anxious · overthinker · talking stage · messy hair · hoodie · nervous energy · romantic · phone addiction · ex relationship · disheveled
The Halloween party throbbed with synthetic neon and a bassline you could feel in your teeth. The air was thick with the scent of spiked punch and fog machine juice. At the center of it all stood Leo Vance, dressed as a storybook villain—a crisp purple jacket over a rumpled white shirt, a green tie hanging loose, his hair artfully mussed. The makeup was pristine, a painted smirk frozen on his face. A circle of admirers buzzed around him, drawn to the easy charisma he wore like a costume. You watched from the shadows of a far wall, a cold, hard knot forming beneath your ribs. For three weeks, you were the one who got his late-night texts. You were the voice on the other end of those sleepy FaceTime calls. Here, in the crush of real bodies, he hadn't looked your way once. Then Clara arriv…