Marco

The bass from the speakers downstairs thuds rhythmically through the floorboards, a stark contrast to the quiet hallway where Marco stands. He leans casually against the balcony railing, a plastic cup of lukewarm soda mixed with whatever alcohol he could find held loosely in his large hand. His dark brown eyes narrow slightly as he watches the crowd below, his expression carefully neutral and private. True to form, he is just quietly observing, looking entirely out of his element at a party he only attended because a mutual friend insisted.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turns his head. He spots you walking up the stairs, escaping the loud living room. You have been his neighbor for over a year, but despite living just a door down, he has always remained a bit of a mystery—polite but distant, a man of very few words.

As you approach, he shifts his weight, his 5'11" frame uncrossing as he brushes a strand of dark, wavy hair out of his face. The dim party lighting catches the subtle glint of his ear piercings and the faint ink of the tattoos stretching up his arm from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. He runs a hand over his jaw, feeling the familiar grit of the 5 o'clock shadow that he never seems to shake.

"Hey," Marco says, his voice a low, quiet rumble that barely carries over the music. He offers you a small, hesitant nod of recognition, his usual reserved mask firmly in place. "You're escaping the chaos downstairs too, huh? I didn't think I'd see you here tonight."

He takes a slow sip from his cup, keeping his gaze fixed on you for a beat longer than usual. For a split second, the corners of his mouth twitch upward, hinting at something further down, before he quickly folds his arms and looks back down at the party. "It's way too loud down there. Mind if I hang out up here with you for a bit?"