Episode 1- The Party
Dashawn was already three sips into his Don Julio soda when he ducked into the kitchen. Lights low, counter sticky, and the bass from the living room thumping through the floor like it had somewhere to be. The party was in a brownstone Airbnb off-campus--some junior's cousin booked it, word got passed through group chats, and now it was wall-to-wall with bodies too grown to be anybody's RA problem. He posted by the fridge, hoodie half-zipped, fitted low, watching the swirl of red cups and fake laughs pass by the open doorway. This was the quietest spot he could find.
He didn't even wanna come. Crowds always made his chest tighten. Too much noise, too many eyes. But his boys weren't having it tonight.
"Yo," Malik said, sliding in with that grin that always meant trouble. "You really in here hidin'? Nigga, what are you--an RA"
Dashawn smirked but didn't answer. He sipped slow, eyes scanning. Malik was flanked by Trey and Q, all three looking like they was ready to act bad for the 'Gram.
"Deadass," Q chimed in. "We dragged you out that ghost dorm. You finally back outside."
"You been in that shit too long," Trey added. "You need somethin' to take the edge off. Or someone."
Dashawn let the corner of his mouth twitch. "I'm good. I'm just chillin'."
"Nigga, you always chillin'," Malik said. "At some point you gotta live, bro."
He didn't answer. Just leaned on the counter, the cup warm in his hand now. He wasn't tryna get smacked--just nice enough to float. Let the beat ride under his skin, not crash into it.
He looked good, even if he didn't care to flex it. Light caramel skin, always moisturized like he ain't never skipped lotion a day in his life. His dreads were half-tied tonight, the rest falling just past his shoulders, loose enough to look casual but fresh enough to show care. The soft stretch of his hoodie clung to his frame--lean but cut, shoulders broad under the fabric. Built like he ran drills but moved like he avoided attention. His earrings caught the kitchen light--diamond or silver depending on mood.
That's when he saw her.
She was on the other side of the room, backlit by someone's ring light and the fake fog of a vape cloud. Short, thick, moving like she was born to be watched. Big curls bouncing, lips glossy, arms up. She wasn't dancing for nobody--but her body was saying something anyway. Her ass had its own gravity, high and tight in jeans that didn't stand a chance. Every bounce came with its own exclamation point.
Dashawn's eyes locked on her.
And then, like she felt it, she turned.
Their eyes met.
She didn't break rhythm. Just shifted. Slower. More deliberate. That kind of motion that say, Yeah, I know you watching.
Dashawn looked away quick, heart kicking up. Took another sip. But his eyes dragged back, like gravity. She was still locked in.
"Yo," he muttered. "Who's that?"
His boys turned.
"No clue," Trey said. "But you better slide before some other nigga do."
Across the room, Annabelle leaned in to Yari. "¿Tú lo viste? [You saw him?] That caramel tall boy by the fridge?"
Yari smirked. "El tipo? [That dude?] Girl, he look like he got trauma and good dick. Se lo ve en la cara. [You can see it in his face.]"
Juelz laughed, catching enough of the Spanish to keep up. "He is fine. Look like he don't even know it, too."
"He cute," Anna said, eyes still on him. "Look like he got secrets."
She said it with that Bronx-Dominican rhythm--fast, soft-edged, but loaded. Like she'd seen boys like him and still wanted the story.
"Mmm," Yari said. "Go unwrap that mystery, ma."
They started moving at the same time. She stepped off beat, slow and intentional. He pushed off the counter like the music gave him permission. The crowd thickened between them, but they moved with purpose--two magnets in a room full of static.
They met near the hallway arch.
Up close, the noise hit Dashawn harder. Laughter, bass, perfume and weed all mixing too loud. His throat tightened, but her presence pulled focus. She smelled like skin you wanna touch--vanilla, fruity mist, and something warm that clung like a dare. Her skin caught the light like it remembered touch--kissed with just enough baby oil to give her collarbones a soft gleam.
She was even badder up close. Five feet of soft curves and straight attitude. Honey-gold skin catching the low lights like a filter, under a tight crop tee stretched over her strappy bralette--barbell piercings still visible through the fabric if you were looking hard enough. And Dashawn was. Her lashes looked too fake to be real--but they were.
Dashawn slid one hand into his pocket, grounding himself. Her presence was loud, even when she wasn't speaking.
"You good?" she asked, head tilted, voice dipped in Uptown grit with a Dominican edge.
He swallowed. "I was until I saw you."
She laughed low, biting her lip. "That always work on girls?"
He gave her a small shrug. "Only when it's true."
She smirked. "Mm. You one of them niggas who be postin' up in corners like you mysterious?"
Dashawn laughed low. "Nah. Just... not my scene like that."
She tilted her head, studying him. "You don't dance?"
"I do. Just not... here. Like this." He nodded toward the crowd, where bodies were grinding like they ain't have midterms or shame.
Anna watched him. Noticed the way his eyes scanned the room, never landing too long. He looked calm, but he wasn't comfortable. Not all the way.
She leaned in, voice dropping just a little. "What's up with you?"
She wasn't pressing, just peeping. Curious, not clingy. But she could tell he was off--something about how still he stood, like his body was holding too much inside.
Dashawn paused, gave her a half smile like he was used to dodging that question. "I be needin' a minute sometimes. That's all."
She nodded slow, then held out her hand. "Annabelle, pero everybody call me Anna."
He looked at her hand for a second like it meant more than it should, then took it. Warm grip, not too tight. Just enough to let her know he was real. Her nails grazed his palm before he let go.
"Dashawn."
That pause after the handshake? Silent but loud. Her fingers flexed once. His tongue wet his bottom lip without thinking.
"You always this serious, Dashawn?"
He chuckled. "Nah. Just gotta ease into shit.
Anna smiled. "Good. I don't like rushing neither."
They were still standing close. Still watching each other like the music was just background noise.
"You cool. Kinda weird, but I like that," Anna said with a smirk.
She reached for his cup without asking. Took a sip, eyes still on him. Her gloss left a pink sheen on the rim.
"Ohhh, nigga, you off that Don Juliooo?" she grinned, licking gloss from her lip as she sang "Don Don The little Don Don" and broke into a little slizzy dance while twirling his cup above her head.
"Juliooooo" he sang off key with a chuckle, finding some leeway to be normal for once.
Until She handed his cup back to him, and their fingers brushed.
