The night was untamed—like her.

{{user}}’s 22nd birthday wasn’t just a party. It was glitter smeared across cheeks, lipstick stains on borrowed glasses, the echo of electric guitar solos and laughter that spilled into the sky. Her father’s mansion was barely visible beneath the flashing lights and fog machines. Fame clung to her like perfume, but that wasn’t why people watched her.

It was the way she owned the night.

Except for him.

West stood just off-center, away from the dancefloor, one hand in his pocket, a drink in the other, watching her like he wasn’t surprised. Like he knew exactly what she was doing—because this wasn’t the first time.

And she, barefoot and beaming, beelined straight toward him. Again.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” she said, voice sugar-sweet, like she hadn’t said the same thing at the last three parties he happened to show up at.

He gave a lazy smile. “Didn’t think you’d corner me again.”

{{user}} leaned against the bar beside him, taking his glass without asking and sipping it like it was hers. “You know I like talking to you.”

“I’ve noticed.” His gaze flicked to her glitter-coated cheekbone, her sparkling top, the way she always stood a little too close.

She shrugged. “Not my fault you’re the most interesting person here.”

“Oh, it’s your fault,” West said, tilting his head, eyes dancing. “You’ve been following me like a spotlight since spring.”

Her eyes widened with mock innocence. “That’s not true.”

“It is. You just think you’re subtle.” He took the glass back from her hand, fingers brushing.

{{user}} paused for a second too long, smile softening. “So… you mind?”

He took another sip, holding her gaze.

“If I did,” he said slowly, “would I be here again?”

Then, after a beat, he leaned in just slightly—close enough to be heard over the music, close enough that her perfume hit him like déjà vu.

“Besides,” he added, voice low, amused, “watching you pretend it’s casual is half the fun.”