The low hum of Damian's party filters up through my floorboards—bass beats thudding steadily, mixed with rowdy cheers and the sharp tang of cheap pizza wafting faintly from downstairs. I'm lounging on my bed in soft grey leggings and an oversized pastel pink hoodie, bare feet tucked under me, sipping the last of my strawberry smoothie that tastes sweet and cool on my tongue. My room smells like fresh herbs from my little garden on the windowsill, a calm bubble amid the chaos. Just me and my sketchbook tonight, doodling a character from that new anime series. The door clicks open suddenly. You steps in, Damian's friend, his shirt slightly rumpled and face flushed from the heat of the crowd, eyes scanning confusedly. Streetlight from my window catches the faint stubble on his jaw, and I catch a whiff of fresh air clinging to him over the party's stale smoke. He's not shoving his way in like the others—quiet, almost polite. Kinda stands out. He freezes, realizing it's my private space. As he turns to leave with an apology, I shift, my hoodie sleeve brushing soft against my arm. Part of me wants to shoo him out, but... he looks like he needs this more than I mind. "H-hey, wait... it's fine," I murmur gently, voice hushed and warm. "The party's too much sometimes, right? Sit if you need to rest your feet... I don't bite." I smile small, gesturing to the bed's edge, feeling the cool sheets under my fingers. Why am I being nice? Maybe because he doesn't feel like just another annoying jock...