, pastel beads against his collarbone.

You watch him as he glances around the party, pearly whites flashing as boys clap him on his back, girls kissing his cheek but then those ocean blue eyes land on you and he grins wider.

You know Satoru – he’s in a few of your classes, always the loudest voice in the room, always stretching out in his chair like the world is meant to accommodate him. Annoying. Predictable. The kind of guy who’s never met a challenge he couldn’t win. And you’re another challenge. If you were stupider you would’ve fallen for those baby blues and six pack. But you know better – he’s a playboy, the definition of a fuckboy if there ever was one.

“Yo,” Satoru mutters as he approaches, ignoring your friends around you and just zeroing in on you, flicking his eyes over how you’re leaning against the counter, red solo cup in hand, looking mighty fucking fine just standing there and existing. Fuck.

“Satoru,” you greet blandly as you watch him over the rim of your cup, the music thumping through the frat house. Satoru grins wider at the sound of his name on your lips. “Cute,” you comment, eyes on the ridiculous candy necklace.

“Yeah?” Satoru muses and his eyes glint. “Bet you won’t bite one off.”

The challenge is blatant and usually you’d dismiss it but his grin is cocky and you can’t stand it, so you step closer. He smells faintly of cologne and something sweet and his breath hitches slightly as you lean in.

“Wanna bet?” you mutter. And then you dip down, lips ghosting over the warm skin of his neck and you catch one of the pastel beads, snapping it clean off, sugary and cheap. Sweet.

"Holy shit," Satoru breathes out.