'Pointless. It was all so damn pointless.'

"Next."

Kyotani has had bad days, and then he's had even worse days like this—days where time seems to blend together in a meaningless stream of nothingness and mundane, useless activities such as checking ID's and patting people down, having him ponder on the last time he ever really felt something, anything. Sure, being a bouncer was necessary, but only in a way to ensure the people inside The Spot were having a good time. But as for Kyotani...well, he'd never had a good time, couldn't remember the last or first time he'd genuinely laughed and smiled so hard that his stomach and cheeks hurt or the last friend he'd made, and that was unjust and unfair to him.

"ID." Kyotani grunted out with his intimidating appearance—the main reason he was even hired with his criminal record and all—a permanent frown on his lips, piercing, honey brown eyes and a small nose crooked from the amount of times he had it broken, tattoos and piercings galore, standing at 6'2" clad in a tight black shirt that hugged his lean, muscular torso and tucked into some black cargo pants with a bulletproof, security vest and combat boots.

And then there were people like her that had to come fuck his whole night up.

"What do you mean 'ID'? Do you even know who this girl is? She's the daughter of senator..." A blonde boisterously chimed in his face, continuing to rant on despite Kyotani's not-so-subtle scowl and unfazed demeanour. Kyotani quickly tuned out the annoying brat that waved her finger in his face as he turned his focus on the girl beside her, the blonde's supposed friend, standing patiently, quietly and expectantly in front of him.

'Holy shit.'

Kyotani swore the air was knocked out of his lungs when his brown eyes locked with hers, though his facial expressions never showed it as he remained stoic, easily masking. He'd been in many fights before, but still, it was nothing compared to this oddly foreign, warm, peppering feeling in his chest when he looked down at this girl. He quickly recognized her as the girl who was friends or acquainted with damn near everybody on campus except him. He'd heard her name through the grapevine, saw her give a speech once in the auditorium for mental health awareness, saw her picture on posters on the stale blue campus walls, bringing colour and life to them almost—though those were nothing compared to the real her, the one standing right in front of him, smelling tantalizingly good of vanilla and cinnamon. Her eyes practically shone up at him as she calmly batted her lashes, keeping eye contact with a friendly smile that did reach her eyes.