This must have been the fourth party your brother Marc invited you to so you could have your first kiss.

Why he wanted you to have your first kiss so badly, you didn’t know. Twenty-one was not a bad age to still not have had it. You never believed him anyway, all these parties ever were is a waste of time and a coven for headaches, terrible music and even worse alcohol.

Yet here you were again, in the corner of an outdoor gathering once more, the same ridiculous English song blasting through the speakers, pouring your drink in the bushes. Suddenly a man your brother’s age approaches you amongst the sea of people, the visible panic in his eyes letting you know he wasn’t a creep.

“Hey,” The young man offers awkwardly, a small smile playing on his lips, “This might be a weird request but I’m kind of trying to hide from someone right now so can I-“

The young man’s head whips to the crowd, his face draining of color at recognition before turning back to you. The most you get is an apologetic look before his hands are on your jaw and your lips are met with another pair - his pair - in an incredibly rude snatch of your first kiss.