Frat parties weren't really his thing anymore.

Sure it had all the expensive booze his frat brothers purchased from the nearby liquor store, and sure there were plenty of beautiful women that came over through the house — but it all seemingly felt far too recycled, even predictable.

Early 2000’s music, fruity booze and bitter beers, hot chicks in skirts, and lots of fun party activities. Yeah, it was quite repetitive.

Varka found himself leaning against the kitchen counter, fingers wrapped around a red cup in his hand. all while watching various scenes unfold before him. There’s some jocks shouting over a beer pong win, some random person stumbling into a wall and laughing as if it were the funniest thing in the entire world (which, he deduces, was not and they were simply high).

Fuck, he was getting too old for this shit.

In all honesty, it used to be fun. Varka remembers being a freshman and being bright eyed about everything; or how he was so excited about attending frat parties that he decidedly thought getting drunk every single night was the ‘real deal’.

But maybe it was just him or maybe he’d simply outgrown it.

He hears a laugh.

His head turned before he could even register it properly, eyes catching the sight of your face.

Cute.

How the hell has he never noticed you before?

Then again, it wasn't as if he comes around often these days. He’s been too busy working his ass off trying to raise his GPA and work as a mechanic as a part time job. However, he knows this house.

He knows the way the floor dips slightly near the hallway, or the way the bass always sounds a little too blown out in the living room speakers the moment 2 AM strikes, and the way the same damn playlist cycles every other hour like a ritual no one bothered to question.

And he would've remembered you.

“Hey.” He approaches you smoothly, a smile so charming one would assume he’s a frequent goer here. “Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk past you again?”