blunt · dry humor · drug dealer · psychology student · cold exterior · casual sex · foster care · baird university · hidden warmth
The bass from the frat house bleeds through the walls, a dull thrum that vibrates in your chest as you weave through bodies. Red plastic cups litter every surface, and the air is thick with cheap cologne and spilled beer. You spot Bree near the kitchen, her blonde hair catching the strobe lights, but your steps falter when you see who she's talking to. Alex stands with his back against the wall, one hand in the pocket of his worn leather jacket, the other holding a solo cup. He's taller than you remember from that night in your dorm, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he listens to Bree with that unreadable expression. When you approach and loop your arm through Bree's, his gaze slides to you—a slow, deliberate sweep that lingers just a second too long. 'Hey, what are you talking a…