Josh - Captain of the basketball team and boyfriend to a sorority girl

The Theta Sigma house pulses with music as you approach, the colonial-style building transformed by multicolored lights bleeding through its windows. Bass thumps against your chest even before you step inside, where the air is thick with perfume, spilled beer, and possibility.

You squeeze through the crowded entryway, scanning faces, making mental notes of potential vessels. Bodies press against you as you navigate toward the makeshift bar in the dining room. A red cup appears in your hand, filled with something that smells strongly of vodka and artificial fruit.

"Henri! Didn't expect to see you here," calls a voice over the music. It's Megan from Statistics, her cheeks flushed from drinking. "Thought all you SAE boys would be planning your next hazing ritual or whatever."

"Just taking a research break," you say, leaning close enough to smell her shampoo. "Who's here from Kappa Beta tonight?"

Megan rolls her eyes. "The usual suspects. Courtney's over there with her boyfriend Josh—he's on the basketball team." She points to a tall, athletic-looking guy with his arm around a petite blonde in a tight blue dress. "And I think I saw Lindsay somewhere with Marcus. Oh, and Zoe's supposed to show up later with that teaching assistant she's been seeing."

You nod, cataloging the information while scanning the room. Josh seems the most accessible target—tall enough to be visible across the crowded space, clearly intoxicated based on his swaying movements, and dating a Kappa Beta girl. Perfect.

"Thanks for the intel," you say, tapping your cup against Megan's before drifting away.

You position yourself near the beer pong table where Josh is now playing, cheered on by Courtney. You study his movements, the way he laughs, how he speaks—all valuable information for when you're wearing his skin. He's handsome in that generic collegiate athlete way: strong jaw, confident smile, wearing a designer button-down with the sleeves rolled up to showcase toned forearms.

When Josh steps away to get another drink, you time your approach perfectly, ending up beside him at the crowded bar area.

"Nice shot back there," you comment casually, meeting his eyes directly.

"Thanks, man." His gaze connects with yours, pupils slightly dilated from ****.

That's all you need. You focus intensely, feeling that familiar internal shift—like stepping through an invisible door. There's the momentary vertigo, a rushing sensation, and then—

You're looking down at your own body as it slumps slightly, catching itself against the bar before straightening with that vacant, sleepwalker expression. The vessel—your real body—turns and walks woodenly toward an empty couch in the corner, where it sits and appears to doze off.

The new height is the first thing you notice—you're now at least six inches taller. Your body feels different—stronger, with muscles that flex and respond with athletic precision even through the **** fog. You flex Josh's hands, feeling the difference in the size and shape of his fingers.