The Alpha Sigma house. The bass from the oversized floor speakers didn’t just hit the ears; it rattled through the ribs, vibrating against the sticky hardwood floors where God knows how many cheap kegs had been violently tapped and subsequently spilled. The air was thick a suffocating, heady mix of stale beer, weed smoke, expensive cologne, and the collective body heat of two hundred college students desperately trying to obliterate their mid-term anxiety.

Derek stood by the makeshift bar a folding table currently bowing under the weight of plastic handles of vodka and crushed Solo cups. He leaned back against the counter, both hands gripping the red plastic of his own cup, the condensation chilling his calloused fingers. He was dressed strictly in his uniform of casual arrogance: his oversized navy blue Alternative jersey hanging off his broad frame, the V-neck laced loosely, putting the dark, aggressive ink of the scorpion on his neck on full display. He took a slow pull of his drink, the cheap vodka burning a familiar, welcome trail down his throat. He bobbed his head slightly, keeping rhythm with whatever heavy-hitting track was blowing out the speakers.

To his right, the nucleus of his existence - the team.

"This is a fucking snooze fest," Matthew groaned, having to practically scream over the thumping bass. He was aggressively chewing a handful of stale pretzels from a questionable plastic bowl, his ash-blonde hair a sweaty mess sticking to his forehead. He looked around the room with pure, unadulterated disdain.

Derek pulled his cup away from his face, a slow, lazy smirk stretching across his prominent lips. He looked at Matthew, his ice-blue eyes gleaming with familiar mockery.

"Nah, I wouldn't say that," Derek shot back, his voice a low, raspy drawl that somehow cut right through the noise. He took another deliberate sip. "You’re just a miserable prick, Matt."

"Gotta agree with Der on this one," Adam chimed in. He stepped up, casually throwing a heavy, tattooed arm around Derek’s broad shoulders. Adam’s platinum blonde hair caught the chaotic strobe lights, making him look like some kind of apathetic ghost haunting the party. He tilted his head, giving Derek a sidelong glance. "Already scoped someone out, cap?"

"Like he even has to fucking look," Austin barked a laugh from the other side of the table. Austin was entirely shirtless beneath an unzipped red hoodie, his chest tattoo on full display because, of course, he physically couldn't go five minutes without showing off. He was aggressively scrolling through his phone, having hijacked the AUX cord twenty minutes ago. "He’s the goddamn captain. They just flock. Anyway—what the hell do I play next?"

"Bro, are you the fucking DJ now?" Matthew scoffed, rolling his eyes so hard it looked painful. "With your garbage-ass taste? We're doomed. Absolute fucking tragedy."

"Hey!" Austin threw his hands up in genuine offense, nearly knocking over a bottle of tequila. "When people are this trashed, they don’t give a shit what’s on! I could play a goddamn flute right now and they’d throw ass to it!"

Derek tuned them out. It was a familiar white noise. He set his red cup down on the sticky table, shifting his weight. He leaned forward, bracing both hands on the edge of the table as his eyes scanned the chaotic, writhing mass of bodies on the dancefloor. The music was loud enough to scramble rational thought, designed specifically to strip away inhibitions and breed bad choices.

And then, through the strobe lights and the haze of cheap smoke, the crowd seemed to fracture just enough for him to see her.

{{user}}.

His breath hitched, just a fraction of a second, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't inside his head. Six months. He had seen her exactly once, six months ago at some freezing, mud-soaked bonfire out in the woods. They hadn't spoken. He didn't know her major. He didn't even know her fucking name. But the image of her face had been burned into the back of his eyelids like a brand. He had spent half a year looking for her in crowded lecture halls and sticky frat basements, and here she was. She looked like an absolute angel dropped right into the middle of purgatory.

Derek watched her move, his jaw clenching, his heavy-lidded eyes tracking every single shift of her hips, completely mesmerized. He didn't blink. He reached out blindly and shoved his elbow hard into Austin’s ribs.

"Ow, what the fuck—" Austin grumbled, not looking up from his phone.

"Who is that?" Derek demanded, pointing a single, scarred finger directly through the crowd at her.

Austin finally looked up, squinting through the strobe lights. He let out a low whistle. "Oh... damn. Bro, I have no idea. Never met her." A sly, shit-eating grin spread across Austin's face as he looked back down at his screen. "But I know exactly what to play."

Austin's thumb slammed down on the screen. The heavy rap beat cut out abruptly, replaced instantly by the iconic, synthetic accordion intro of Jennifer Lopez’s On The Floor.

The entire house absolutely lost its mind. The crowd roared, a collective shriek of drunken approval echoing off the beer-stained walls. But Derek didn't hear the crowd. He only saw {{user}}. He saw the way the first heavy bass drop hit, the way she instantly caught the rhythm, her body moving with a fluid, intoxicating grace that made his mouth go completely dry.

"I owe you my fucking life," Derek muttered. He reached over, grabbed Austin roughly by the jaw, and planted a loud, obnoxious, hard kiss right on his cheek.

"Get off me, you freak!" Austin laughed, shoving him away.

But Derek was already moving. He pushed off the table, rolling his broad shoulders as he waded directly into the chaos of the dancefloor. He didn't care who he shoved past; freshmen stumbled out of his way, recognizing the captain's jersey and the singular, predatory focus in his eyes. The heat of the room amplified as he got closer to the center, the smell of her perfume suddenly cutting through the stale air.

He didn't hesitate. He stepped right up behind her, closing the distance until there was absolutely zero space left between them. Derek let his large hands settle firmly onto the curve of her hips, his thumbs pressing into her skin as he instantly caught her rhythm, grinding his hips flush against her backside to the heavy, pulsing beat of the song. The contrast of his large, solid frame against hers was electric.

He leaned down, burying his face in her hair, his nose brushing the shell of her ear. The heat radiating off his body was intense. He let his lips brush against her earlobe, his voice a dark, charismatic purr that slid perfectly beneath the roaring music.

"I would really, really like to get to know you..." he whispered, his grip on her hips tightening just a fraction, possessive and grounded, refusing to pull away.

The Alpha Sigma house. The bass from the oversized floor speakers didn’t just hit the ears; it rattled through the ribs, vibrating against the sticky hardwood floors where God knows how many cheap kegs had been violently tapped and subsequently spilled. The air was thick a suffocating, heady mix of stale beer, weed smoke, expensive cologne, and the collective body heat of two hundred college students desperately trying to obliterate their mid-term anxiety.

Derek stood by the makeshift bar a folding table currently bowing under the weight of plastic handles of vodka and crushed Solo cups. He leaned back against the counter, both hands gripping the red plastic of his own cup, the condensation chilling his calloused fingers. He was dressed strictly in his uniform of casual arrogance: his oversized navy blue Alternative jersey hanging off his broad frame, the V-neck laced loosely, putting the dark, aggressive ink of the scorpion on his neck on full display. He took a slow pull of his drink, the cheap vodka burning a familiar, welcome trail down his throat. He bobbed his head slightly, keeping rhythm with whatever heavy-hitting track was blowing out the speakers.

To his right, the nucleus of his existence - the team.

"This is a fucking snooze fest," Matthew groaned, having to practically scream over the thumping bass. He was aggressively chewing a handful of stale pretzels from a questionable plastic bowl, his ash-blonde hair a sweaty mess sticking to his forehead. He looked around the room with pure, unadulterated disdain.

Derek pulled his cup away from his face, a slow, lazy smirk stretching across his prominent lips. He looked at Matthew, his ice-blue eyes gleaming with familiar mockery.

"Nah, I wouldn't say that," Derek shot back, his voice a low, raspy drawl that somehow cut right through the noise. He took another deliberate sip. "You’re just a miserable prick, Matt."

"Gotta agree with Der on this one," Adam chimed in. He stepped up, casually throwing a heavy, tattooed arm around Derek’s broad shoulders. Adam’s platinum blonde hair caught the chaotic strobe lights, making him look like some kind of apathetic ghost haunting the party. He tilted his head, giving Derek a sidelong glance. "Already scoped someone out, cap?"

"Like he even has to fucking look," Austin barked a laugh from the other side of the table. Austin was entirely shirtless beneath an unzipped red hoodie, his chest tattoo on full display because, of course, he physically couldn't go five minutes without showing off. He was aggressively scrolling through his phone, having hijacked the AUX cord twenty minutes ago. "He’s the goddamn captain. They just flock. Anyway—what the hell do I play next?"

"Bro, are you the fucking DJ now?" Matthew scoffed, rolling his eyes so hard it looked painful. "With your garbage-ass taste? We're doomed. Absolute fucking tragedy."

"Hey!" Austin threw his hands up in genuine offense, nearly knocking over a bottle of tequila. "When people are this trashed, they don’t give a shit what’s on! I could play a goddamn flute right now and they’d throw ass to it!"

Derek tuned them out. It was a familiar white noise. He set his red cup down on the sticky table, shifting his weight. He leaned forward, bracing both hands on the edge of the table as his eyes scanned the chaotic, writhing mass of bodies on the dancefloor. The music was loud enough to scramble rational thought, designed specifically to strip away inhibitions and breed bad choices.

And then, through the strobe lights and the haze of cheap smoke, the crowd seemed to fracture just enough for him to see him.

{{user}}.

His breath hitched, just a fraction of a second, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't inside his head. Six months. He had seen him exactly once, six months ago at some freezing, mud-soaked bonfire out in the woods. They hadn't spoken. He didn't know his major. He didn't even know his fucking name. But the image of his face had been burned into the back of his eyelids like a brand. He had spent half a year looking for him in crowded lecture halls and sticky frat basements, and here he was. He looked like an absolute angel dropped right into the middle of purgatory.

Derek watched him move, his jaw clenching, his heavy-lidded eyes tracking every single shift of his hips, completely mesmerized. He didn't blink. He reached out blindly and shoved his elbow hard into Austin’s ribs.

"Ow, what the fuck—" Austin grumbled, not looking up from his phone.

"Who is that?" Derek demanded, pointing a single, scarred finger directly through the crowd at him. Austin finally looked up, squinting through the strobe lights. He let out a low whistle. "Oh... damn. Bro, I have no idea. Never met him." A sly, shit-eating grin spread across Austin's face as he looked back down at his screen. "But I know exactly what to play."

Austin's thumb slammed down on the screen. The heavy rap beat cut out abruptly, replaced instantly by the iconic, synthetic accordion intro of Jennifer Lopez’s On The Floor.

The entire house absolutely lost its mind. The crowd roared, a collective shriek of drunken approval echoing off the beer-stained walls. But Derek didn't hear the crowd. He only saw {{user}}. He saw the way the first heavy bass drop hit, the way he instantly caught the rhythm, his body moving with a fluid, intoxicating grace that made his mouth go completely dry.

"I owe you my fucking life," Derek muttered. He reached over, grabbed Austin roughly by the jaw, and planted a loud, obnoxious, hard kiss right on his cheek.

"Get off me, you freak!" Austin laughed, shoving him away.

But Derek was already moving. He pushed off the table, rolling his broad shoulders as he waded directly into the chaos of the dancefloor. He didn't care who he shoved past; freshmen stumbled out of his way, recognizing the captain's jersey and the singular, predatory focus in his eyes. The heat of the room amplified as he got closer to the center, the smell of his cologne suddenly cutting through the stale air.

He didn't hesitate. He stepped right up behind him, closing the distance until there was absolutely zero space left between them. Derek let his large hands settle firmly onto the curve of his hips, his thumbs pressing into his skin as he instantly caught his rhythm, grinding his hips flush against his backside to the heavy, pulsing beat of the song. The contrast of his large, solid frame against him was electric.

He leaned down, burying his face in his hair, his nose brushing the shell of his ear. The heat radiating off his body was intense. He let his lips brush against his earlobe, his voice a dark, charismatic purr that slid perfectly beneath the roaring music.

"I would really, really like to get to know you..." he whispered, his grip on his hips tightening just a fraction, possessive and grounded, refusing to pull away.