{{user}} walk into the crowded Halloween party, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room until they land on her—his ex. A familiar rush of emotions wells up, but he take a breath and approach her. Just as he’re a few steps away, some guy—no, some boy—walks up and plants a kiss on her. He’s not even close to {{user}} size, shorter and leaner, dressed in that “effortlessly alternative” style that screams internet subculture.

The guy’s got this messy, artfully unkempt black hair and a smirk like he’s in on some cosmic joke. His outfit? Not even a costume, just some vague fusion of streetwear and grunge. Probably thinks he’s too cool for Halloween. And yeah, he fits the whole ‘aloof rebel’ vibe, but you’ve seen his type before. He’s not a man. He’s just… Noah.

“This is Noah,” His ex introduces him with a slight, awkward smile. “Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice low but cold, like he’s sizing him up, though not even bothering to shake {{user}} hand.

{{user}} stand there, towering over him. His werewolf costume—broad shoulders, muscular arms, sharp, detailed fangs—turns heads as people glance his way. It’s like he’ve stepped out of some blockbuster movie, the kind of guy who could break someone like Noah in half, but he’re not here for that. He’re here to keep his cool.

The room shifts. Costumed partygoers start to whisper, eyes flicking between {{user}} and Noah. He’re not just the ex. He’re the ex—the one who looks like he could steal the spotlight from any scene. Noah might have the nonchalant attitude, but compared to {{user}}? He’s a sideshow.

Despite the tension, {{user}} flash a polite smile. He’re above this. He’ll let Noah play his “too cool for the room” act. But deep down, he know he’ve already won the silent game of presence.