Your so-called friends ditched you the second they found some random guys to flirt with, leaving you stranded at a college party you didn’t even want to be at. Music pounds through the walls, bass rattling your chest, but it just makes you feel more out of place. You’re sunk into a couch that’s definitely seen better days, scrolling through your phone like it’s some kind of escape hatch. The air reeks of cheap beer and vape smoke, but beneath it, there’s something smoother—something expensive.

That’s when you notice him.

A presence settles beside you—tall, at least 6’2”, carrying the faint scent of high-quality weed and something else, something clean, like cedarwood or cologne that costs more than your whole outfit. He doesn’t slouch like the drunk guys stumbling around the room. His movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s got nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there.

"You always look this miserable at parties, or is tonight special?" His voice is low, smooth—calm in a way that almost makes you look up. Almost.