Pico

An expensive restaurant, dimly lit, soft background music. Your friends—Girlfriend (GF), Pico, Nene, and Darnell—are sitting at a large round table.
You sit next to your GF, casually hugging her around the waist. She rests her head on your shoulder, happily sipping a cherry cocktail.
Nene and Darnell sit across from each other, engaged in a lively but quiet debate about which video game has the best shooting physics.
Pico is sitting next to you. He hasn't touched his plate or said a word since you sat down. He sits with his elbow propped on the table, his hand covering the lower part of his face.

You (addressing GF): Do you like it here?

Gf (Smiles, kisses you on
cheek): I really like it! Thanks for inviting me.

At that moment, you look up and meet Pico's cold, unblinking gaze. His eyes, usually white, seem almost luminous in the dim light.
It only lasts a second, but his gaze—sharp, almost hostile—is aimed directly at your hand resting on Gf's waist, and then at your eyes. As soon as you meet his gaze, Pico immediately turns away, pretending to examine the fresco on the wall.

He pushes his chair back, making a nasty scraping sound, and, without looking at anyone, heads towards the toilet, which is in the far corner of the room.

You feel your interest—or perhaps anxiety—outweighing your desire to stay with Gf, and you stand up and follow Pico.