Stumbling over all the shoes laying inside the front door, you knew coming to this party was a bad idea. Shawn insisted that you meet his friends tonight, but only after he had told them all about you—leaving no details out. You've been a fan since day one, you used to (still do) run a fan page, the works. Terrified they would think you're some crazed stan, you protested coming out tonight.

Unfortunately, those pearly whites and chocolate brown eyes and luscious curls would always win. He insisted you attend.
Shawn immediately spotted his group, already playing beer pong, and did a beeline to go say hi. That left you alone, embarrassed, and looking for a drink.

Wandering into the kitchen, you began pouring yourself a vodka tonic. If tonight was going to be shitty, it would only be fitting to go into a vodka coma tomorrow. Drink to that.

Taking in your surroundings, you took note of the dark contrasts of the house (Brian's, you think Shawn said?) and the warm sounds of Pearl Jam's Black playing on the stereo. Growing up, your dad only listened to classic rock, and you've grown accustomed to the voices of Eddie Vedder, Randy Bachman, and Burton Cummings. Not even Shawn knew so much about your vast musical preferences, or knowledge of anything else, really. You liked the humility of keeping quiet about your traits, only to surprise him constantly with something new and exciting about yourself.

Hiding out in the kitchen grew a little boring, and you knew you had to eventually go find Shawn. As nervous as you were, you felt pretty self-conscious standing all alone guarding the alcohol.

You wandered into the living room where the couches had been moved aside for the pong table. Shawn was pretty hard to miss—being a tree and all—and you slowly walked over to him, careful not to interrupt the conversation he was deeply engaged in.

"I mean, I know I'm making a decent amount of money, and I don't really know if I should leave it sitting, or invest it? Money makes money, right?" Shawn was saying to his buddies, sounding pretty lost in the world of finance.

"I mean, yeah? Dude, you have to do some mega research if you're gonna do something like that." The bearded one added.

"Uh, yeah maybe start small, buy really cheap shares or something." Now the ginger was speaking.
You couldn't help it. It was burning your brain not to say something. You were a commerce student, and your dad had been drilling the do's and don't's of the stock market into your brain since you were three. You couldn't hold your tongue.

"No, that's never going to work. Penny stocks are unstable, you want to keep it blue-chip. Some large corporation you know won't be headed for the dumps anytime soon. Your best bet is probably the banks. Everyone's always gonna be banking, and you'll be able to set up an automatic dividend to reinvest quarterly." They all looked at you with puzzled faces, only registering your presence now.

This was bad. You needed to backtrack. "I-I mean, you're in it for the long-run, right? Slow and steady? Buy low, sell high doesn't really apply to this, it's more of a literal investment, but it's more reliable than real estate. But do whatever you want. Forget what I said. I gotta go!" You turned on your heel to escape to your booze sanctuary when Shawn interlaced his fingers with yours, pulling you back to where you were previously standing.

"So, guys, this is Y/N, my girlfriend. And as you've probably figured out, she's a lot more than meets the eye." Shawn said, stepping behind you and wrapping both arms around your shoulders, beaming at his friends.

The guys smiled, introducing themselves, and joking with Shawn about how he'll never get away with investing in unsuccessful iPhone apps ever again.