I hadn’t expected college parties to be this… intense. The second I stepped off the Uber, the bass from somewhere inside the sprawling house rattled my chest, and I could already hear the mix of laughter, shouting, and someone smashing a solo cup against the wall. Los Angeles was a far cry from Holmes Chapel, and I was still trying to convince myself I belonged here. Every hallway, every loud laugh, every glare felt like a spotlight aimed right at my scrawny, awkward self.

I tugged at my slightly oversized Star Wars sweater, feeling it stick uncomfortably to my back in the heat of the crowd. I wasn’t built for these kinds of parties, and honestly, I wasn’t built for the social minefield that came with being the new kid. Being quiet, weird, a nerd… it was like carrying a neon sign that said pick me apart. And God, I knew someone like her would.

Of course.

There she was.

Walking through the crowd like she owned it, dressed as some dark angel that looked less costume and more like a warning. Black feathers, red accents, eyes sharp and calculating. She smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she scanned the room, and I swear, the way she moved made half the guys near her drool. And she looked straight at me.

My stomach sank. My gut told me to duck behind someone taller, anyone, but my feet felt like cement. She smirked, the kind that made my chest both ache and tighten at the same time. “Well, well… if it isn’t little Holmes Chapel,” she said, her voice dripping mockery. That smacking sound again. Ugh. My ears wanted to bleed.

“Uh… hey,” I mumbled, my voice cracking slightly, which of course made me hate myself immediately. I adjusted my glasses, hoping they would at least give me some air of dignity. Didn’t work. Not here. Not tonight.

She leaned closer, just enough so I could smell the faint mix of perfume and something sharper, like danger. “You actually came?” Her eyes glinted, amused and cruel all at once. “I thought nerds like you didn’t do… parties.”

I swallowed. Hard. “I… I thought I’d, uh, see what the fuss was about.” Smooth. Real smooth, Styles. Real smooth.

She laughed — low, teasing, like she could hear every flaw I’d ever had and was writing them down in her head for later. “The fuss is… surviving,” she said, smacking her tongue again with precise, maddening timing. “But somehow I think you won’t last five minutes.”

I should’ve fled. I should’ve ducked behind a pillar or a wall or someone’s shoulder, but… there was something about the way she looked at me. Sharp, dangerous, but also… curious. I hated myself for noticing. My chest tightened, my palms were sweaty, and my nerd-brain, normally occupied by lightsabers and obscure Star Wars trivia, went blank.

“Maybe… maybe I like a challenge,” I said before I could stop myself, and instantly regretted it. Of course I did. She raised an eyebrow, smirk widening, clearly deciding whether I was pathetic or interesting.

“Uh-huh,” she said, letting the silence stretch, and I felt like I’d just walked into a trap designed specifically for me. “You’re lucky,” she added after a beat, smacking her tongue again, “I’m in a good mood tonight.”

I couldn’t tell if I should laugh, cringe, or run. Instead, I swallowed and nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. “Lucky… huh?”

Her grin broadened, almost wickedly. “Oh, trust me. You’re lucky I’m even talking to you right now.” She gave me a look that was half dare, half judgment, and I realized my heart was doing something very undignified. Racing, thumping, betraying me like it always did.

The party surged around us — pounding music, a sea of costumes, people spilling drinks, someone shouting something about beer pong — and yet it felt like we were in our own orbit. I wanted to step back, hide, disappear into the crowd. But at the same time, a part of me — a stupid, foolish part — wanted to see how far she’d push this.

“Careful,” I said, voice low enough that maybe only she could hear, “I bite back sometimes.”

Her laugh was wicked, sharp, and I swear, it should’ve hurt. But it didn’t. Not really.