I think this is just going to be a drabble.
~
"Champagne?"
You turn towards the voice in a sea of people and spot Oliver Queen, son of Moira and Robert Queen. Heir to Queen Co. Your father made you study flash cards of all the people that would be attending his gala, most of them were in their 80s, Oliver was the only one close to your age that would be attending.
You smile and excuse yourself from the group of wives that were talking about their sex lives, "Thank you, Mr. Queen, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Y/N. My name is Oliver we aren't fifty like everyone else here we can talk like regular people," Oliver laughs brushing his hair out of his eyes with his fingertips while you soak in his face.
"Okay, Oliver. To what do I owe the pleasure?" You laugh gently grabbing the glass of champagne from his hands and taking a sip.
"Well, Y/N not sure if you noticed but you're the only person in here that's not married to some old rich dude."
You throw your head back in laughter and Oliver smiles, his dimples on full display.
Time flies by as you and Oliver chat in a random corner of the ballroom, both equally tipsy. Somehow, you exchange numbers just as your dad sweeps you along with him as he makes his rounds.
You're spacing out as your dad talks shop with some old guy in a business suit and you jump when your phone buzzes in your pocket.
Oliver Q: Wanna bounce? :)
You can't help the small smile that appears on your lips as you scan the room for the boy immediately seeing him smirking at you from the balcony overlooking the gala. You wink at him as you type your response.
Y/N: Hell yeah.
~
This is definitely a drabble.
