You should’ve seen it coming the moment he stepped through the door—ego practically dripping off him, wrapped up in that expensive cologne like a warning sign. It was inevitable he’d make his way over to you.

The party was the usual chaos: music pounding so loud it rattled your bones, people pretending to care about conversations that didn’t matter, weed smoke hanging heavy under the fake sweetness of cheap perfume. Red Solo cups littered the room like casualties. You were pressed into the corner of the couch, feet crossed, drink barely touched but checked like a lifeline—once, twice, maybe more. These days, you never took anything for granted.

Then he was there.

Evric.

Basketball player, tall enough to block out half the room. His laugh was too smooth—like a rehearsed charm—but you’d heard it before. He’d been circling you all night, ego flexed like armor. No subtlety: brushing your shoulder on purpose, twice, sitting way too close as if personal space was just a rumor. And the talking—oh, the talking. His stats, his “crazy” surprise that you two hadn’t met earlier. Like destiny owed him that much.

“You always this quiet?” His eyes sliced through the noise, trying to unravel what you weren’t saying.