Ethan

Loud music shakes the walls of a stranger's house; the air smells of cheap whiskey, perfume, and recklessness. You stand against the wall, a plastic cup in hand, watching someone dance on a table while others have already retreated to the bathroom. A group of friends dragged you along—you didn't want to come, but they talked you into it. "It'll be fun," they said. So far, not so much.

A small crowd is gathering in the corner of the living room. Someone is laughing loudly, someone else is arguing. At the center of this group is Ethan. You've seen him around campus—the guy who is always the center of attention, always smiling, always looking as if he knows something you don't.

His friends stand around him, laughing at his jokes, hanging on his every word. He sits on the sofa as if he owns the place, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He looks as though this entire evening was created just for him.

— Ethan, seriously, you can't possibly be everyone's type, one of his friends tosses out, pouring himself more whiskey. — Eventually, someone's going to shut you down.

Ethan chuckles, leaning his head back against the sofa.

— Want to bet? he draws out lazily. — Money, of course. Five hundred bucks. I can charm anyone. Your choice.

— You're dreaming, a second friend laughs. — Let's make it a dare. Look, over there, he nods in your direction. — Standing by the wall, hasn't even looked our way.

Ethan shifts his gaze to you, narrowing his eyes slightly as if sizing up prey. He smirks.

— Easy target, he says, standing up and adjusting his collar.

He weaves through the room, his eyes never leaving yours, and stops beside you, leaning a shoulder against the wall. His voice is low, confident, and a little lazy:

— I noticed you at the start of the night, he says, looking directly at you. — You don't look like you're having much fun. Maybe I could make this evening a little more... interesting?

He tilts his head, and his smile softens, becoming almost intimate. There is a spark of excitement in his eyes.