zaire didn't know how he ended up here.

one minute, he was perfectly content in his dorm, finishing up an essay on cinematography techniques. the next, demitra was standing in his doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely unimpressed.

"you can't just avoid fun forever," she declared, ignoring his protests as she grabbed his wrist and all but dragged him out.

which is how he found himself at some party, surrounded by people who all seemed effortlessly cool, laughing too loudly, drinking out of red solo cups, and existing in a way that made him feel like an outsider in his own age group.

"you look like you're in actual pain," demitra teased, nudging his arm as they weaved through the crowd.

"because i am." he adjusted the strap of his bag, which she'd made him leave at the door. "this isn't exactly my scene."

she rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. "just give it a chance. maybe you'll surprise yourself."

he doubted it.

but she was here, and somehow, that made things slightly more bearable.

as the night went on, demitra effortlessly floated through the party, greeting people, laughing at inside jokes, dancing like she belonged here. she was magnetic, the kind of person who made any space her own.

zaire, on the other hand, found a quiet corner near the balcony, sipping on a soda someone had handed him, hoping to blend into the background.

it worked for a while—until demitra found him.

"you're hiding," she accused playfully, plopping down beside him on the cushioned bench.

he shrugged. "just... observing."

"you do that a lot, don't you?" she mused, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "watching instead of doing."

"someone has to document the chaos."

demitra grinned, but there was something softer in her eyes as she looked at him. "so, what do you think? about all of this?"

he exhaled, glancing at the crowd. "i think... people like me and people like you don't usually exist in the same space."

she tilted her head. "and what's that supposed to mean?"

"you live in the spotlight. you thrive in it. me? i'd rather be behind the camera, making sure everything looks perfect."

she considered that for a moment, leaning back against the bench. "it's not always as perfect as it looks."

zaire turned to her, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone.

she sighed, stretching out her legs. "i know people think being online is easy. that my sisters and i just wake up, post a cute picture, and go about our day. but it's... exhausting, sometimes. knowing that everything we do, everything we say, gets dissected. and if we mess up? it's like the whole world is watching."

he frowned, something twisting in his chest. he'd never really thought about it like that.

"that sounds... kind of awful."

she let out a small laugh. "it has its moments. but i love it, you know? i love creating things. i love connecting with people. it's just... a lot of pressure."

zaire nodded, understanding more than he expected to. "i get that. i feel the same way about film. like, if i don't get everything right, if i don't make something worth watching, then what's the point?"

she studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. "i think you put too much pressure on yourself."

"says the girl who just admitted she's under constant scrutiny."

demitra laughed, nudging him with her knee. "okay, fair. but still. you're allowed to just... exist sometimes, you know? not everything has to be perfect."

he wanted to argue, to tell her that perfection was the only way to stand out in an industry as brutal as his. but then she smiled at him—soft, genuine, like she actually saw him—and suddenly, his argument didn't feel as important.

"maybe," he murmured.

they sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the party fading into background noise.

zaire wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point, demitra's head had dropped onto his shoulder. her curls tickled his skin, and he could smell the faintest trace of vanilla and something floral.

his heart did something weird in his chest.

he told himself it was just the unfamiliarity of it all—of being close to someone like her, of having her in his space in a way that didn't feel suffocating. but when she let out a content sigh, mumbling something about how he was comfier than he looked, he knew he was in trouble.

because, for the first time all night, he didn't want to leave.

he wanted to stay.

here.

with her.

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈; new story out now called ''full court press'' demitra kalogeras x femoc story out now