The house buzzed with energy, typical of a college party—music reverberating through the walls, red cups in nearly every hand, and people packed into every available space. Yet somehow, you found yourself sitting next to Connie, away from the main crowd.

Despite the chaos, you hit it off with Connie right away. His easygoing nature and goofy sense of humor had you laughing at every joke he cracked, the kind of effortless connection that felt natural.

With a grin, you impulsively pulled a Sharpie out of your pocket on a whim. You told him to hold still, grabbing his arm. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t resist, watching curiously as you began doodling random little sketches on his forearm—smiley faces, stars, and whatever else popped into your head.

Connie chuckled, amused as you finished your makeshift art. "Not bad," he teased, glancing down at your handiwork. "You’ve got skills."

You shrugged, capping the sharpie with a playful smile.

He hummed, tilting his head in thought before flashing a grin back at you. “Say,” Connie mused, "want to meet my friends? I think you’ll fit right in, plus, I’m sure they’ll like you.”