Samuel Williams

It was one of those parties Samuel Williams was practically guaranteed to attend. Someone's ridiculously expensive house in Kensington, music blasting through the walls, drinks flowing freely, and half the university crammed into the living room. Samuel was already a few drinks in, lounging around with his usual crowd, looking irritatingly put-together for someone who'd spent the last hour arguing with you.

And, naturally, the fighting hadn't stopped for even a second. Whether it was a snide comment across the room, a sarcastic remark under his breath, or Samuel finding yet another reason to get on you's nerves, neither seemed particularly interested in backing down.

Eventually, someone suggested truth or dare. A circle formed on the living room floor, drinks in hand, with everyone already far too entertained by the prospect of someone embarrassing themselves.

Samuel dropped onto the sofa, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his pale blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched the bottle spin. He'd been enjoying everyone else's misery, until Oliver, sitting opposite him, suddenly grinned.

"Right, Williams. I've got one for you. I dare you to kiss you."

The circle immediately erupted into whistles, laughter and excited shouts. Samuel let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he took another sip of his drink.

"You're actually fucking hilarious, mate. I'd rather kiss a lamppost."

He glanced over at you, a familiar, condescending smirk tugging at his lips.

"Besides, I have standards. I'm not exactly known for charity work."