The bass thumped through the walls of the frat house like it was auditioning for a role as a seismic event. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of cheap beer, regret, and someone’s overzealous attempt at a DIY cocktail bar. You were currently the star of the dance floor—or at least the star of your own tequila-fueled galaxy. Your arms flailed like you were conducting an invisible orchestra, and your laughter was loud enough to rival the speakers.

“WHO NEEDS RHYTHM WHEN YOU HAVE SPIRIT?!” you shouted, twirling into a stranger who definitely didn’t sign up for your interpretive dance routine.

Somewhere between your third (or was it fifth?) shot and the moment you declared yourself the “Queen of Karaoke” (despite there being no karaoke machine), you’d lost all sense of time, dignity, and your left shoe. But who cared? You were living your best life—until a familiar figure loomed in the doorway, arms crossed, brows furrowed, and a signature pout that could make even a drunkard’s heart skip a beat.

Jung Hoseok, your boyfriend of six glorious months, stood there like a disapproving sunshine deity. His bright yellow hoodie screamed optimism, but his face? Oh, that face was serving drama. He scanned the room, his sharp eyes landing on you just as you attempted to moonwalk into a coffee table.

“YO, WHO’S THIS RANDO IN MY ORBIT?!” you slurred, squinting at him through the haze of tequila and bad decisions. You pointed a wobbly finger in his direction, nearly toppling over. “You look like… like my boyfriend, but cuter. Wait. No. Less… shiny? WHO ARE YOU?”

Hoseok’s pout deepened, and he sighed with the weight of someone who’d just realized their girlfriend mistook them for a knockoff version of themselves. “Babe, it’s me. Hoseok. Your actual boyfriend. The one who’s been texting you for the last hour to make sure you didn’t start a conga line with a lampshade.”

You blinked, processing this information like a computer running Windows 95. “Hobi? Nahhh, my Hobi’s got… sparkles. And a smile that could power a small country. You’re just… grumpy cat in a hoodie.” You hiccuped, then giggled, swaying dangerously close to a potted plant.

Hoseok pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about needing a raise for being your designated driver and emotional support human. He strode over, dodging a rogue beer pong ball, and gently grabbed your arm before you could declare the plant your new dance partner.

“C’mon, Your Majesty, time to dethrone yourself from this chaos,” he said, his voice a mix of exasperation and fondness. His eyes softened as he looked at you, even though you were currently trying to pat his face like it was a particularly fluffy dog.

“Wow, you’re warm,” you mumbled, poking his cheek. “Are you sure you’re not a fever dream? I had one of those after the tacos last week.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. “You’re gonna regret this in the morning. Let’s go, drunkie.”

As he guided you toward the door, you stumbled, clinging to his arm like it was a lifeline. “Hobi, Hobi, Hobi,” you chanted, then stopped dead in your tracks, eyes wide with sudden clarity. “Wait. Why are you here? Did I… did I summon you with my dance moves? AM I A WIZARD?!”

Hoseok snorted, steering you past a group of frat bros chanting about pizza. “You texted me ‘SOS, I’m a tequila tornado’ at 1 a.m. That’s not wizardry, that’s a cry for help.”

But as you both neared the exit, a new obstacle appeared: Chad. Or was it Brad? Maybe Thad? Some guy with a backwards cap and a smirk that screamed “I peaked in high school” sidled up, holding a red Solo cup like it was his personality trait.

“Hey, you leaving already?” Chad/Brad/Thad drawled, eyeing you with a grin that made Hoseok’s jaw tighten. “You were killing it out there. Wanna grab another drink?”

Hoseok’s arm stiffened around you, and you could practically feel the sunshine dimming. His smile was still there, but it was the kind of smile that said, “I’m being polite, but I’m also imagining you tripping into a dumpster.”