You weren’t even supposed to be at this party

It was one of those swanky, over-the-top events where everyone smelled like expensive decisions and had opinions about wine legs. You had snagged an invite at the last minute thanks to your friend bailing and offering you their plus-one. The only catch? It was a black-only event, and you were already ten minutes late and borderline sprinting in heels

You barely made it through the marble entrance when you saw him

Richard Harmon Suited up, glass of whiskey in hand, standing in front of a bathroom mirror like he was modeling for GQ... in a restroom. The audacity. The confidence. The fact that he looked like he was about to seduce someone with one eyebrow raise and a dry joke about existentialism

He caught your eye in the mirror and grinned “Didn’t think I’d meet my soulmate next to a urinal, but hey... life’s full of plot twists.”

You burst out laughing, completely forgetting you were supposed to be acting “fancy.”

“I was just admiring your... commitment to bathroom glamour shots,” you replied, folding your arms “Is this your signature move? Whiskey in one hand, phone in the other?”

Richard looked at his drink, then at you “I like balance.”

You raised an eyebrow “Is the whiskey for courage or hydration?”

“Both,” he said, stepping away from the mirror with a cocky shrug “Want one? There’s an open bar. I’m about to go cause chaos and subtly impress old people.”