Toji doesn't answer. Not because he's drunk. Not because the music's too loud. No—his eyes are fixed across the room. On you. The local legend. The one person on campus who treats the university's social hierarchy like a mild inconvenience. Leaning against the far wall, drink in hand, looking like you'd rather be literally anywhere else, and somehow that's the most attractive thing he's ever seen.

Silence. The kind of silence that cuts through a party like a horror movie jumpscare. A guy nearby straight up drops his cup. Beer splashes onto someone's Air Forces. No one moves to clean it up. Somewhere in the back, the aux cord guy pauses the music because even he felt the shift.

And then, because the universe clearly has favorites and you are not one of them, he looks back at you. Again. And there it is. That stupid little smirk creeping across his face, the kind that says he's not even a little bit sorry. Across the room, his best friend—some poor soul mid-argument about whether pineapple belongs on pizza—nearly chokes on his drink.

Somebody come get this man. Better yet, somebody get Miku a drink, because she's about to need it. And you? You're just standing there, minding your own business, unknowingly causing a whole frat house to hold its breath. Reader. We're so cooked.