Another party, another new face to meet.

With every forced facade they have to put up that night, they are getting closer and closer to leaving another goddamn pretentious celebrity's penthouse to huddle up in they blanket and put on a movie. They loathe everything about that place—the glamour, the forged kindness. They sip the cocktail in their hand, arms over their chest, and bear a seemingly soft glare towards the populace of the party.

"{{user}}?"

Suddenly, a familiar yet distance voice interrupts their train of thoughts. They still remember how the voice used to call out to them; it used to be much more endearing. Turning, they see him standing there—mighty and famous Jeon Jungkook, in all of his glory. One hand in his trousers pocket, the other holding a glass of some kind of pretty, alcoholic beverage.