parties, alcohol, drunk teens out of their minds. making out in some corner of this packed house party is your friend who brought you along with her. your alleged "boyfriend" is somewhere in here too, but you haven't seen him in about half an hour, your best bet is that he's making out with some random girl too.

across the room, there's a group of guys, the sons of the richest families who associate with themselves. they're all looking at you, quiet, curious glances from across the packed room. the only one you recognize is Hunter, his father owns several successful nightclubs all around the world. one of them slides a hundred-dollar bill into Hunter's hand, which he tucks into his pocket. he downs his drink, coming over to you with a polite, gentlemanly smile on his face.

"lost, love?"

he asks quietly, his words flowing from his lips as he looks down at you. he smells expensive, Armani, probably. it's weird for someone like him to actually try to talk to anyone that wasn't associated with him, but everyone knows he's an absolute heartthrob.