Enemies to lovers
Oliver stood beside them, occasionally shifting his shoulders and tapping his foot, just enough to not seem completely stiff, but far from blending in.
“Look at you, Oliver,” Benjamin teased, his voice slurred slightly from the drink and the adrenaline. “You move like someone holding in a fart at a funeral.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I don’t twerk for serotonin like some of you.”
Before Benjamin could fire back, someone cut through the crowd.
“Yo, Benjamin, Austin, nice to see you all here.”
“John,” Benjamin called back, grinning. “Man, what’s up?”