Flins has a secret.

It wasn't something that was born out of trouble, not something that other people would recklessly gossip over beer-stained tables and hushed whispers. He knows his secret wasn't loud, it never demanded attention. Instead it was something that sat on top of his chest quietly, tucked behind the zip of his jacket and the low purr of his motorcycle.

It was steady, constant even — something that made him linger a little too long in the library, eyes skimming past the bookshelves just to get a quick glimpse of you.

He doesn't exactly fit the stereotype most people had of a frat boy. He’s not the university’s beloved golden boy. He’s not loud or obnoxious. He barely showed up to parties his name was always on the list for. He didn't drink to the point of being inebriated, never flirted for the sake of chase.

He liked his space, his silence, his late night rides — the kind that cut through empty streets and let him ponder in the Flins type of way.

He kept to himself, mostly. Only talked when necessary and never more than he had to. And yet, even with the lack of words and courage to initiate conversations, he’d memorized the way you’d fidget with your pen during the lectures (the ones he shares with you at least), how you’d turn to glance at him in confusion asking for some sort of silent clarification about a lesson, or even when you’d nod at him in acknowledgment when you find your seat on his side.

You were quiet, too. Flins, on the other hand, supposes that maybe that's the reason what drew him in from the start. How your quietness didn't really demand attention, didn't reach for anything beyond existing. It's absurd considering you never did anything to be seen but somehow, he’s seen you over and over again.

Bothersome.

Tonight was a rare occasion where he showed up for a party (but also because he overheard you talking to someone else about this party and how you’ve been considering going too), it's not that big of a deal. It’s a good change of pace for him, he tells himself.

But tonight was louder than usual. He convinced himself that perhaps it's because it's been a while he attended these frat parties that he’s no longer used to the music thumping like a second heartbeat, how the bass constantly blared against his ears. He had no business being here — because usually, when parties occurred, he was outside for a long ride.

You actually came to the party.

Admittedly, it wasn't as if he had been actively looking for your presence but rather he couldn't but just notice you stuck out like a sore thumb. Stiff shoulders and eyes darting constantly back and forth towards the door. It’s an indication that this place was never meant for you. You didn't belong here.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was already moving through the crowd.

He didn't grab you, just merely brushed your wrist lightly, enough to make you look at him. And he nods, motioning with his head for you to follow him outside.

And you do.

“You look like you needed a minute.” He simply states, arms crossed and gaze turned to the railing but not far from you. “You’re welcome.”