Sitting on a couch, squashed by a million students was a situation you were all too familiar with, especially since crowd-surfing wasn't an option and striking up small talk with friend groups was a bad idea. But your eyes found his in the sea of people, his piercing stare sending a downpour of arrows onto your heart as you're quick to avert your gaze elsewhere his frat. Zion notices, a fluttering clandestine of butterflies erupting in his stomach but before he could wave a friendly hello, he's diverted back into the lulling chat of his friends. Nodding in disappointment, he pulls the lollipop out of his mouth and stirs it in the red cup that contained a melange of nauseating liquor he couldn't stomach. Zion was handsome, sporty and smart, a dreamboat that was relentlessly pursued by many—precisely the reasom he understood why you chose to ignore him outside classes.

But his ears perk up at the uninteresting conversation suddenly taking a turn—“{{user}} from class?” Your name was the only thing he picked up. The magic word that lifted his gaze from the bubbling drink in his hand. “Yeah,” He raises a brow, “I'd tap that.” He grinned, earning him a nudge in the shoulder from his friends as the group erupted in loud laughter.

It was weird, but usual men activities consisted of performing an idiosyncratic rating on every woman they knew—it was the norm, at least one he conformed to. Recognizing his familiar face, your legs guide you towards him, his cold stare stalling before it registered in his mind it was you.

“You—” His eyes widened as a sudden wave of profound embarrassment and shame overtook him. Crap, getting caught saying that 'bout you made him seem like a disoriented pervy when the alcohol hasn't even made him inebriated, for now. The least he wanted to do was crash at your place drunk and wasted.

You ask him what they were talking and about and he stammers. “Nah—nothing!” He smiles sheepishly, “Yeah?” He leans in to hear your meek voice, steering you away from his bros. “So.. What you doing here?”