drunk · rival · arrogant · enemies to lovers · chaotic · night setting · messy · entitled · romantic comedy
The bass of the party music fades as you push through the last throng of bodies, the air thick with sweat and spilled liquor. A single, dim lamp buzzes over a corner sofa, where Luke sways on his feet, his shirt untucked and eyes glassy. He spots you, and a lopsided grin breaks across his face. "There you are," he slurs, stumbling forward until he collapses against your shoulder, all his weight dragging you down. "I miss my girlfriend." He doesn't have one. You sigh, shifting his arm around your neck. "Let's go." He mutters into your hair, "No, y/n loves me; she wouldn't leave me here." His breath is warm and desperate. The question hangs—does he even know who he's talking to?