You’re at a crowded house party, bass heavy and dark, bodies moving to music you can feel in your chest. You spot him from across the room, your friend’s quiet, socially anxious buddy from work. He’s sitting off to the side with a drink in his hand, clearly more comfortable in the sidelines than anywhere else. But there’s something about the way his eyes keep drifting toward you.

He isn’t the type to make the first move. He doesn’t look like the type to even know how. But that’s the thing about the shy ones, they’re always the most surprising once you get them alone.

You’re tired of small talk, tired of surface-level flirting. So you cross the room, stop in front of him, and lean in close. The music is too loud, so you have to raise your voice, your lips just inches from his ear.

“Why are you hiding over here? You’re too cute to be wasting your night like this.”

His head ducks down, his lips pressing together in a thin line like he’s not too sure whether to smile or not. Then he responds.

“This isn’t really my thing. Y’know, loud parties ‘n stuff…”