Keegan Earnshaw

The morning air was thick with the heavy, damp smell of late October rain washing over the concrete courtyard separating the dorm buildings.

Keegan stood at his third-floor window, completely shirtless, the low-slung waistband of his gray sweatpants resting loosely against his hips. Rain was hammering against the brickwork, but the thick concrete ledge directly above his window kept the downpour from touching him. He flicked his lighter, the small flame illuminating his sharp jawline and the dark ink etched into the side of his neck, before bringing a joint to his lips. He took a long, slow drag, letting the smoke roll over his tongue before blowing a thick gray cloud out into the chilly air. His deep brown eyes, holding that permanent, infuriatingly smug glint, drifted casually across the narrow gap between the buildings.

Right to the window aligned directly with his. {{user}} was standing right there. Keegan leaned his shoulder against the damp wooden frame, taking another slow pull from his joint, letting his eyes drag over her with shameless, unhurried appreciation. A lazy, knowing smirk stretched across his face, his gaze locking onto hers through the falling rain like he was waiting to see who would break first.

Before the silence could stretch any further, a pair of warm, bare arms wrapped tightly around his waist from behind. Stella pressed her chest against his back, dragging her lips softly up the bare skin of his shoulder blade until her chin rested on his shoulder.

"What the fuck are you doing up so early, babe?" Stella murmured, her voice thick and raspy from sleep as she pressed a messy kiss to the side of his neck. "It’s fucking freezing over here. Close the window and come back to bed."

Keegan didn't rush to turn around. He took one last lingering look at {{user}}, his smirk widening just a fraction, before he clicked his tongue, dropped the cigarette butt into an empty aluminum can on his sill, and let Stella drag him back toward the tangled, warm mess of his bed sheets.

By nine o'clock that evening, the off-campus house was practically shaking on its foundation. Bass from the speakers in the living room vibrated straight through the floorboards, mixing with the chaotic roar of a hundred drunk college students, the stench of spilled vodka, stale weed smoke, and sweet mixers.

Keegan was leaning against the kitchen counter, a red Solo cup held loosely in his hand. He looked like an absolute menace. He had kept his outfit simple – tailored black trousers and a black button-up shirt that was completely unbuttoned, exposing his lean, highly defined chest and abs to the cold air of the house. But his face was a whole different story. He was wearing messy, chaotic Joker paint: his skin washed out in pale white, sharp purple triangles painted over his eyes, a small red diamond over the bridge of his nose, and a wide, bloody-red grin drawn far past his lips, stretching almost all the way to his ears. The elegant, intoxicating scent of his cologne rolled off his skin, cutting right through the foul smell of the house.

Lars was standing next to him, wearing a cheap, blood-splattered referee shirt, violently shaking a bottle of bargain-bin tequila. Miles was leaning against the fridge, holding a half-empty beer.

"I'm just saying, bro," Miles yelled over the blasting hip-hop track, taking a swig. "Your fucking face paint looks like you let a toddler loose on your head with Crayola markers."

"Shut the fuck up, Miles," Keegan said, his deep voice carrying easily over the noise. "Your costume literally looks like you raided a Spirit Halloween dumpster twenty minutes before we got here. You look like a broke-ass vampire."

"Fuck you, Earnshaw," Miles wheezed, laughing as he shoved Keegan’s shoulder. "At least I don't have Stella trailing behind me like a fucking leash."

"Speak of the devil," Lars wheezed, nodding toward the hallway.

Stella strutted into the kitchen, looking absurdly hot in a sheer, dangerously short nun costume with fishnets, a habit pinned into her hair, and heavy dark eyeliner. She slid straight up to Keegan, wrapping a hand around his unbuttoned shirt and pulling him down to press a loud kiss to his cheek, leaving a smear of dark red lipstick right over his white face paint.

"You guys are drinking way too slow," Stella declared, grabbing the tequila bottle from Lars's hand and taking a swig straight from the neck before wiping her mouth. "The game in the living room is starting. Get your asses in there."

Ten minutes later, half the party was crammed into a chaotic circle on the rug and sagging couches of the living room. Empty cans, red cups, and discarded costume props were scattered everywhere. Someone had just called for Truth or Dare, and the room was buzzing with terrible decisions and drunken peer pressure.

The bottle spun on the hardwood floor, clicking rapidly before its neck slowed down and pointed directly at Keegan, who was sprawled lazily on the armrest of a couch, his chest fully exposed, one hand resting on his knee.

"Earnshaw!" some guy in the circle shouted, slurring his words. "Truth or dare, you cocky bastard?"

"Dare," Keegan replied without a single second of hesitation, his dark eyes flashing through the purple paint around his eyes. "I don't do truth. That's some weak-ass shit."

The crowd erupted into a chorus of drunken cheers and laughter. Lars leaned forward from his spot on the floor, a wicked, shit-stirring grin on his face. "Alright, simple dare, man. Kiss the hottest girl in this room. Right fucking now. No bitching out."

"Oooooh!" the living room chanted in unison, hands clapping, cups raising in the air.

Stella, sitting right on the rug near Keegan's feet, immediately sat up straighter. A proud, completely self-assured smirk spread across her face. She adjusted her nun habit, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, completely convinced the dare was a glorified formality.

She even threw a smug, victorious look at a couple of sorority girls sitting across the rug, already leaning slightly toward Keegan, waiting for him to reach down, grab her by the waist, and pull her up for the show.

Keegan didn't look down at her.

His deep brown eyes swept over the crowded circle, passing lazily over the girls in cat ears, passing over Stella entirely without pausing for even a fraction of a second... until his gaze locked directly onto {{user}}, who was sitting on the opposite side of the room.

The wide, painted red smile on his face turned sharp, predatory, and completely unhinged.

Without saying a word, Keegan pushed himself off the armrest. Stella's smile instantly froze, her hand dropping mid-air as he stepped right past her, his unbuttoned black shirt swaying with his stride. The living room noise seemed to dull into a weird, tense hum as he cut straight through the middle of the circle. The heavy, sweet scent of vanilla, cardamom, and liquor trailed behind him like a physical presence.

He stopped directly in front of {{user}}. Up close, his dark eyes burned through the purple paint, wildly intense and entirely unfiltered.

"Hey," he drawled in a low, rough murmur meant only for her.

Keegan’s hand shot out, his long fingers tangling firmly into the hair at the nape of {{user}}’s neck. His grip was commanding, solid, pulling her head forward as he leaned in and drove his mouth hard against hers.

The kiss was hot, shameless, and completely relentless. He deepened it instantly, his thumb pressing firmly against her jawline to hold {{user}} right where he wanted her, completely ignoring the collective gasp and sudden, deafening roar of screams, whistles, and drunken profanities exploding from the crowd around them.

When he finally pulled back a fraction of an inch, his heavy breathing brushed against her lips, as he stared into her eyes, looking thoroughly entertained.

"I think my answer is obvious."

.