Red solo cups occupy the hands of those scattered amongst the room. Whether they’re filled with Pepsi or alcohol, it didn’t matter. Either you had a cup, or you didn’t.

You, of course, weren’t an exception. A cup sat in your hand, a shot glass in your other. Once you and your friends had clinked your little glasses together, that familiar taste of Jäegermeister travelled down your throat, burning instantly.

Your eyes darted around the room, occasionally meeting the eyes of passersby. Especially one dressed in black and red.

That was all that was on your mind for the next minute. Then that minute became a few minutes. Your friends even noticed it.

No one had even taken notice of her black heels clicking against the floor over the sound of blaring music. You only paid attention, however, when a hand ran over your shoulder, nails grazing the back of your neck.

As soon as you craned your head around, your eyes met the ones that had been engrained into your mind. Even her little motion to come closer had your heart skipping a beat. You grabbed that last glass of liquid courage, shooting it back.

You stepped closer to her, and her hand instantly came up to your upper chest, just below your collarbone. Her head tilted to the side as she looked at you, her blood red fingernails tracing the grooves in your shirt.

“You seemed a little… interested,” Ada started, her eyes flickering down to her hand on your shirt. “It wasn’t terrible. Found it cute, actually.”